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onecanonlife · 3 years

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the wind that remakes

It's been ten years since the princes of the Antarctic Empire vanished. But the king's still offering a hefty reward for their return, and Tommy thinks it's about time he and Tubbo tried for it. No matter what they have to do.

It's time to pull off the con of the century.

(fic masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(next chapter)

(chapter word count: 5,474)

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Chapter One: let the valleys awake (let them rattle and shake)

It starts like this: Tommy and Tubbo are looking for someone they could feasibly pass off as one of the Lost Princes of the Antarctic Empire, because the reward is a shit load of money and Tommy wants a piece of it. But they’re not having any luck, right up until they pass by a busker on the street corner and something in Tommy’s head just clicks, just says, yes, that one, he’s the one.

And, well. Tommy is a Big Man whose instincts are never wrong, so he nudges Tubbo and points. Tubbo’s nose scrunches up, but Tommy doesn’t give him time to object before he’s marching over, already preparing his dialogue. And as he gets closer, he’s more and more certain that he’s right about this; the guy has the right hair color, the right face structure, and he’s a performer to boot, and taken all together, it smells like a successful scam just waiting to be implemented.

The guy doesn’t look up when he comes over, so instead of talking to him, Tommy pulls out the rumpled picture that they’ve been using all day, one of the photos of Prince Wilbur that’s been circulating around the Empire for years now, in hopes that someone will see him and bring him home. Fat chance of that ever happening, of course, and King Philza must be a sucker for thinking it, but it makes his and Tubbo’s jobs easier, so he’s hardly going to complain about it. He holds the picture up, comparing the face of the prince to that of the street performer, and actually, the resemblance is kind of uncanny.

“Tubbo, my friend,” he says, “I think we’ve got him.”

Tubbo makes a noncommittal noise, but that finally gets the performer to look up from his guitar.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks, and Tommy grins.

“Actually, we’re about to help you,” he says, and he sounds very grand and impressive, if he does say so himself. Which makes it all the more annoying when the guy looks him up and down like he’s worth the dirt on his shoes.

“Really,” he says, and his voice is dripping with so much sarcasm, Tommy’s surprised that it doesn’t manifest physically somehow.

“Yes, really,” he says. He refuses to be put off. This is the guy, he just knows it, the guy who’s going to make them so fucking rich that they’ll be able to swim in gold, or whatever it is rich people do with their money. “You’re one of the Lost Princes of the Antarctic Empire.”

The guy blinks. “Pretty sure I’m not,” he says.

“Pretty sure you are,” he returns. “See, look, we’ve got a photo of you and everything.” He shows the guy the photo, and the guy narrows his eyes. “Or at least, we’ve got a photo of Prince Wilbur, but it could be you, too. That’s a kid in this picture. No telling what he looks like now. Could look like you.”

“We’re inviting you in on our scam,” Tubbo puts in. “If you couldn’t tell. You interested?”

“Wait,” the guy says. “Wait. You’re telling me that you want to pretend that I’m a fucking prince so that you can get the reward money off the king? Something I’m sure no one has ever tried to do before. You don’t know me at all, and you don’t know if I can act worth a damn, you just think I look like the prince did when he was fourteen. But just to be clear, that’s what you’re proposing?”

He looks at Tubbo. Tubbo looks at him.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Tubbo says. “If it makes you feel better about it, we’re really, really good con artists.”

“You’re infants, is what you are,” the guy says. “How old are you, five?”

“We’re sixteen, fuck off,” Tommy snaps. “Look, do you want in or not? Pretty sure living in a cushy palace has got to be better than whatever you’ve got going on here.”

“Hm, let’s see, do I want to upend my entire life to try to trick a grieving father into thinking that I’m one of his long lost sons? Which, incidentally, is a plan that will probably not work and get us all thrown in prison for fraud,” the guy says.

“We’re going to try very hard not to get thrown into prison for fraud,” Tubbo is quick to say, but the guy doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Sure, let’s go,” the guy says. “Not like I’ve got much else to do. You two have names?”

“This is Tubbo,” Tommy says. “I’m Tommy.”

The guy raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, like Prince Tommy,” he says. “It’s a common name, so shut up about it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” the guy says. “I mean, my name’s Will, so.”

He can’t stop himself from laughing, because that’s just too good. “Are you serious?” he demands, smiling widely. “You’re joking, your name is actually Will?”

Will shrugs. “It’s what I’ve always gone by, ever since I was a teenager. I can’t really remember any of my childhood, so who knows, maybe I actually am a prince.” He smiles in a way that makes it clear how much of a joke he thinks that is, and he stands and reaches for his guitar case. There’s not much money in it, despite the fact that from what Tommy heard of his playing, he’s pretty damn good.

Tubbo snorts.

And Tommy claps their newfound friend on the back.

“Will,” he says, “I think this is the beginning of an excellent partnership.” He grins broadly, the type of grin that always has Tubbo rolling his eyes and asking where the fire is, which is unfair, frankly. It’s not always a fire. Just sometimes, because arson can be fun, actually, and some people deserve to have their stuff burned down.

Will, to his delight and Tubbo’s obvious consternation, grins the same kind of grin right back at him.

-----

It starts like this: it is indeed the beginning of an excellent partnership.

Will fits in with them like he was born to the role, and Tommy will never admit how fast he’s gotten attached to the guy, but he is kind of very attached. Because Will is smart and funny, with a sense of wit that can have both him and Tubbo in stitches, and it’s also nice to have an adult around, a bit. Not that he and Tubbo need one; they’ve gotten along just fine without for years. But people don’t shoot them as many suspicious looks when they’re with Will, and it turns out that he’s a brilliant actor, too, charismatic and smooth and confident, and he has people eating right out of his hand while Tommy and Tubbo sneak around and pick their pockets. It’s a wonderful arrangement, and within a week or two, Tommy can barely remember what life was like without him there.

The main issue is travel.

It’s a long way from where they started to the Capitol, and they can’t always afford to travel in the protected caravans, the ones with hired guards against the mobs that swarm over the land at night. And they can’t always afford an inn to stay in, either, and that means spending several harrowing lengths of time cowering in a makeshift shelter, listening to zombies and skeletons and spiders just outside and praying that none of them find their hiding spot, because they’re all scrappy in a fight but they don’t have any real weapons on them. They hadn’t planned for this, really; he and Tubbo have never left the big cities before, and apparently, Will hasn’t either.

“We need a bodyguard,” he declares one day.

“Where are we supposed to get one of those?” Tubbo asks.

“I don’t know,” he says. “But we need one. I’m sick of mobs.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Will says. He’s setting up a busking spot, trying to get them a little more cash. Somehow, it never seems to be enough. “But I agree with Tubbo. Even if we can find someone to go with us, there’s payment to think about.”

“We don’t need payment,” he protests. “We’ve got a prince! A long lost prince! We’re about to be the richest men in the world! That’s payment, innit?”

Will rolls his eyes. Tubbo does too. They’ve been doing that lately, ganging up on him, which is terrible and unfair.

“Somehow, I don’t think that a good bodyguard will accept that kind of payment,” Tubbo says. “It’d basically be an IOU, right? That’s a terrible business practice.”

He scowls. Tubbo is right, of course, but he’s got his heart set on a bodyguard now. Someone who’s good at fighting—good at fighting mobs, specifically, because Tommy is a very good fighter, thank you very much, it’s just that the people he’s used to fighting are other street kids. For, like, food. Not monsters. Not things that can kill you in one blow, if you’re unlucky.

And then, like fate and providence are shining down on him, his eyes alight on a poster across the street. The poster advertises arena fighting. In this city. Fights daily.

He grabs Tubbo’s arm.

“That,” he says, pointing, “is where we find a bodyguard.”

Tubbo follows his gaze. “Maybe,” he says doubtfully, “but we’ll still need to pay them. How are we supposed to convince someone to come along? I bet they get paid more for fighting than we could ever offer them.”

“Tubbo,” he says, “we’re the greatest con artists in the world. We can think of something.”

Tubbo stares at him. And then grins.

Behind them, Will starts to play.

-----

It starts like this: Will manages to busk enough money to get them three tickets into the arena.

It hurts just a bit, spending their legitimately-earned cash on something like this. But five minutes after stepping through the gates, into the crush of people and the roar of the crowds, the scent of sweat and blood mingling with concessions and stale perfume, Tommy thinks that this might be one of the best things he’s ever gotten to do in his life.

Their seats aren’t great, but they can see alright. The day’s matches start with small fry, and those fights are so boring that he almost starts yawning, because these people are just bashing each other with swords. There’s no finesse to it, no real skill, and he really hopes that there are fighters here better than this, because if there aren’t, this has been a wasted trip. But slowly and surely, the fights get better, more engaging, more of a real show, and his interest returns.

And then, when they’ve been there for hours and the sun is starting to creep toward the horizon, they bring out the big guns.

The announcer calls out someone with the moniker of ‘The Blade,’ and the crowd goes wild. They, evidently, know who this is, and that fact alone is enough to put Tommy on the edge of his seat, because surely, this is who they want? The headliner, the number one, the main attraction? If the spectators like them this much, they must be good.

They step out into the arena, dust clouds puffing where their feet fall, and the crowd gets impossibly louder. It’s hard to make out details from this distance, but Tommy can see pink hair, tied back into a braid, and some kind of mask covering the upper part of their face. It looks a bit like a skull, like this person is actually wearing an actual skull on their face, and that is either extremely overkill or extremely badass, and Tommy can’t quite decide which.

And then, there’s the massive netherite sword they’re holding. Their namesake, Tommy assumes. It’s probably the biggest sword he’s ever seen, and this person is holding it like it weighs nothing at all.

Their opponent comes out, and even though they’re also armed to the teeth, they don’t look nearly as natural as the Blade does. They hold their axe out in front of them as if to ward off blows rather than make them, and they’ve got their shield lifted too high. The Blade, meanwhile, spins their sword—and how strong must they be, to wield such a huge weapon so naturally?—in casual circles, appearing for all the world like this is no more strenuous than a walk in the park.

The announcer shouts. The fight commences.

The Blade fights like it’s as natural as breathing, and Tommy can’t look away. Their style is a mixture of sheer brutality and uncanny grace, and it’s difficult to watch, sometimes, difficult to keep track of exactly what they’re doing; one moment, it will look as if their opponent is holding their own, and then the next, they will have that sword at that opponent’s throat. Or through it, sometimes. The Blade doesn’t seem to have any compunctions about killing.

Tommy loses track of how many matches they fight. Six, maybe, or seven. But they win all of them handily, and by the time the events are all over and people begin to file out of the arena, he’s practically shaking with excitement.

Tubbo beats him to the punch.

“So, it’s them, right?” he says. “We’re gonna try to get them?”

Tommy nods rapidly, unable to contain himself.

“We have to,” he says. “That was fucking—I don’t know what the hell that was, but it was fantastic!”

He glances over at Will, only to find that he’s still staring out into the arena, eyes slightly glazed. Tommy furrows his brow, waiting for him to say something, but when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to, he speaks up.

“Will? You agree?” he asks, and Will blinks, shudders a bit.

“Right,” he says, “yeah, no, sorry, I’m good. Yeah, if we’re actually going to do this, we should aim for the best.”

He still seems a bit out of it, a bit dazed, but he turns his head to meet Tommy’s eyes and smiles, and Tommy tucks his concerns away with the mental equivalent of a shrug. If Will says he’s good, that’s good enough for him.

“Alright,” he says, standing, cracking his knuckles dramatically. Tubbo rolls his eyes at the display, but he ignores him. “Let’s go get ourselves a Blade.”

-----

It starts like this: the key to sneaking in someplace is to look as though you belong there. That’s easier said than done, of course, especially for two ragged teens and a slightly less ragged young adult. But Tommy’s had a long time to figure things like this out, and so has Tubbo, and Will hasn’t done this very often but he always takes to acting out new roles as if he was born to them, so Tommy’s not particularly worried. They find a door marked for employees and slip in, and from there it’s just a matter of finding their way.

He’s got a story prepared in case they get stopped, something about being sent with a message, but no one gives them a second glance. He keeps his head held high, his stride purposeful but not too confident, and simple as that, he appears to be just like everyone else, age and clothing notwithstanding.

“Do they have rooms down here, do you think?” Tubbo mutters. “The fighters?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “Even if they don’t, I bet the Blade is still here. The fight didn’t end that long ago.”

There are a lot of rooms under the arena, a lot of hallways, a lot of space, and it’s a bit mazelike, really. Dark, too; they’ve got redstone-powered lighting, but it’s fritzy, the bulbs flickering and dim. The walls and floors are hard, dank stone, the kind that echoes loudly with every noise, and Tommy can’t help but wince when the sound of their passage bounces off of every surface.

“There’s lots of swords in there,” Tubbo says, peering into one of the rooms they pass. “Isn’t that the Blade’s?”

Tommy stops walking, stepping up next to Tubbo. The room is full of weapons and armor of all kinds, but sure enough, there’s a large sword sitting alone on a table, still flecked with dried blood. It’s even larger up close; Tommy’s not sure he could lift it without using two hands, much less fight with it, though it pains him to admit as much. The Blade is just that strong, apparently, though why he’d leave his prized weapon sitting here in a room of other weapons, out in the open where anyone could mess with it, Tommy has no idea. Unless the sword isn’t actually his, but that doesn’t make much sense, does it?

“Tommy, Tubbo,” Will hisses, the sound sharp in the otherwise empty corridor, and Tommy looks over. Will is standing in front of an iron door a little ways down, a door with a barred window in it. He’s got his eyes fixed on whatever’s on the other side, his expression somewhere between shock and anger, and Tommy exchanges glances with Tubbo.

“What?” he asks, coming over.

“Have a look,” Will whispers, moving aside so that he and Tubbo can see.

He immediately understands what has Will upset.

“Oh gods,” Tubbo says. “They’re prisoners.”

There are cages in this room. Dozens of them, built with black iron, though only a few are occupied. Tommy recognizes most of the people in them, all people who fought in the arena earlier, the best fighters, the ones that gave a good showing, that were actually interesting to watch. They’re all in cages, most of them sitting or lying down, none of them moving all that much. It’s a stark contrast to before, when they were all movement, all aggression. Now, they seem—listless is the best word to describe it. Purposeless. Like all the fight’s been sucked right out of them.

A few of them are in chains, even inside their cages. The Blade is one of those, manacles wrapped around their wrists and ankles, and a collar around their neck. It’s sick, is what it is, like they’re some sort of animal.

“Shit,” Tubbo says. “I thought the hardest part was gonna be trying to convince them to come. Now we’ve got to do a prison break?”

“This isn’t right,” Will mutters. “This isn’t—they’re being forced to fight?”

“Only one way to find out,” Tommy says, and reaches out to push the door open. For a second, it doesn’t budge, and he wonders if it’s locked, because wouldn’t that just be perfect? But then, there is give, and it swings inward with a squeal of rusted hinges. Beside him, Tubbo steps back to look up and down the hallway, but no one appears to shout at them or kill them for trespassing, so Tommy squares his shoulders and strides into the room, trying to keep looking like he belongs.

It doesn’t matter much. Just like the employees they passed, none of the fighters—the prisoners—seem interested at all. So Tommy walks through the room unimpeded until he’s right next to the Blade’s cage. The Blade is sitting on the ground, leaning against the bars, head bowed. They don’t look up.

So Tommy clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says, and congratulates himself on an excellent beginning.

Slowly, the Blade’s head rises, and Tommy can see two things: one, that what he thought might have been a skull mask back in the arena is definitely an entire real skull, holy shit, and two, that the Blade is a young man, far younger than he would have thought him to be. Maybe even younger than Will, who estimates his own age to be around the ballpark of twenty-four or twenty-five.

“Hallo,” the Blade says after a moment. Tommy almost laughs out loud, because the word is said so awkwardly, and more than a bit bewildered, as if the Blade can’t fathom why someone would be talking to him. Which is a bit sad, actually, so Tommy’s going to choose to believe that he’s confused by the presence of a teenager and not by the fact that anyone is there at all. Because the second would just be downright depressing.

“You’re the Blade, right?” Tommy checks.

“That’s what they call me,” the Blade agrees. “And you are?”

“We want to hire you,” Tubbo jumps in. “Or at least, we did. We weren’t really expecting you to be locked up or anything. We might need a new plan. But we wanted you to come with us and be our bodyguard.”

It’s difficult to tell exactly what the Blade’s expression is doing, considering that most of the top half of his face is hidden by the animal skull—is it a pig? Tommy’s pretty sure that it’s a pig, or a boar, or maybe even a hoglin, considering its size—but his eyes are visible, and he glances between both of them slowly, skeptically. Tommy bristles.

“And just what do a couple of ragamuffins need a bodyguard for?” the Blade drawls. “You skip school too many times?” He pauses. “Who do children fight these days? Other children? I can fight you some orphans if you want, I guess. I’m pretty good at that.”

Tommy blinks, his mouth working silently for a second. He wants to be indignant at being addressed like a kid, like he’s not even worthy of consideration, but that is superseded by his sheer bewilderment at the way the Blade talks, like he’d just casually enjoy the chance to rough up some orphans. He looks at Tubbo, and sees the exact same question reflected in his best friend’s face: Just what kind of guy have we started talking to?

This isn’t like Will, where he could tell immediately that he would be right for the job and for their team overall. The smart thing to do would probably be to give up and look elsewhere for someone to hire. And yet, Tommy finds himself intrigued. This is a very strange man, obviously, and he’s never been able to resist poking at strange things.

“No, no orphans,” he says, muttering a quick, “What the fuck?” under his breath for good measure. “We just need protection on the road. From mobs and such. We will literally break you out of here if you come with us.”

The Blade tilts his head.

“You could try,” he says. “I can’t say I’m enthusiastic about the idea.”

“You can’t possibly want to stay in here,” Tubbo says incredulously. The Blade shrugs.

“No,” he agrees, “but there’s not much of anythin’ for me out there, either. Everything about this place sucks, but at least I get to fight people. I like doin’ that. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I got out.”

And that—forget earlier, that is so, so incredibly sad. In both the pathetic way and in the actual terrible way.

“There’ll be plenty of mobs to fight on the road,” he says, grasping at straws now. He’s got a few ideas for how they could successfully orchestrate a prison break, but in order for that to happen, the Blade needs to be willing to go. “Loads of ‘em. And besides, we’re bringing Prince Wilbur back to the king, and there’ll be a great big reward for it. You’ll be rich enough to do whatever you want after that.”

“Like fight orphans,” Tubbo adds helpfully.

“Yeah, like fighting orphans. So c’mon, what do you say?”

The Blade has gone very, very still.

“You’re doing what?” he says, his tone completely flat. A shiver runs down Tommy’s spine, because that is not a good tone. That is a tone that promises violence, that promises bloodshed, that promises death, and he’s not sure how he knows that, but he’s sure of it, sure as he knows his own name, that he has somehow just said something to make this man very, very dangerous.

“Uh, we’ve found Prince Wilbur?” he says. “And we’re bringing him back to the Capitol so we can get the reward money? And that’s why we need—”

“Prince Wilbur is dead. All of the princes of the Antarctic Empire are dead.”

The way he says it shocks Tommy into silence, and he doesn’t know why. It’s hardly an outrageous thing to say; it’s the general consensus of the common folk, after all, that King Philza is clinging to false hope, that he is a decent man but also one to be pitied, for refusing to accept the loss of his sons. Hell, Tommy himself has never believed in the myths, in the stories that go something like, so-and-so saw one of the princes by the train tracks or so-and-so saw them on a cart crossing the border or shit like that. The princes were kids when the invasion happened and the Empire itself was almost lost; there’s probably no way that they survived being taken by the enemy, the invaders that crept out of the End.

But the way the Blade says it—

He’s so certain. Like there is absolutely no doubt in his mind. The princes are dead, and there’s not even room for argument, not room for so much as a rumor to the contrary. Tommy agrees with him, but even he can’t claim that level of surety.

“Uh,” Tubbo says. “I mean, obviously it’s a scam. We’re scamming the king. We don’t actually have the prince. But we’d still like a bodyguard.”

“No,” the Blade says, in that same voice, low and monotone and terrifying. “You should leave. I’ll have no part in this.”

“Oh come on,” Tommy says, regaining his voice. He doesn’t know what to do with the Blade’s convictions, but he knows how to talk his way out of a denial. “Look, why don’t you—where’s Will? Will?”

Will’s not standing at the cage with them. Somehow, he’s only just noticing this. He turns, and Will is lurking back by the door to the room, keeping to the shadows, shifting uneasily. Which, fine, he can do what he wants, except for right now, because the more adamantly the Blade turns them down, the more Tommy wants him to come along.

“Will,” he calls, and his voice reverberates through the room. A couple of the other prisoners lift their heads. “Come talk to this guy! Tell him he should come with us!”

Will approaches slowly, strangely hesitantly, stepping up on the other side of Tubbo.

“We are in the market for a bodyguard,” he says quietly. “We thought you fit the bill.” He pauses. “We can’t guarantee that any of this will work, of course, but I’m an excellent actor, and these two are literal children, but they’re not bad.”

“Aw, thanks,” Tubbo says.

“Watch who you’re calling a fucking child,” Tommy says.

“What?” the Blade says. “You’re—Wilbur?”

“Will,” Will corrects, “but yes, we’re passing me off as Prince Wilbur.”

“Passing you off,” the Blade repeats. Slowly, he rises to his feet for the first time, and wow, he’s tall.

“Kind of the definition of a scam,” Tommy says.

“A scam,” the Blade repeats again. “This is a scam.”

“We just told you this,” he says. “Are you a bit slow or what?”

“No, just tryin’ to understand,” the Blade says. “You’re tellin’ me right now that this is definitely a scam. And you are not actually Prince Wilbur of the Antarctic Empire.”

“That is what we’re telling you, yes,” Will says, and Tommy is glad that he does, because he’s pretty sure he’s lost the thread of the conversation. The Blade is a strange, strange man, and frankly, he’s not making any sense at all anymore.

“Okay,” the Blade says. “I’m in. Bust me out.”

Tommy blinks. And then blinks again.

“What, really?”

“Yeah, you’ve convinced me,” the Blade says.

“Literally how,” Tubbo states, but Tommy punches him on the arm to get him to shut up, because they don’t need him to think about it, don’t need him second-guessing his decision.

“Alright!” he whoops. “One jail break, coming right up!”

“Right,” the Blade says. “Who are you again?”

He’s already leaving the room. But he hears Tubbo say, “I’m Tubbo, and that’s Tommy,” and he hears the Blade’s strangled, “Heh?” in return, and that’s a bit weird, but he doesn’t pay it much mind. They’ve inducted a strange man into their little band, but that doesn’t matter much, as long as he’s as good with his sword against mobs as he is against people.

-----

It starts like this: a massive netherite sword, left unattended, works amazingly for cutting through iron.

A massive, enchanted netherite sword also works amazingly for setting things on fire.

It’s a mess after that, a blur and a rush of adrenaline, but they cut up all of the other cages and chains to give the other prisoners a chance to get out, and then they’re running, and the place is on fire behind them because for a labyrinth under an arena, there’s a surprising amount of wood around here. And there are people shouting at them, and a few people that try to attack, but the Blade mows them down and laughs, and there’s blood and lots of it, too, but in the moment it doesn’t seem to matter so much.

He’s got Tubbo by his side. Will at his back. The Blade close at hand. And in a way he can’t quite describe, it feels very right.

-----

It starts like this: Tommy doesn’t know where he comes from.

He sort of vaguely remembers things, sometimes. He thinks he had a family, once. If he strains himself, he can recall fuzzy impressions: someone holding him, safe and warm. Someone’s laugh. Someone singing. An overwhelming sense of being secure, of being protected, of being loved.

But if he strains himself, sometimes he remembers other things, too. Darkness, terror, screams. Fear and disorientation, and a voice, clear as day: “Take your brothers and go!”

He’s turned that piece of dialogue over and over in his mind so many times. It’s all he has, the only hint he has to go on. It’s a male voice, clearly an adult. He likes to think that it’s his father. Though maybe he shouldn’t hope for that; he doesn’t remember what happened, but he’s sure it was dangerous, and if that person was his father, he might be dead. Probably is, in fact. There’s a reason why he ended up in an orphanage, after all.

Those are his first clear memories, at that orphanage. They estimated him at about five or six, and he’s pretty sure they were right, so he really should have at least a few memories from before. But he doesn’t, and the woman who looked after him the most told him that he probably went through what she called a trau-ma-tic event. Because trau-ma-tic events, she said, sounding out the syllables just like that to make sure he understood, could sometimes make you forget things. And sometimes the memories come back, but sometimes they don’t.

She was always kind to him. They all were, at that orphanage. And then that orphanage got shut down and he got shipped off and never saw any of them again, because kindness is no way to run a business. Kindness doesn’t get you many places.

It was orphanage after orphanage after that. They always looked for excuses to get rid of him. He was a problem child, the particular kind that always gets pegged before their mouths even open. He’s never understood it. Something about the look in his eyes, maybe. Not that it matters; he got put in the same orphanage as Tubbo at twelve, and they ran away together and didn’t look back.

No point in crying over dropped diamonds. No point in longing for something he can’t have. Can’t remember.

But sometimes, he lets himself wonder what his life would be like, if he’d gotten to keep that first family he’s certain that he had. He wonders what they were like. His maybe-father. The brothers that he thinks might have been his. He wonders, and he wonders if it’s possible to miss people that he never really knew.

But none of that matters in the long run, not really. Because he’s got his Tubbo, who’s better than any brother he could possibly ask for. And now he’s got Will, who’s funny and charming and just as irritating as he always suspected an older brother would be, and he’s got the Blade, who’s strange and sarcastic and so skilled that it’s scary, honestly, and they’re on their way to scam a king, and there’s nowhere to go but up from here.

He looks around him, at his friends and he thinks, Yeah. Yeah, this is good.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #wilbur soot #technoblade #dsmp fic #/rp #chapter warnings for implied dehumanization and implied slavery in a gladiator-like context #cat writes fic #long post #anastasia au #the wind that remakes #it's time!!!! it's here!!!! anastasia au!!!!#i hope you all like it #i'm excited to finally start sharing it with you

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delimeful · 4 years

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Wibar Extra: Patton’s Charms

A short WIBAR piece that takes place mostly before the first installment, commissioned by @kieraelieson ! Enjoy!

warnings: emotional distress, mentions of smugglers/trafficking, PTSD -

The first time Patton gave away his feathers, it was an impulse.

He’d been running errands for Logan at market; even with the extra limbs, that goof tried to take on more than he could handle. Patton figured that the least could do was lend a pair of hands, even if that meant ducking and weaving through the occasionally precarious crowd.

Still, his task wasn’t urgent enough that when a loud wail split the air, he couldn’t turn right around to investigate. He sidled along past a few clumps of bargaining patrons and came to a gap in the market’s flow, where people were putting space between them and the source of the racket: a Pataruan child in tears.

By the spiraling horns and left-folded robes, a little girl. By the hearts-wrenching cries and skin color shifting to the blue-grey of sea stones, a very upset little girl.

Patton offered the harried father a sympathetic trill as he approached, and was happy to see the man seemed relieved, rather than opposed to a stranger’s aid. Most species didn’t see him as a threat, since Ampens were small and as a whole rather friendly, but it was always better to get permission before interacting with others’ fledgelings.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted in Common, lowering his antenna to a friendly-safe angle. She probably wasn’t old enough to be familiar with Ampen body language, but it was the thought that counted.

Her sobbing slowed slightly as she looked down at him with slitted pupils, cheeks pinching inwards and skin turning to lemon-yellow confusion. “Huh?”

He let his eyes crinkle into an encouraging smile. “I’m Patton! What’s your name?”

After a few sniffles and a glance at her dad, who was rushing through a transaction with a textile merchant, she blinked slowly and answered in a small voice. “I… I’m Neri.”

Patton noted absently that she had the same type of translucent third eyelid as Logan, and nodded politely to her. “May the stars greet you, Neri! Now, I came over because you sounded a little upset. Is something wrong?”

Neri’s skin immediately darkened back to that dark ocean grey, and she reached up to grip her horns, probably a self-soothing gesture. “No, I don’t want to! I don’t want to see the seamster! She’s got sharp itty-bitty things and she yells at me when I move. I like my normal clothes! I don’t need new ones!”

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay, kiddo. Can you breathe with me?” Sensing an imminent breakdown, Patton held his hands out to her in an offer of comfort. Neri clutched at his hands with her own smooth, scaly ones, taking deep, shuddering breaths in time with Patton.

“You’re doing great! That sounds like a rough time, but you must be a very brave one, to have been to a fitting before.” Patton beckoned her closer, into a crouch. “Do you want to hear a secret?”

Neri shuffled close, pupils growing large and round with intrigue. “Mhmm.”

“I have a secret power, that keeps your darkest days all lit up. If you see it, you’re guaranteed to have a good day no matter what tries to get you down. I think having a little extra glow will help you keep on that tough face while you’re at the seamster, yeah?”

She seemed a bit doubtful, but leaned in anyhow, undeniably curious. “Yeah… I wanna see.”

Patton fluffed up the feathers along his arms slowly, and Neri gasped as they flushed a bright, luminescent blue. Patton’s cheeks started to hurt as his eyes squinched up happily at the astonished look on her face. “Pretty neat, huh?”

She ghosted her hand over the glowing feathers, careful even before Patton warned her that they were sensitive, her face slowly turning sun-warm orange. “You change colors like me?”

“Only a little,” Patton admitted, “but this color is for making people happy! Do you think it will help you be brave?”

Neri hesitated before blinking slowly, eyebrows furrowing in determination. “I’ll try really hard not to forget.”

Patton cast a glance at her father, still haggling, and made a quick decision. He ran his hands through the ruff of feathers around the back of his neck, until he found one that had come loose after his nap earlier. He offered it to her with a flourish Roman would have been proud of. “How about you keep a little feather? Whenever you start feeling upset, you can hold it in your hand and remember.”

It was as though he’d offered her the whole planet. She took the feather gingerly, and cradled it in her hands, flushed verdant green with happiness. “Thank you!”

By the time Patton got back to his crew, he had completely forgotten that he’d been in the middle of running an errand at all.

That was alright; Logan was only fondly exasperated when he explained.

The second time Patton gave away his feathers, it was to help a friend.

The lighting circuit had gone out on almost the entire ship, and while the flight and grav controls weren’t affected, it was still startling to suddenly be plunged into the darkness.

With how they’d all been doing different things at the time, it had taken them a little bit of stumbling around to find each other. Patton hadn’t been particularly concerned until they finally reached Roman.

Roman, who looked up at Patton’s glow with a desperate sort of hope. Roman, who’s tail had remained curled against his leg for what seemed like the rest of the cycle after the lights came back on. Roman, who had the worst darkvision of them all.

He hadn’t offered an explanation, and Patton hadn’t pushed. They knew more about Roman’s past than most, but there was still a lot that remained unshared. There were probably some things he’d never share with anyone else, and that was okay.

What wasn’t okay was the idea of ignoring the matter and leaving Roman to deal with it all on his own.

Patton sequestered himself in his room for a few cycles, reassuring Roman and Logan whenever they stopped by that he was okay, just working on something. It was a process, since he didn’t normally craft other than drawing. Things like this were more Roman’s area of expertise, but Patton was ready to do whatever it took to create it himself.

Several snapped feathers and a lot of trial and error later, he finally had a trinket he found acceptable. Another few tics, and he had two, ready to present to his friends.

“Just a little something for you guys to have that will remind you of me!” he claimed as he held out the somewhat clumsily-made necklaces, the feather charms glowing brightly. Roman’s grateful ear twitch told him that the Crav’on hadn’t missed Patton’s real motivation.

Even the slightly sore spots where he’d accidentally plucked out feathers that weren’t completely shed felt worth it when he saw the way Roman’s free hand fluttered happily as he strung the cord around his neck, the way Logan brushed his hand over the fluffy charm whenever he was attempting a particularly fiddly experiment, as though for good luck. The gifts were a complete success.

Patton spent the rest of the week feeling lighter than air, barely able to hold in an excited trill whenever he saw the feathers glowing on his friends.

The third time Patton gave away his feathers, it was for profit.

The first compliments and queries about the charms came at one of their usual markets, from strangers and regulars alike. The necklaces Patton had made were hard to miss, especially with how luminescent they were.

He’d been surprised at the outpouring of interest, but it was nearing molting season and he had plenty of discarded feathers to share. It was a little bit tiring to have the bioluminescence activated all the time, but nothing a little snack couldn’t fix.

The most motivating reason, however, was how excited his crewmates became at the idea. Roman would invite Patton to come sit with him in his quarters, showing him intricate knotwork that would hold the feathers more solidly, and Logan offered a preserve that would keep the feather’s glow maximized for longer.

Even after contributing to the new and improved version, his two closest friends stalwartly refused to replace Patton’s original gifts, which made his hearts flutter fondly. He was happy to be helping create revenue for their ship, too. Generally, they were able to get by with their exploratory services and material trading, but putting away a little extra credit took a weight off all of their shoulders.

He loved to run the booth at market, seeing the way people drew to the glow curiously and getting to greet them with his typical enthusiasm. Children were always the most excited, and he made sure to secretly undercharge any charms bought for them. He even got to implement a “tell a joke, get a discount” rule for a day, before Logan put his foot down after one too many puns.

Through the market cycles, a few visitors stood out. There was a Bal’t’n who had shyly inquired if it was alright to consume the light of the feather(Patton didn’t see why not!), or a fellow Ampen who had spent half her time at the booth asking after Patton’s moms (Luckily, he was always happy to gush about them), or Neri’s father, who had expressed profuse thanks to the Ampen and then requested materials to help his daughter make her feather into a proper necklace(Patton refused any sort of payment for helping out a dad).

There were also the less friendly visitors, like the Venefican stranger who had eyed his wares with a cold hunger, and then demanded he prove that he was the one the feathers originated from. He’d never felt so uncomfortable showing off his glow before. They didn’t even end up buying anything.

He saw that stranger only once after that, across the market square, speaking to a cloaked figure in a hushed voice. He only noticed them at all because of the feeling of another’s gaze on him, and he shivered and looked away when the hood of the cloak turned his direction.

It was a bit unsettling, but there didn’t seem to be any real harm done, and so he put it out of mind soon enough.

The fourth time Patton gave away his feathers, it wasn’t his choice.

(Lightspans away, his two best friends held the pendants they had encouraged Patton to make and sell, the ones that had drawn smuggler attention to their small friend.

They had never regretted anything more.)

The fifth time Patton gave his feathers away, it was for himself.

The need proved itself early on in their post-escape travels. His huge new friend moved so much quieter than Roman, and Patton’s darkvision wasn’t anywhere near as good as a Human’s.

Since they were trying to remain under the radar, they traveled by night fairly often, and recently they had gotten perilously close to losing each other in the fog of a particularly confusing patch of galthe vines. Patton could light up, sure, but Virgil would have to be the one to find and reach him. What if they got separated and Virgil was stuck or needed help? Giving his Human a feather charm was a good, sensible idea.

However, knowing it was a good idea and actually following through with it were two very different things. His feathers had grown back, thanks to Virgil, but the sensation of a slow death by starvation was still ever-present in his nightmares. Even though it wasn’t healthy, he hadn't preened any of his loose or ragged feathers, any attempts to remove them bringing back memories he'd much rather repress. He didn't know what he was going to do when he molted. The very thought of it sent a chill down his spine. He never wanted to feel that helpless and weak again.

It was like a mental barrier, a bubble of terror welling up in his throat whenever he thought of broaching the topic. It was silly. He knew that Virgil would understand if he ended up being unable to bring himself to actually implement the idea, but the very idea of speaking it aloud suddenly seemed so… frightening. It frustrated him! There was no reason to be so nervous about helping a friend!

It was while he was sitting at their latest camp, having one of these internal arguments with himself that Virgil approached, whistling a low greeting in Patton’s native tongue. Patton chirped back and released some of the tension in his body by shaking out his feathers, careful not to move too quickly. For a Human, Virgil was easily startled.

“Hey, Pat.” Virgil crouched down, settling into a sitting position with languid grace. “You alright?”

“Of course!” he replied, scooting over to press up against the Human’s side. “Are you?”

Virgil nodded once, and then hesitated for a heartbeat. “So, y’know how we almost got lost for a while on the planet with all the mist and little crab guys?”

Patton stilled, having spent more than enough time remembering the incident. “Y�� yeah, on Hythag, right? With the vines? Lots of plants?” Please don’t ask me to give them up again. I’m scared.

“Um, yeah,” Virgil replied, gaze looking him over sharply. He’d picked up on Patton’s unease, but was too unsure of himself to press. “I… well, I was thinking about how stressful it was, and, uh…”

Patton’s antennae flattened against his skull, and he braced himself for the request.

“I made these.”

What?

He blinked, and saw that Virgil was holding two small lengths of thread— no, woven bracelets. Patton reached out and carefully picked up the smaller loop of twine, staring at the way the material was purposefully knotted in a pattern.

“Is this for me?” he asked, looking up at Virgil with unbridled curiosity. “How’d you make them?”

Virgil was staring off at a nearby flowering plant, avoiding eye contact the way he did when he was nervous. “Yeah, that one’s yours. They, uh, match. Back home, we call them friendship bracelets. A little childish, I know, but I don’t know any other patterns I can weave by hand...”

It didn’t escape Patton’s notice that he had dodged the other question, and he squinted at the threads again with a growing sense of familiarity. He peered over at Virgil’s pants, one leg of which seemed particularly more frayed than the other. His feathers puffed up a bit, unable to contain all that he was feeling as he looked at the bracelet made from the only clothes the Human had.

Oh, Virgil…

“... and right now, they won’t really solve our problem, but I figured we could find a source of pigment that glows and apply it? I would have done that part myself too, then it would have been a better surprise, but I wasn’t sure what pigments would be safe for your skin, so— oof!” Virgil’s rambling broke off as Patton launched himself directly at his chest, on the brink of crying as the Human carefully returned the hug. He always felt safest here.

“I take it this means you like it?” Virgil asked, his voice low and amused. Patton nodded into his hoodie, a few affectionate chitters escaping him.

“I love it. I’m wearing it forever.” He paused, swallowing thickly, and then set his chin stubbornly. “But, for the glow, I have something that might help…”

He might not be ready to deal with a molt, maybe not even when he was safe on the Mindscape again, but he could at least put some loose feathers to good use. He could start small, and work his way up to being okay again.

Until then, he knew that Virgil would be by his side with everything he had.

And that would be enough.

#sanders sides #ts patton #ts virgil #space au #WIBAR #watch it burn and rust #wibar extra #writing #my writing #ts roman #ts logan

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secretficblog · 3 years

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In another life - Chapter 3 - Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: Long before there were new Jedi, before the fight between the Resistance and the First Order came to an end, there was just a young man, skilled in flying anything he could get his hands on, with the urge to be something greater. Then there was you. You broke him

Rating: M for smut in later chapters

Now on ao3, come say hi if you want to!

Warnings: both of them are idiots, I feel like I only write idiots with zero communication skills, you’ll see; now with more angst; you dumped him;

no use of y/n

Word count: 2220

first chapter here ; second here ; fourth at the bottom

Kijimi, a few years ago

“Dameron, what in the everloving fuck did you do?”, you yelled over the sound of blasterfire.

“He altered the deal, so I altered it even further!”, Poe called back to you.

“Well he wasn’t happy with that, I’m guessing”, you retorted. Quickly you raised your blaster over the large barrels you were taking cover behind and shot at the attackers blindly. They were approaching rapidly and from what you could tell, there was quite a few of them. The frigid air smelled like spilled spice and the coldness was slowly seeping into your clothes, the floor underneath you was making you shiver. Your hands were shaking, unsteadily holding your blaster and you weren’t sure if it was from the impending feeling of doom or the low temperature on the planet you had made your temporary home on.

“If we die here Poe, I’ll haunt your ass!”, you shouted, turning to where he was sitting mere moments ago. The spot next to you was vacant.

“What the fuck, Dameron?” Kriffing cunt. He left you alone in this. Of course you knew he hadn’t run off, he would never turn his back on you but he had some sort of suicidal plan he was currently implementing without consulting you first. By now you knew that that was typical for him but the way your heart sped up, fearing for his wellbeing, was always the same, even with the knowledge that he had returned to you safely every time so far.

You grabbed the blaster tightly, pulling out a small mirror, which you usually used to fix your hair in the middle of a long day, from your pocket and let it peak out slightly next to the barrels. You could see at least three of them slowly closing in on you. You picked the one to the far right off first, aiming your blaster and shooting him in the chest. He thudded onto the floor, alarming the other two. The next time you held out the mirror you saw the flash of a familiar looking jacket on the rooftop behind the attackers. How had he been able to sneak up on them like this?

Poe snuck closer, leaping soundlessly from roof to roof and dropped down on the man on the far left, taking him down with the full force of his body and choking him out. You left your cover, ready to take the last man down, who was aiming his blaster at Poe. Your companion was still busy with the other attacker and didn’t notice the dangerous situation he had gotten himself into. “Dameron, move”, you screamed, hands shaking from the cold as you willed you blaster to shoot the last attacker. You missed just as he hit his mark. Poe had whipped around slightly but not far enough for the shot to miss him entirely. You couldn’t see how bad it was from you position but he went down with the intensity of the pain.

Letting out a feral growl you aimed at the last man, adrenaline steadying your hands as you hit the mark not once but four times in your uproaring anger.

“Maker, baby, cool it, I think you got him”, you heard Poe wheeze behind you. His voice sounded thin and strained but at least he was talking to you.

“Kriff, I thought you died on me for a second, Dameron”, you whispered. He was still sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. Your eyes slid down to his waist, where the weapon had penetrated his flesh. He looked up at you, eyes wide. “Sweetheart, I think I still might”, his voice was wavering, he was scared.

“No, no, you’re alright, I just need to get you home, I have a cauterizer, we can fix this”, you rambled. Of course he knew you had a cauterizer, you lived together. You just needed to keep talking to help yourself focus and most importantly, to keep him alert. Red was blooming through his big coat now and you could barely hold it together. Hands still shaking you lifted the scarf you were wearing off of you and tied it around his mid tightly. Getting him home was a hassle, you were more dragging than carrying him as he faded in and out of consciousness.

Normally, you loved wandering around the streets of Kijimi with him at night. You thought about the times you two had sneaked through the allies, a bottle of Corellian Firewhiskey in one hand, stealing quick kisses here and there on your way home. He needed to hold on so you could spend more nights like this, bathing in the moonlight and unbothered by the cold, unsure if the warmth you felt came from the drink in your hand or the way he looked at you.

Finally, you made it and carefully guided him towards your shared bed. His skin was cold as ice, his lips blue and he had stopped shivering a while ago. You covered all the areas you didn’t need to access to cauterize his wound with thick blankets made from bantha wool. After cauterizing the wound, you sat next to him until he started shivering again. Planting a soft kiss on his forehead you allowed yourself to relax slightly and take your eyes off of him while he slept. You nuzzled his head, whispering soft nothings into his hair and letting your tears fall freely. The ice-cold grip of fear closed around your heart as the realization set in that you had almost lost him today.

Hours Later

Groaning, he pushed himself up on the headboard hours later, eyes trained on your exhausted and tear-stained face. “Do you think this is all I’m good for? Running spice until I get killed?”, he asked.

“Of course not Poe, that’s ridiculous.” You were unsure of what he was getting at but you didn’t like the undertone in his voice one bit.

“I want my life to mean something, no stick around here in fear of the First Order.”

“Poe, I-”

“I know this isn’t the life you want to lead, sweetheart. If I’m sure about one thing it’s that I want you by my side, wherever that may lead us.”, he interrupted.

“Poe you can’t make a decision like this based on your love for me! I’ve seen you fly, I’ve seen you fight, they’d be lucky to have you.”

“Come with me then!”

“I couldn’t, the things I’ve done in life Poe, I’m not one of the good ones, I’m not talented like you, I’d be a burden more than an asset to the Resistance.”

“Think about it baby, we could help end this war”, the idea of fighting for a cause, dying for it, made your spine chill. You were not brave like him, you were not nearly as selfless as he was. Quite the opposite actually, you wanted to hide out on some backwater planet, take Poe with you and wait the result of this war out. It wasn’t like the sides of this war didn’t matter to you, you were painfully aware that the First Order and the Resistance weren’t two sides of the same power hungry coin.

You had seen and felt the destruction the First Order inflicted on the people of the galaxy first-hand. You were clinging desperately to the idea that you could make a living as a spice runner, with Poe always by your side, more bothered by the deals you were closing than by the constant fighting around you.

Your father had once told you that this was how movements like the First Order came into power in the first place, because people refused to accept the state of the world and rise up but instead tried to protect their own little flawless corner of the galaxy with all their might until it was too late. “I’m no hero, Poe. I don’t want this.”, the words slipped out unintentionally but that didn’t change the truth behind them.

“People are dying everywhere around us.”, he shot back, “We could be next if we don’t do anything about this.”

“I’m sorry, if you chose this you’re going down a path I can’t follow.” The look of hurt in Poe’s eyes following your declaration made you physically recoil. You never wanted to hurt him, could he not understand that you wanted him to be okay, wanted the both of you to be free and together, regardless of anything else? You gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand why you reacted the way you did. Instead he averted his eyes, searching around the room for something to focus on. The silence that settled between the two of you was an uneasy one and it kept stretching on.

You were about to open your mouth when you heard him quietly whisper “You are my everything, I’d never give that up. I’d never choose anything over you.” Tears were stinging in your eyes but you did your best to hold them back.

“Let’s go to sleep, Poe”, you replied quietly. You settled down carefully next to him, leaning over while making sure not to come near his wound. Your hand reached up to stroke over his face, fingertips softly grazing over his stubble. You leaned in, softly touching his lips with your own.

“We can talk about this tomorrow”, you said. Poe drifted off into a deep sleep soon after, the exhaustion and the blood loss pulling him under. You however stayed up, thinking about what he had said.

Poe had potential, he was brave, albeit to reckless for his own good. He would make a great member of the Resistance. You could see him making a difference in this war. When you pictured him, shining hero of the Resistance, you couldn’t see yourself with him anymore. Poe was good and selfless, for all his snarky and flirty comments he was soft at heart, caring and passionate.

You were not.

You just wanted to curl up next to him and stay in your shared bed forever. Poe was destined to be something greater and your fears were holding him back. He had said he would never choose anything over you. He didn’t have to, you would make that choice for him. In the time you had gotten to share with him, your lives had intertwined and you barely remembered what it felt like to be without him. This realization shocked you. You needed to let him go, let him realize his dreams and you had to allow yourself to go and find yourself again. Not once did you doubt that he was the person for you but you feared the timing the two of you had was off. Maybe there was a chance for you, another day, to rekindle what you had.

Quietly, you slipped out from under the arm he had thrown over you and collected a few items you wanted to take with you. After carelessly stuffing a few items of clothing into your bag, you let your fingers slide over the pictures of the two of you that were displayed in the room. You decided to slip one of them into your bag as a reminder of the things in the galaxy that were worth fighting for. The tears streaming down your face where only made obvious to you when they dripped onto the bag in front of you. You wiped your face with the shirt you were wearing, the fabric scratchy on your soft skin. You wanted to take one of his shirts with you but you knew that the minute you unpacked it you would be on your way back to him. You couldn’t be selfish right now, you needed to be selfless like Poe so that he could have a chance in this galaxy and not waste his life running spice with you. It was for the best.

You planned on leaving a note, not wanting him to think someone took you against your will. Hands shaking, you skribbled “I’ll find you in another life, Dameron, be a hero” onto a piece of paper and turned back to his sleeping form. What a dumb thing to say, but you were at a loss for words. Yet, you wanted to believe in those ridiculous words you wrote down, sounding like a girlish fantasy.

It was better this way, for him. You would manage somehow.

He was in a deep but restless sleep. Careful not to wake him you placed a hand on his forehead and he stilled immediately. Fresh tears prickled in your eyes. You bent down one last time to kiss his lips gently, bidding him a slient farewell. You shouldered your bag and looked back over to his sleeping form one last time, the urge to lie back down was overwhelming. “This is for his best.”, you reminded yourself and closed the door quietly. As you heaved your bag onto one of the two speeders parked outside, you allowed the tears to flow freely, weeping for the life you could have had if it was not for the situation around you.

He was the right person for you, you were sure of that. It was just the wrong time, the turmoil in the galaxy left no room for happy endings.

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Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Comments and Reblogs make my days as I’m fighting my way through my third involuntary online semester so I’d really appreciate that. Stay safe in these wild times loves xx

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Next chapter here

#poe dameron #poe dameron / reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe x reader #poe x you #poe dameron x you #poe dameron / you #in another life #ial #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequel trilogy #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #no use of y/n

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woman-of-culture · 4 years

Text

The traitor (1/2)

Dabi x reader

Part 2

Warnings: Dabis identity, 3rd year age up, this does not accurately follow the plot when it comes to timing and character introduction, (most likely) a lot of grammatical errors

This is gonna be a 2 part story with the smut in the 2nd part! (Not to mention it’s gonna be much longer)

The semester is finally over! No more assignments and no more work so I present to you my first ever fanfiction. Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Words: 3,056

The League of villains might not have the best plans. Sometimes, they're poorly thought out, other times... Again, not all that effective.

From their poor managing skills to the attack on USJ where they consequentially lost the perfect nomu, their planning could use ‘some’ work. The leader, Shigaraki, being quite immature for his position, executed his plans prematurely and without much thought - oftentimes underestimating his opponents (even if they were just high school first years). Saying he has a ways to go from being the perfect leader would be an understatement.

But no matter how much you complain, you can’t ignore the fact that he’s also a valiant leader who fights for what he thinks is right, even if he does need some help along the way. That’s where you come in, being Shigarakis right hand (wo)man, alongside Kurogiri, wasn’t an easy job. Having to deal with his temper tantrums, being forced to execute a plan you didn’t 100% agree with and having your advice ignored completely most of the time wasn’t exactly what you thought joining The League of Villains would be like, but eh, nothing ever goes the way you want it to.

Which is exactly what led to this situation.

"So let me get this straight..." You say, whilst letting out an exasperated sigh "You want to kidnap and persuade, of all people, Bakugou Katsuki to turn on his dream of becoming a hero just because you've seen him compete in the sports festival?"

Not really getting your point, Shigaraki just nods with an assertive "Yes"

"No" You turn your back on him, disappointed he would even suggest this thought.

Narrowing his eyes, as if to challenge any further refusal on your part, he demands to know why you so vehemently refuse the suggestion of your next big mission.

Not at all wavering with your determination, you look him in the eyes, practically begging for him to understand how fruitless this endeavor would be.

"He might act...villainous when facing certain confrontation but he is solely focused on becoming the number one pro hero one day, it would take a hell of a lot more than just kidnapping and talking for him to turn his back on that dream. He’s determined, passionate and has a real fighting spirit. I believe if you really want him to join you need to break his spirit in some way, target him when he’s at his lowest"

Contemplating your words for merely a second he decided against listening to reason on the ground ‘It’s the perfect next move for the League to cause distrust among society, even if he refuses there will be chaos from the fact that we managed to capture a UA student whilst on a training camp.’”

Seeing no point in arguing further, you declare that you will have no part in this plan since:

1) You truly believe this will end up a failure

2) You are a student participating in the training camp and your involvement would be too risky

"Goddamn it, I knew I shouldn't have told you where the training camp will be held..." You mutter under your breath, as you look to Kurogiri, who has been silent during that whole argument, to open a portal to your apartment.

Exhausted and in need of some food, you trudge your way up to the small apartment you've called home ever since AFO took you in 4 years ago.

It was a small one bedroom apartment fit for one person, certainly better than the streets you've come to know so well during your years of desperation and homelessness.

A sigh of relief escaping once you managed to close your door and take off your shoes.

"Good evening doll."

"Good evening burnt rat, who I specifically warned not to come here anymore."

He winced, as if the comment actually hurt his feelings. "Ouch, why the sour attitude sweetheart?" Walking up to the couch, glaring at your ‘guest’ who had decided to make himself at home despite your warnings of dumping his body in the nearest ditch.

“You tell me Dabi, why in the world would you continue coming here after all my threats and the fact UA is 5 minutes from here?” “Isn’t it obvious? Despite your constant nagging, you never kick me out, you have a pretty fucking nice TV and not to mention you’re a decent cook.”

Ah, Dabi...one of the newest members of the League who joined not even 2 weeks ago. He’s a peculiar guy who comes to raid your fridge and annoy the shit out of you every other day, refusing to leave until the next morning to go God knows where. When it comes to the topic of kicking him out...you never seem to find the will to do so, whether it be the crippling loneliness forcing you to get some form of social interaction or the fact you find his company kinda enjoyable. Of course, you wouldn’t admit either to anyone even if it costs you your life.

You look at his form lounging on the couch in his pants and pale gray, scoop-neck shirt. “So, I’m guessing you ate my dinner again...?” You picked up his dark blue jacket that was lazily tossed onto the back of the sofa and made your way to the front door in order to hang it, just then noticing the dark dress shoes placed haphazardly next to the shoe rack.

With a sly wink sent your way he confirms he ate the tempura you prepared that afternoon. “But you know what? Could you be a sweetheart and make some more food? It was just so delicious but unfortunately not all that filling.” He asked, hoping flattery will get him some more food.

Looking into the fridge you could physically feel a headache coming when you confirm no tempura in sight. You would feel more frustrated if a brilliant idea didn’t come up that second. “Listen Dabi, let’s make a deal.” You turn the corner, ready to give him an ultimatum. “Oh? Where is this going? In exchange for some of your cooking I’d eat something else out first?” He tries to guess, suggestively lifting one eyebrow whilst crossing his arms at the back of his head.

Stopping in your tracks, you look at him speechless, the blood rushing to your cheeks undeniably creating a faint pink blush.”W-what!? No, you asshole! T-tomorrow are final exams so I wanted to suggest you spar with me and after I’d cook anything you want.” In what little time you knew Dabi, that was the first suggestive comment he has made towards you, breaking your thoughts for a hot second - enough to make you stutter during your protest.

Looking proud with the pink he managed to conjure on your cheeks, he closed his eyes with a smirk on his mismatched, pale-burnt lips. “Don’t know ‘bout that doll, sounds like too much work and I’ve had a long day.” He groans to emphasize his point.

“Ok then, starve”

...

“Well, actually-...”

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

The next day, during the practical exam, you ended up with Jirou against Present Mic (I’m sorry Koji but plot) which you managed to win with ease considering Dabi helped you strategize. Not to mention he gave you tips on how to improve your quirk which you implemented in the battle only to end up victorious. You’d probably need to thank him later.

Whilst reminiscing on the event, Aizawa enters into the classroom informing that no one will be left out of the training camp, but the ones who failed will receive harsher training. He gave out lodge guides and all the information needed (which you of course knew thanks to sneaking into the teachers lounge after hours) Everyone also decided to go on a shopping trip to buy the necessary things for the trip, with the exceptions of you, Bakugou and Todoroki.

Worrying about the events that will transpire did you no good so you contently walked home thinking of going to the store for some ingredients in case a certain uninvited guest decided to show up again.

Thinking about what will inevitably happen reminded you of the fact you haven’t visited the bar since your little disagreement with Shigaraki. ‘I guess I can’t blame him, even if Bakugou doesn’t join it will still provoke some fear and distrust among the general public, I guess I should apologize to him...’

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

“TOMURA!” The bar rattles with the impact of the door against the wall, barely keeping itself on it’s hinges after the kind of force you used. The people inside the bar looking at you with mixed emotions, some shocked, some indifferent and some enjoying the drama. Spinner, Toga, Dabi, Magne and Kurogiri silently looking at you for answers to their unanswered questions while Shigaraki looks at you completely shocked for he has not yet seen such an outburst from you.

“Wasn’t this supposed to be your plan? How careless can you be? In order for a stunt like this to succeed you’d need to be extra careful and methodical. Yet, what do you do? You confront Midoriya at the mall as if it wouldn’t have consequences”

“Oh, that’s all?” He returns to his planning as if you didn’t almost break down the door.

“What do you mean ‘that’s all’? Do you understand how irresponsible that was, you could have gotten caught! The whole mall was swarming with police officers literally 5 minutes after your little ‘chat’.”

“They wouldn’t have caught me even if they showed up that instant, if you used your brain you would remember that Kurogiri could just teleport me out.” Scratching his neck, clearly done with this conversation, he turned to walk away to get some quiet to finalize the plan in peace.

“You don’t get it do you? Aizawa announced the camp will not be held in the forest lodge it’s usually held every year because of this ‘incident’.” You explain taking a step to his form that stopped walking the moment those words left your lips. He turned, the scratching getting more violent by the second. “Well, where is it then?”

You don’t want to admit it but the way he looked at you, as if it was your fault the camp relocated, sent a chill down your spine. “I don’t know, the new location won’t be revealed until we get there.”

“Then you’ll send your location the moment you get there, is that so hard?” You felt your anger and frustration bubble the moment he dismissed the problem as if it were nothing, however you continued your calm-ish facade. “Tomura, I’m begging you to understand! With this there are a lot more unknown variables. You won’t have time to prepare, to get to know the layout, the schedule, anything! You’ll be going in there blind, this is definitely not a safe plan for the members. What if some of them get caught? What if-...”

You weren’t even able to finish the rest of your concern before he yelled out for you to shut up, that it was none of your concern since you weren’t apart of this mission. “We will simply have Dabi burn down half of the woods so they won’t know what’s going on, the rest only concerns the participants of this plan which, again, you are NOT, now LEAVE!”

You looked Tomura in the eyes, tears welling up in yours due to the sheer frustration of the situation. Did your opinion really mean so little to the man? You wanted nothing more than the success of the League, to fulfill your debt to AFO for saving you so many years ago. Sometimes staying up past 3 AM helping with whatever you could just because you felt as if the League really needed you. Were you really so useless to the man before you, who you would consider a dear friend, family? He ignored your advice, existence even, except when he needed insider information. You were quiet most of the time, rarely giving resistance to the point your bottled up feeling reached their limits. You lifted your head, a single tear making its way down your face as you uttered your next words.

“I will send you the location, I will figure out the schedule, I will inform you on everyone's position during the attack but just know this Tomura, your carelessness will shoot you down from that pedestal you made for yourself. You’re childish, immature, naive and juvenile. If you continue thinking you can do all of this alone it’s gonna cost you your life, the members lives, masters life-...”

That was the trigger...the last straw that finally diminished his last nerve. Lunging at you with all five fingers ready to disintegrate your arm as a form of cruel punishment. It was like slow motion, not really thinking of this outcome proved to be your downfall as you could only watch his hand getting closer.

20 centimeters...

10 centimeters...

5....

Oh fuck...

As if God heard your prayers, an arm found it’s way around your waist, pulling you to a lean, muscular chest while the other grabbed Shigarakis, pulling it away from your form and pressing his hand, that was moments away from your trembling arm, onto the counter, decaying a part of the wood until there was nothing but dust left.

The shock of the situation being felt all around the room. You didn’t fully process the severity of the event until Dabi let out a low growl, ready to use his quirk if need be. Looking up his face, situated not even 5 cm away from your own, you saw the burning fire behind his glare directed at Shigaraki, a threat, daring him to move a single finger in your direction.

In any other situation you’d pull his arm off, threatening to cut it off. However, this wasn’t any other situation. His warmth providing a sense of security you’ve never felt before, making you wish it could stay there just a minute longer. His natural musk invading your senses, calming your pounding heart to the point you almost forgot the predicament you got yourself into.

All too soon, he let go of you only to pull you behind his back with his arm stretched to the side, blocking the view of your leader with his back. Relieved, angry, confused, terrified... You couldn’t exactly categorize your feelings, the information not fully processed in your mind. You grabbed onto the back of his jacket as a means to get closer to him, scrunching it between your fingers to keep him where he is.

Whilst this was going on, Shigaraki looked at his hand, eyes wide open. For a few seconds he couldn’t fathom what he just tried to do. He looked at your form, cowering behind Dabi who only glared daggers at him silently questioning his actions.

“Out.” was the only word able to come out of his throat, not knowing how to deal with the consequences of the previous moment.

Not needing to be told twice, you ran out of the bar as fast as your legs could take you. Stumbling on your own feet, chest heaving and vision blurry you didn’t notice the set of footsteps following behind you until a hand reached out stopping you in your tracks. You panicked, kicking at your assailant in an attempt to get free.

“Calm down, would ya? It’s only me...” Turning around, to face what you had correctly presumed to be Dabi, you lunged out of his grasp narrowly missing the wall behind you.

“Why did you do that?” “What do you mean why?” He looked at you, not understanding the point of the question. “I mean... Why did you jump in to defend me? This was between me and him. Don’t get me wrong I more than appreciate your help but why... You ran the risk of a fight, not to mention injury, just because i provoked him.” You said, your gaze following the trail of his body further down till you reached his black shoes.

He scoffed, as if you just uttered the stupidest sentence he has ever heard. “Provoked? What you did in there proved you have some serious balls. You pointed out the flaws in the plan and confronted hand-job about them. You prioritized every ones safety over some mission and even put yourself at risk by ultimately agreeing to the plan and sending vital information that will be used.” He took a step forward, lifting your head between his index and thumb caressing your cheek along the way to hopefully calm you some more if his words didn’t help.

“That being said, you should still have some faith in us, well, in me specifically.” He smirked noticing the corner of your lips twitch up at his comment. “I’ll burn down every obstacle, every hero that comes in my way so you won’t have to worry so much.” Finally, pressing his forehead to your own he managed to fully calm your nerves, unintentionally, you also synced up your breathing to match his.

You looked at his beautiful teal colored eyes unable to focus on any of your surroundings ‘Were his eyes always so mesmerizing?’ You felt your eyelids droop almost closing them by the time he took your hand in his and started to lead you down the road. “H-huh? Wait, where are we going?” “We’re going to your apartment to eat something and sleep, perhaps watch a movie to forget today.”

You look at the man in front of you, his coat waving with the wind to make the moment just that much more special. Has he always been like this? He actually made the effort to defend you, to run after you when you thought nobody cared. He assured you that what you did was the right thing and plans to make you forget what happened today. Did you finally have someone that cared for you?

“Yeah, sounds good”

(A/N This was my first ever attempt at writing so I hope I didn’t flunk it TOO bad. And I’m not all that satisfied with this but eh... I feel bad for having to cut it short, but I actually got requests to do more stories and I’m bad at multitasking so I’m terribly sorry for the precious users that sent me requests and the readers that want a part 2, maybe)

#dabi x reader #dabi #bnha #bnha dabi #mha #dabi x you #dabi x y/n

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birdwonder · 4 years

Note

just thought of the idea of Rohan using his stand on reader and seeing on their page they have a big crush on josuke so Rohan either teases them or helps them get together. i think the idea is cute

|| i am SO sorry this took a while longer than i usually take to write. my holiday has left me without a computer so writing long stories takes forever on a phone but i hope these 3,000 words make up for it :,) its 3am so i doubt i editted properly so ill go through it again tomorrow

Josuke Higashikata | Rohan’s Help / Confession

You and Rohan have been friends for a short time. Less than a year to be honest, and yet you two felt like you were as thick as thieves — an unstoppable duo when it came to your friendship. Both of you complimented each other so well, you being able to improve Rohan’s social skills and how he treated others, and Rohan had been making progress with you to be more confident. A kind yet self-loathing highschool student who is best friends with a prideful and stuck up manga artist, who would have thought?

In the small amount of time you two have known each other, you both have been able to pick on small quirks you had and tell-tale signs of your moods. For example, you were currently leaning on the side of Rohan’s desk as he scribbled away on a piece of paper, desperately trying to figure out a new and inventive pose for his next manga page. Your blank, dull eyes staring into the distance and lack of encouraging comments was all Rohan needed to know that something was up with you. Of course, he wasn’t the best at comfort, not when it’s so early into his progress of becoming a better person, so jumping straight to sympathy and questions was not his go-to plan.

“So, what do you think so far?” Rohan questioned with hope, holding up his sketch book with one hand and gesturing towards it with another, hoping that your thoughts on his work would be at least distracting enough from whatever was plaguing your mind. Unfortunately, you only glanced towards the sheet of stunning, detailed figures and hummed halfheartedly before returning to look at absolutely nothing with your chin pressed into the centre of your palm.

Groaning, the artist tore out the page dramatically to then scrunch it up into a tight paper ball, throwing it into the trash-can beside him in a small fit of annoyance. “Right then,” he burst out abruptly, two hands slamming on his desk and his chair scraping backwards as he got up to emphasis his change in mood, “you’re going to tell me what’s wrong right now because right now I can NOT figure out how to draw this next panel, and I can’t do it when you’re sitting here like a... a...”

“Like a what?” You piped up, one brow quirked up which gave you an atypically fed up expression, one so cold it almost sent shivers down Rohan’s spine.

“Like a killjoy!” He finally said, huffing and puffing his cheeks out. “You’re just sitting there, staring like a corpse and I’m actually trying to talk to you!”

Then, you faltered. Your tightly pressed lips tilted downwards and your brows lowered, returning your expression to it’s well known gentle and kind look, something Rohan had greatly missed the last hour or so. “Oh, I’m sorry Rohan, it’s just, oh never mind.” You mumble your last words, a strange pink tint along your cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by the man who valued every single detail he saw.

Rohan then grabbed your shoulders firmly, forcing you to turn and look at him, his eyes narrowed with an intense stare boring into your own pupils. “[F/N], I refuse to take that as an answer, so let’s try again shall we? What. Is. The matter?”

You gulped a little, sucking in your breath while debating whether or not to tell your trusted companion about the problem that ridiculed you or not. You opted no. With a shake of your head, you gave an apologetic look and your frown only went deeper, “sorry Rohan, it’s really stupid and I just don’t want to say it. I mean, it can’t be solved anyways, so I’m sure I’ll get over it soon!” You placed a hand on his shoulder and forced yourself to smile a little, your heart swelling with some joy over the fact Rohan had clearly grown as a person - showing that he cared for the problems that bedevilled you was one large step from where he was when you first met. “Thank you though, really.”

Your gratitude and certainty may have been enough to rest anyone else’s soul, but not Rohan’s. He simply would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Sighing, he released his grip on you, giving you the message that he wasn’t going to pry anymore until he spoke, “I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice.”

Before you could question his words a familiar cry of “Heaven’s Door,” was yelled and you felt your body slowly feel lighter, almost weightless as you watched the skin on your face and arms unfold to reveal small prints of words, words you knew revealed everything there was to know about [F/N] [L/N].

Resistance was futile as you struggled to shift away from Rohan’s approaching form, the back of the chair and the wall behind you trapping you inbetween, prayers being your only tactic of getting out of the hectic situation. “Now let’s see,” Rohan hummed, taking a gentle hold of the pages attached to your face between his thumb and index finger, his eyes scanning each word carefully as though missing a single one would be detrimental.

“Rohan, please don’t,” you begged, fear arising in you from the idea that he would find out the cause of your sullen mood. Fear that was quickly picked up on.

“[F/N] [L/N], sixteen years old... Birthday is... Ah, here we are, something more modern. Cereal for breakfast, and currently stressing over the idea that Josuke Higashikata won’t like her...” Rohan’s out loud reading soon quietened and the look he gave you could only be summarised to ‘really?’

Once he pulled away from you, Heaven’s Door effects subsided and your skin was no longer detached from you. You sighed with relief that you were no longer in such a vulnerable state, calm until you began to lightly pound your fists against Rohan’s chest, unable to actually hurt him since you didn’t have to heart to. “Rohan, that was private information, how could you?!”

Rohan clicked his tongue, using only a finger to press against your forehead to push you away. The perks of you being so docile was getting you to stop any hint of aggression was easier than reciting the alphabet.

“I did it for you so I could help you with your problem!” He argued in attempt to defend himself and cringed slightly, speaking with venom in his voice. “How was I supposed to know that you were so worked up over that idiot and not something sensible?”

“He is not an idiot!” You retorted since you hated whenever either Rohan or Josuke insulted each other. Those two really had the potential to be friends with each other, they just never let it work. Regardless, your main concern was the fact your true feelings were revealed and in the worst possible way. You hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about how you feel, not when you were for sure that it wouldn’t matter in the end.

Josuke ... he was amazing. Friendly, strong, funny and whenever he looked with you with those kind eyes and a smile on his plush lips, your heart stopped only to restart beating 1000 beats per minute. You were certain that he was the most perfect person you had ever met, and every memory with him was greatly treasured.

Though you were almost certain he didn’t feel the same. You felt so small compared to him, figuratively that is, and everything he was good at, you seemed to fail at. Confidence, strength, styling the perfect pompadour; you couldn’t even compare to him, even if these all seemed like the most insignificant aspects ever. So, why would he want to be with someone who couldn’t reach his standards ? He wouldn’t.

Your internal self deprecation was silently evident to Rohan as you began to nibble on the bottom of your lip, dejectedly looking down like a lost puppy. No way was he going to let you keep that up, not when he had announced you as a friend to himself and actually cared about how you felt.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rohan groaned at what he was about to do although he knew it was going to be worth it if it meant you weren’t ruining your hang out times anymore. “Alright, we’re going to make you confess to Josuke.” He declared, catching you off guard, and you weren’t able to even question him as a single finger was suddenly pressed upon your lips, sealing your mouth shut with one simple movement.

“Listen and remember this well, [F/N], you are perfect the way you are and as much as I would hate to see Josuke gain anything he doesn’t deserve,” he paused to retract his hand from your face and instead ruffled your hair, treating you like a younger sibling for a second, “I know being with him would make you happy, so I’m going to help you confess your entirely questionable and possibly delusional love for that delinquent.”

You blinked up at Rohan a few times, mouth agape. There was no way that this was happening, just who was this guy and where was the real manga artist you knew?

“Rohan, I appreciate you wanting to help me, I really do, but there’s no need! It’s a lost cause, let’s just get back to what we were doing before - poses right?” Your attempt to change the subject was quickly brushed off like dust on Rohan’s shoulder when he pinched your nose, an audible ‘ow’ squeaking from you.

Your resistance to the situation was irking Rohan to no end, his drive only stepping on the gas each time you tried to refuse his assistance. There was no way he was going to let you suffer in silence. Besides, if he helped two young, dumb and lovesick teens get together then maybe he could have some insight on how to work around the more romantic scenes of his manga, if he was to ever implement them.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. This is going to happen and you’re going to thank me for it,” the green hair male stated, eyes heavily trained onto you. You gulped.

You really didn’t know where this was going to go.

——

A band of raging drums had surely replaced your heart.

The hammering sound of sticks against percussion instruments was practically akin to the violent, frantic rhythm that pounded against your chest with the diagnosis resulting to be nervousness.

You sucked in your breath and released the built up carbon dioxide by muttering words of encouragement that Rohan had taught you to rehearse to yourself in case of situations like this. Ironically, he was the one who had put you in this nervous wreck state. His vow to have you confess to Josuke had stuck through pretty solidly leaving you in a cute outfit you definitely could not have afford on your lonesome, [Thank you Rohan.] and standing in front of your crush’s door.

Gulping, you began to hype yourself up.

‘I can do this! I can totally do this. No problems here, none at all!’ The repeated phrases were practically a religious mantra at this point; if you were to even dare forget a single one you’re certain life would be a living Hell. Well your stresses shouldn’t matter anymore, you were here now. Just knock. Knock and say what’s on your mind!

The unremitting worries failed to cease however , eating at your brain like parasites that were only starting to leave once you gathered enough courage and balled your hand into a fist, rapped against the wooden door.

It took less than a minute for the door to be unlocked and opened, revealing the tall, well built figure of the one and only - Josuke. For some reason you felt as though none of this actually happening right there and then, like it was some dream or even a nightmare you were going to wake up from any second. You quickly rubbed your eyes to see if that was true. When you opened them, he was still there, his usual stylised school uniform replaced with a regular white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. It wasn’t an unwelcome look but certainly threw you off for a second seeing as it was rare to see him wear anything other than his uniform.

“[F/N], hey!” He greeted,his eyes seeming to light up at the sight of you while a hand gripped the door frame, “didn’t think it’d be you at the door. What’s up?”

The moment he smiled at you, you knew that you had to this. How he instantly had made you feel relaxed would have seemed impossible to you five minutes ago, now you felt as though things would go perfectly. If not for the persistent nagging voice in the back of your head.

“Hi Josuke! I was hoping that I could maybe uhm, talk to you! About something that is. Something really important.” Your wavering voice had caused some concern to flash in Josuke’s eyes; the way he looked down at you with such a caring expression made you want to hide your face into a pillow and squeal.

He responded easily with, “oh sure, is everything alright?” Really, you weren’t even sure if things were alright or if they were going to be at all.

You doubts rose up again and a jumbled ball of words was suddenly caught in your throat, countless words and ways to say your thoughts conjuring up but not a single thing is said. If only you had more confidence — Rohan had spent so long trying to get you to perfect your confession and despite all that effort, you were still struggling.

Glancing down, you noticed that your fingers were a plain sign of your awkwardness. They constantly switched from fiddling with the fabric of your outfit to thumbs twiddling with each other, neither things helping you in the end.

“[F/N]...? You don’t look like your usual self, where’s that cute smile of your’s, huh?”

Oh god, did he just call your smile ‘cute’? Did that just make talking even harder or ten times easier? This boy was going to be the death of you!

Teeth lightly nibbled on your low lip as you argued in your head what to do. You really don’t know if you could ever have the courage to even approach him like this, let alone think about asking him out. Besides, all of Rohan’s efforts would go to waste.

“Josuke!” The sudden change of your volume had clearly surprised the teenager, his brows raising. “I— I have something serious to tell you and I’m sorry for making it so weird so far, it’s just really hard to get through what I want to say.”

Facing him was just too much. You couldn’t handle the idea of looking up to see an uncomfortable, angered, disgusted or any expression that would send you hurdling down a pit of regret. Instead, you stared down at the ground although you paid no real attention to it, your hand clutching at the clothing over your heart, almost as though you were trying to steady the rapid beating drums within your ribcage.

Taking in a deep breath, you continue, “I’m not the best at being outgoing or confident, and as my friend I know you know that, and you’re the exact opposite! You’re bold and kind to everyone and everything about you is incredible. Saying this I think I fully realised why I lo—.”

Again, the words are caught in your throat and you’re visibly struggling, almost choking on what you want to say. None of it goes unnoticed by Josuke, who had been initially taken back by the praise and tone you were using. His smile quickly returned when things became obvious to him, much softer and sweeter than before, his plush lips turning upward all thanks to your adorable stuttering.

He reached out with a large and surprisingly softer than you would have guessed hand, his palm resting against your cheek as he guided you to look up at him with both your eyes staring into each other’s.

“Do you want to come inside?”

The question was short and simple though it still took some time to process. You made a small, questioning ‘eh’ sound to which Josuke laughed at.

“You don’t have to stress so much, whatever you’re going to say I’m sure I’m going to like hearing,” he told you, stepping to the side so that you now had room to enter his house, a hand gesturing for you to come inside. “Maybe things would be easier if we had something to drink? My mum’s not home so we can watch a movie too!”

You had no idea how things got to this but you didn’t want to ask. If what Josuke said was true and that he was really going to like whatever you said then, why rush? It was probably better to wait for when the atmosphere was much more relaxed anyways. Things just seemed more right that way. The relationship between you and Josuke were always so casual so it was best to confess just like that. He was a serious God send to be so nice and understanding.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ before walking through the door with small pep in your step and butterflies swarming in a welcomed fashion in your stomach. Josuke followed you, closing the door behind him as the two of you started to strike up a conversation about your week and what movie the two of you wanted to watch, every worry and care flying free and becoming lost in the sky.

From across the street stood a smiling manga artist, ready to walk home with nothing but pride in his heart for his shy and growing friend. All he really had left to worry about was whether or not Josuke would treat you right.

#josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #jjba x reader #platonic #rohan x reader #but its platonic #request

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aforrestofstuff · 4 years

Text

“Is this the ask box? Dude I have no idea where to submit crap but here it goes: The S Class have a group chat, what’s it called and do they chat shit about Amai Mask in it? Does anyone send memes? What do they talk about? I feel as if you’re the best person to ask crap like this too”

You sent me a submission. But that’s ok, tumblr is hard. It took me like 4 months to figure out how to turn anon on so you’re already a step ahead of me lol.

How the S-Class heroes text and what they would do in a group chat:

So, the name of the group chat would probably just be “S-Class”. Nobody really wastes their time trying to change it because Child Emperor would just change it back.

Yes, they make snide remarks about Amai all the time. Metal Bat especially.

I’m gonna give a rundown on what each S-Class hero does in the group chat and then give you their texting style when talking to other people (with a screenshot):

Tornado of Terror:

Group chat: Only talks shit in the group chat. Pulls no punches. She’s salty 24/7 and only agreed to be a member of the chat just so she can berate the other S-Class heroes in the event that they fuck up even a little bit.

Texting style: Her texting style is a lot. Just... a lot of words in caps. If you don’t respond to her within five minutes, she’ll spam the living hell out of your phone. She’s so angry. Someone help her.

Silverfang:

Group chat: Nonexistent. He reads all of the messages but never participates in conversation. He rarely ever uses his phone anyway. The Messages app is the only app on his home screen.

Texting style: A... lot... of.... dots..... Texts like an old man on Facebook. He doesn’t know how to implement contact names so he just memorizes everyone’s number.

Atomic Samurai:

Group chat: Also nonexistent. He has that shithead boomer attitude that all new technology is evil and useless, so he doesn’t even bother reading the messages in the chat either.

Texting style: he rarely uses his phone. He just has one because Iaian’s cell carrier gave him a freebie. Atomic Samurai texts surprisingly well, he’s just super salty about it. His only contacts are his three disciples, and he would’ve had to resort to remembering their numbers like Silverfang had they not put their names in themselves.

Child Emperor:

Group chat: serves as moderator. He basically does anything the Hero Association execs doesn’t wanna do, so he’s in charge of keeping the group chat friendly (which is almost impossible).

Texting style: perfect grammar. Very professional. All of his contacts are labeled specifically and he uses a different phone each week because he’s paranoid of any information leaks.

Metal Knight:

Group chat: He would be a moderator like Child Emperor but then the Hero Association grew a brain cell and said fuck that. Because of this, he’s requested to be left out of it. He wouldn’t give enough of a fuck to read the messages nor engage in any discussion anyway.

Texting style: Very demanding. Short texts. Uses a different phone each week like Child Emperor because lord knows he’s got a lot of shit to hide.

King:

Group chat: he’s not even in the group chat and he thinks it’s because nobody’s noticed, but the truth is that everyone knows it and they’re either too intimidated or don’t give enough of a shit to ask. He gets nervous every time someone mentions it in a meeting because he would rather swallow a microwave than have to talk to his coworkers any more than he already has.

Texting style: pretty normal. Lenient on grammar, uses acronyms, texts at normal intervals. His phone is full of pics of anime catpeople and he gets Discord notifications a metric-fuckton times a day from the many, many gaming servers he’s part of (nobody knows it’s him though).

Zombieman:

Group chat: lurks. He reads only the important messages and responds with one-worded texts. Usually just things to let everyone know he understands what’s going on like “got it” or, “affirmative”.

Texting style: he knows how to use his phone, but in a middle-aged suburban dad sort of way. He only ever uses it to read the news, take pictures of crime scenes or important documents, use the notepad, and text a select few people. He gets new phones often—not quite as often as Child Emperor or Metal Knight—because he’s also paranoid about it falling into the wrong hands. In addition to that, technology hates him. Siri never listens because his voice is fucky as all hell.

Drive Knight:

Group chat: He doesn’t even have a cellphone, nor is he in the group chat. He’s basically a walking computer so he’s got 0 use for a phone. And he’s not in the group chat because he specifically requested that he not be put in it on account of the fact that he doesn’t give enough of a shit about his coworkers’ internal affairs.

Texting style: Doesn’t text. Like I said, he doesn’t have a cellphone. If he wants to get a message across, he’ll communicate it over comms. Like a weirdo.

Pig God:

Group chat: Is surprisingly active? I think I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but the main three things he does all hours of the day are use the internet, eat, and do hero work (which also counts as eating). So, lo and behold, he’s got a lot of spare time to communicate with everyone over text. It’s easier for him to talk over text than it is in person, since he’s really shy. His real personality really shines through. Proud of him.

Texting style: Basically like any regular teen. Uses acronyms, sends the occasional meme, leaves people on read for hours at time because he can’t be bothered to pick up the phone, and has no care whatsoever for grammar.

Superalloy Darkshine:

Group chat: Super active. Engages in nearly every conversation and almost serves as a mediator whenever it comes to arguments. He’s really positive and doesn’t like conflict so he’ll do whatever he can to alleviate any tension between anyone in the chat in the event that it arises. If Child Emperor wasn’t moderator, it would be him. He also exchanges boomer-ass fitness memes with Tanktop Master. The two of them just kind of have their little side conversations while everyone else is talking about a completely different thing. They’re best bros.

Texting style: Like I said, he’s super positive. He’ll use emojis every other word and a LOT of exclamation points because he feels there’s not much else he can do to express his perpetual excitement about everything. He takes care of his phone relatively well considering his whole schtick is tanking damage. He might need to get it repaired every once and a while because he absolutely REFUSES to get a new one. He grows attached to objects really easily and losing something he’s had for so long would feel like losing a close friend.

Watchdog Man:

Group chat: not even in it. He can’t even text because no phone in the world can detect his fingers through the super thick pads of his suit. He doesn’t even have a phone for this reason. Why would he need one when he’s in the same place all hours of the day?

Texting style: like I said, he doesn’t even have a phone. If he did, he’d probably eat it. Not because he’s too dumb to know the difference, but because he feels that’s the only use it’ll serve to him.

Flashy Flash:

Group chat: Only reads the important messages and engages in conversation when it serves to humor him. He’s not super talkative, but when he is, he’s got a LOT to say. He usually just quarrels with Tatsumaki whenever she gets smart with someone. It’s a wonder she hasn’t killed him yet.

Texting style: Sort of formal. He texts exactly like how he talks. He goes the extra mile to use proper grammar and even thinks emojis/acronyms are frivolous. Pretty pretentious, but he gets whatever point he’s trying to communicate across quite well.

Genos:

Group chat: I can’t decide between him either being super involved in the chat or not giving a shit at all so I’m just gonna flip a coin here... Super involved! He’s got something to say on every topic and voices his opinion with no filter. Aside from that, he doesn’t really engage in conversation very much. He just sort of drops in every so often to give the take of the century and dips the fuck out.

Texting style: Basically like Flashy Flash’s style. He texts exactly like how he talks, uses near perfect grammar, and thinks emojis/acronyms are a waste of time. Occasionally, Saitama will convince him to “act like a teenager” and type “lol”, but it never sticks. You could say... he’s programmed that way. Hehe.

Metal Bat:

Group chat: Shit-talker in chief. He initiates all discourse on Amai Mask and nobody really complains since they’re all in the same Amai Mask hate club, practically. If anyone’s sending good memes, it’ll be him. He’s got no filter and voices his opinions with no fear, taking no prisoners and shit-talking everyone equally.

Texting style: Gen Z to the extreme. Uses emojis, acronyms, the whole shebang. He’s young enough to have grown up on technology so he knows how to use his phone well. The phone itself, however, is barely functioning. If it could talk it would be saying “kill me...” because Badd drops it, smashes it, and breaks it 24/7. The only thing he does to repair it is apply some scotch tape and call it a day. It looks like shit. He doesn’t want to get a new one until the one he has now is COMPLETELY broken.

Tanktop Master:

Group chat: Like I said, he and Superalloy Darkshine have their own side conversations while everyone else is on a completely different topic. They exchange boomer-ass memes about fitness and shit. Other than that, he doesn’t really participate outside of the occasional one-word text that lets everyone know he understands what’s being said.

Texting style: Dad. He texts like a dad. Not a smart dad either, like a tryhard dad that had just googled internet terminology and uses it in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t use emojis because there’s so many that he gets overwhelmed. He tries though, by god he tries.

Puri-Puri Prisoner:

Group chat: Basically a mediator like Superalloy. He doesn’t really like conflict and does his best to spread love and cheer but to no avail, since everyone else is a huge drag. He engages well in conversation and offers his input on plans. He’s a pretty active and well-rounded member.

Texting style: one problem, though. He’s not supposed to have a phone in prison. His texting style is very abbreviated and almost illegible because he has to get the message across as fast as possible before anyone notices he has a cellphone. The phone itself is old as hell and smells like ass. For obvious reasons.

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jeogiyall · 4 years

Text

To The Beat; P.SH

Word count; 12.1k (i have absolutely no self control)

Genre; Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Seonghwa x Reader, Marching Band! AU

Additional; Featured Ateez, Entirely Self Indulgent, Flute Player! Reader

Warnings; Mentioned Sex, Swearing, Suggestive

A/N; so this is one of the more embarrassing things i’ve written,,, we’re just not gonna talk about the fact that i’m both a band kid and a kpop stan!! i’d also like to say that it is based entirely off of my experience with band! yes, we are poor, yes the kids are actually this mean, and yes they are this horny! the bus incident actually happened at my school y’all! band kids r a mess bye- also if u want to know more about marching band please ask me! i love to talk about it!

There were few things that you wanted more than this. Maybe a boyfriend in middle school, or first chair, but looking back even those pale in comparison. The want of those is pathetic compared to how badly you wanted to be woodwind captain your senior year. After being section leader for the flutes you were sure that it would end up how it was meant to, but sometimes even things that aren’t supposed to happen do. Like freshman year when the pit captain got his mallets stuck in the bell of a tuba, or when your newly appointed drum major (Kim Hongjoong, best friend since freshman year and previous woodwind captain/saxophone section leader,) cried on the field after stepping on a moth. Some things just end up wrong.

But here you are, sitting in the cafeteria of your school surrounded by the people you decided to spend all of high school with and feeling as full as ever. Your director's voice boomed, “(Y/n) (L/n,) woodwind captain,’ and you thought that no four words had ever sounded so perfect together. You stood quickly, legs carrying you to the front of the crowded space. People were clapping, as they do every year, but this time it was for you. For your hard work, and dedication, and everything that you’ve put into this program for the past three years. You cast a smile to your band director, heart soaring incredibly high that you don’t think it’ll ever come down.

“Congratulations.” She whispers while giving you a firm handshake. You murmur thank you before taking your place beside Hongjoong.

“We made it.” He slings an arm around your shoulder, using his free hand to pinch your bicep. You smile even wider, something that probably shouldn’t be possible, and open your mouth to respond.

“Park Seonghwa, brass captain.” The words coming from your band directors mouth erases any thoughts from your head. He stands from his seat in the back of the cafeteria, face taking on a smug smile. You want to kick him. Instead you stand taller, spine pulled so straight that it could crack.

People clap still, but instead of responding gratefully he smirks (Seonghwa is always smirking or grimacing. You’re not sure which you hate more.) Hongjoong turns to you wearing an expression of annoyance. Normally, you would comfort the boy and tell him that it’s whatever. Tell him ‘Who cares about Seonghwa? We’re going to be so good at our jobs that he won’t even exist.’ But he will exist. He will exist, and you care.

“Looking forward you working with you.” He says lowly while extending a hand to you. If it weren’t for your band director watching you would’ve spit on him.

“Likewise.” You respond coldly, taking his hand into yours. The skin is obnoxiously soft, no doubt from his habit of never doing anything.

After a long winded speech from your director, you and Hongjoong return to the table where your friends are. Everyone wears a grimace.

“Does he have to be brass captain?” San complains before pouting his lower lip. If he weren’t obnoxiously drumming his fingers on the table you’d find it cute.

“Why does it matter to you? You're the drumline captain, you don't have to interact with him!” He pouts even more, shoulders shrugging into his ears.

“I’m just like... Sorry for you and Hongjoong.” You sigh at the words while relaxing against your chair. It’s easier said than done, seeing as the chair is far too small and made of cheap plastic.

“Me too, but I’m trying to not count him out. No one succeeds when everyone thinks that they’ll fail, even self righteous assholes.” San snorts, then returns to exchanging banter with Yeosang. You, however, are not as lucky.

Brass and woodwind captains are the people in band who have to work together the most, everyone knows that. Everyone also knows that you and Seonghwa do not get along, a fact that was solidified when he made you take four props to the field by yourself during a competition. He dropped your flute on the way to the field, and caused you to arrive on the field almost two minutes late by refusing to help. You earned a nice time penalty and got yelled at by the director, ever since you and the boy have fought like it was a war.

But maybe this season would be okay. He said he was looking forward to working with you, and he’s not a liar. He might be rude, arrogant, and full of himself. But he’s not a liar, if Seonghwa says something he means it. And sticks to it.

So maybe this won’t be so terrible.

Being wrong was hands down your least favorite thing. It was something so rare that you didn’t really have to worry about, but this marching band season seemed to be all about being wrong. Well all about being wrong, and Seonghwa.

The first day of band camp he scolded Jongho, your only flute freshman, for not bringing water. The poor boy looked like he was about to pass out and all Seonghwa could do was tell him to bring some tomorrow. You took him out during lunch break and apologized for your fellow leaders tone deaf behavior.

But the second week of band camp was when he really started to get under your skin. It was the groups first time marching while playing, and fifth time running a lap for the night. As everyone settled back into place and brought up their instruments Seonghwa mumbled under his breath ‘Maybe if the woodwinds knew their damn music,’ then cut you a painfully pointed glare. No matter how much your brain tried to write the comment off as tired frustration, there was no denying that you wanted to punch him in the jaw. It would probably break him, you’re not sure that you cared..

And of course, there’s now. Band camp is over, and now you’re two weeks out from the first competition. Around this time last year was when Hongjoong started up woodwinds sectionals, so you figured you’d do the same. Why try to fix something that isn’t broken and all of that. Unfortunately Seonghwa had the same idea, seeing as he’s standing in front of you and clapping his hands harshly while the block messily executes a visual from your opener.

“Reset,” He barks, hands wiping sweat away from his forehead, “that was messy. We don’t do messy. Let’s go again.” It’s almost scary how regimented he is. Like for a minute you forget that he’s Park Seonghwa of your graduating class, and instead he’s the person that decides whether or not you’re allowed to breathe.

“Seonghwa!” You chirp, trying desperately to keep annoyance from seeping into the lines of your voice, “When will you guys be done? Just wondering, it’ our first sectional today so-”

“First? This is our fourth.” His voice is painstakingly polite, but there’s a smirk spreading across his face and you want to hit him until it hurts. Your teeth bite on the inside of your cheek, which is still pushed up into a smile.

“Yea, first. I just wanted to gauge everyone’s skill set-” you don’t owe him an explanation, you don’t owe him an explanation, “When will you be done?” One of his perfectly shaped brows raises, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. His eyes quickly flick to his block, who are standing still as statues, then back to you.

“We’re staying until rehearsal tonight, you guys can have the gym.” The tone of his voice is back to normal, more commonly known as cold and infuriating. Hatred boils in your gut as you uphold a smile.

“But the gym doesn’t have yard lines. We need yard lines to practice marching, and since you guys seem to be just doing visuals you don’t really need them. I’m sure it would make everyone else happy too.” If looks could kill you’d be dead. Or whatever’s worse than dead, because he’s looking at you as though you’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to strangle him.

“Let me get one thing clear, I do not fucking care what would make everyone else happy. I care about doing my job properly, as you should. If you wanted the field then you should’ve started sectionals earlier, so go to the gym or cancel your sectional. I don’t care, just get off.” You’re left fuming and ready to burst at the seams as he returns the block of brass.

Later that day you talk to your band director about implementing a sectionals schedule. Something that would be made at the beginning of every week by captains and section leaders then posted in the instrument room. Something that would prevent today from ever happening again, but of course you don’t tell her that.

“That’s a wonderful idea, (y/n!) No one has ever suggested something like that before, nice job!” She smiles approvingly over her desk, hands typing fervently on her keyboard. You thank her, then duck out of the room. It feels wrong to accept her praise when the only reason for it is to piss off Seonghwa.

He’s here. It’s your scheduled time to have the field, 3:00 pm on Tuesday, and Seonghwa is here. Seonghwa is here, standing on the front sideline and looking at your group as though you interrupted him.

“What are you doing?” You demand while stomping up to where he’s leading stretches, “You know I scheduled my sectional for today, you’re in the group chat.” He pulls his right arm across his chest, definitely flexing on purpose.

“We’ve been having sectionals at this time for three weeks now, I’m not planning on changing it.” If it weren’t for four years of constant arguing you’d think he’s being polite. Everything from the relaxed facial features to his calm voice, but you know that this is always how it starts. A polite tone, quickly turned into sneers and words that taste like poison.

“Well plan on it.” You spit, stepping closer to the boy. He’s surprised by your boldness, so much so that he drops the stretch, “You’re not above the rules, adhere to the schedule and stop being an ass.” His shocked eyes morph into slants, like a tiger about to pounce on its prey.

“I may not be above the rules, but that doesn’t mean that you are the rules.” And there it is, the devilish quirk of his lips. It’s so blood boiling that you think he could be struck down by lightning and you would celebrate

“Oh you piece of-”

“Hey!” He shouts towards the bleachers, where the entire winds section is gathered. The two of you were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even notice them leaving, “Did I say that you could leave block?” A bead of sweat rolls down the hollow of his throat, which is definitely not what you focus on as the brass scramble back into place.

“Seonghwa, I’m using the entire field. I’m the person scheduled, so you either have to stay on the front sideline or you have to leave.” He chuckles lowly, then turns to face you. His tongue smooths over the corner of his mouth again, you want to scream.

“I don’t take orders from you-”

“How about we just do the sectional together?” The low brass section leader, Mingi, offers quietly from his corner spot at the back of the block. He’s leaning one elbow on his contra, which is on the ground bell first, and trying desperately to hide his face behind his own hand. All that he manages to hide is his right eye, but it’s certainly an a for effort.

“No.” Seonghwa answers as soon as you sigh, ‘fine.’ His eyes shoot up to meet yours, finally filled with something other than anger or disgust, “Really?” An eyebrow quirks up so hard that it might as well grow into his hairline.

“Well if you’re not going to leave! I have things to get done and you’ve now cut into my sectionals time twice! So if sharing the field is what I have to do to get shit done then fine.” He stares at you in a way that makes you feel small, then shrugs.

“Fine, get into a block on the back hash.” You’re about to tell the woodwinds to stretch, but when you face the dented bleachers they’re all sitting in a circle with outstretched legs, exchanging laughter and smiles. Whatever Seonghwa took hold of in your stomach releases as your heart swells with pride.

“Woodies!” You call, smile spreading as everyone's eyes shoot up to meet yours, “Join the block!”

They shout back, “Yes mam!” Which makes you feel painfully old, and painfully happy.

The sectional went fine. Well, as fine as it could seeing as two people who nearly killed each other twenty minutes prior lead it.

“You were bad ass, (y/n!)” Resident bari sax, Yeosang laughs, “I really thought that fire was about to shoot out of your eyes.”

“I thought fire was about to shoot out of his eyes!” Yunho, the clarinet section leader, adds, “And you just stood there like ‘yea asshole, set me on fire! I can take it!’ No guys, I’m being serious-” All of the previous laughter from your boys halts as Seonghwa enters the room, steely eyes settling on your cluster of woodwinds. His eyes stay there, though you can’t blame him. If two sweaty teenage boys were staring at you like they’d been caught doing something wrong, you would stare back too.

“What?” He asks, the word so sharp that it could cut. Yeosang shakes his head while Yunho finishes putting his instrument away. The latter mumbles something about waiting for you in his car, to which you nod curtly.

“Okay, well... I’m gonna go.” Yeosang drawls, leaving the instrument room with the bari sax around his neck. You laugh to yourself at the sight of him waddling away, then return to what you’re supposed to be doing.

“You know, whoever holds a sectional is supposed to sweep the instrument room afterwards.” You exhale while moving to retrieve the broom from it’s corner.

“Oh, like you were just now?” He quips, hands moving deftly against his metal padlock. He doesn’t even need a padlock, the band director locks the instrument room door after everyone leaves. It’s just something else that he has to be annoying.

“Maybe it would go faster if you would help me, seeing as you held a sectional too.” They’re normal words, but your throat physically chokes on each syllable. The boy drops his lock, eyes narrowing as they come in contact with you.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t take orders from you?” He takes a step closer, until his crossed arms are brushing against your knuckles. His skin is soft, almost like he waxes. It makes your head pound.

“I guess until I stop asking you to do your job, and not just the part of it that gets you praised.” You continue sweeping, trying desperately to get away from the boy. But of course he picks up on it and follows you.

“I do my job perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You scoff loudly, chin tilting up so that you’re eye to eye with the boy. He smirks.

“Clearly, you don’t.” The tip of his nose brushes yours, then his lips are crashing into you. His lips are crashing into you, and you kind of like it.

It’s an aggressive motion, filled with him gripping onto the collar of your workout shirt and you dropping the broom. The part of you with a brain thinks that you shouldn’t kiss him back, seeing as you hate him and what not, but then he bites your bottom lip and there’s no hope. Anyone would melt at that sensation.

And melt you do, body going limp as he pushes you against the closest wall. You bring up a hand to trace the hollow of his throat, copying the trail of his sweat from earlier. His moan vibrates against your palm and it’s all that you can do to not die right then and there. Pressed against the instrument room wall, in the arms of the boy that you hate.

“What were you saying?” He growls into your ear while pulling you in by the waist. If you were anyone else you’d moan something incoherent and let him keep kissing you with lips that feel like pillows. But you are not anyone else, you are (Y/n.) (Y/n) who is stubborn to a fault.

“That you’re an asshole, who sucks at your job.” He smiles down at you, eyes filled with a certain kind of thunder. A hand wraps around the back of your neck, then slams your mouth onto his. Hot breath hits your cheek as kisses you senseless. As you let him kiss you senseless. He tastes like coconut lip balm.

“Wrong answer.” The boy exhales before attaching his lips to your jaw. You’re about to argue with him, because you just don’t know what’s good for you, but then your phone starts ringing. Probably Yunho telling you that he needs to get home. You need to as well, but it’s impossible to think about that when Seonghwa is devouring every part of you as if he’s been paid to do so.

“Seonghwa,” You start, but it sounds far too much like a moan so you have to clear your throat before continuing, “Seonghwa! I have to go.” He doesn’t let up, tongue running against the spot where your jaw pokes out.

“I’ll take you home.” His voice comes out rough, like if your hands ran over it they’d come back scraped. It’s almost enough to make you stay, but then there’s the idea of having to tell Yunho that Park Seonghwa is taking you home. That you were making out with Park Seonghwa, and it was so good that you didn’t want to leave so he offered to take you home. The thought of your friends reaction is enough to turn you off.

“No, Seonghwa, I have to go.” You pull his head off of your neck, running one hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It’s sweaty, but doesn’t smell bad which is just infuriating, “Um... Do this again?” He smiles, but this time is a little different. His lips are still in a wicked curve, but his dark eyes have sparkles now. You almost think that he’s going to say something nice.

“You wish.” You want to tell him that he’s right, you do wish. Instead you sigh, push his body away, collect your bag, and leave with his gaze hot on your trail.

Seonghwa is still the thought that keeps you up at night with boiling blood. Everything from his evil smirk to the way his eyes always look unbelievably disapproving of everything. He’s infuriating in a way that evades words.

But there’s also other things to keep you up. Like the thought of his soft honey skin touching yours, or the way his throat feels vibrating against your palm. There’s him pushing you against the instrument room wall, but there’s also him yelling at you in front of the entire winds section. The line is slowly starting to blur and you’re not sure whether or not you like it. You are sure of two things, though. You’re sure that when you fall asleep all you can dream about is Seonghwas coconut flavored lips on your skin, softly whispering affirmations of hatred.

And that sometimes, things that aren’t supposed to happen do.

Before this season there were few things that you loved more than marching band. Maybe cookie dough ice cream, or speeding through downtown in the passenger seat of Yunhos mom van while Hongjoong and San yelled song lyrics from the backseat. Those were both good things, and the only things that even came close.

But then there’s now. There’s you and Seonghwa getting drunk off of each other while crammed into your school's equipment closet. There’s his soft hands pushing you onto the counter, his sweet lips growling crude words into your ear. There’s him kissing you, and then there’s something else that comes close to marching band.

Ever since freshman year your favorite feeling has been the one that you get after rehearsal. The feeling when your instrument comes off your face and pride swells all the way up to your cheeks. When San breaks from his final set next to you and offers up a childish grin, always accompanied by a high five and the words ‘Nice run, captain.’

Tonight doesn’t feel like that, tonight feels like your stomach is in the throat. Like the world is tilting and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Nice run captain!” San shouts, yet the words sound so far away. You nod slowly, high-fiving his outstretched hand while your free hand wraps around your own waist, “(Y/n?) Are you okay.” It’s all you can do to flash a thumbs up before falling to the pavement. Everything goes black for three minutes, but when yours eyes slowly open you can hear San curse. That, and also the entire band crowding around you.

You can still hear snippets of what they’re saying, but the thought of responding or comprehending is so exhausting that it could make you pass out all over again. Someone yells to give you space, a small part of you hopes that it’s Seonghwa.

For the record, it is Seonghwa. Seonghwa with furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips. His next words are to San, “Why didn’t you catch her?”

“I have a drum strapped to my body!” The taller boy shakes his head, setting down his freshly polished instrument and crouching next to your limp body. If you were more coherent you would’ve moved away. Or loved it. You would’ve moved away or loved it.

“(Y/n,) can you hear-”

“Hongjoong, (Y/n) died!” Wooyoung shrieks from across the field, causing actually everyone to flock to you.

“She didn’t die idiot, just passed out.” Yeosang responds while rushing to help Hongjoong off of his podium. The boy tries to jump the last three steps, which ends just as well as one could imagine. Everyone’s too busy staring at you to even notice.

“I told her that she should’ve eaten lunch!” Your drum major chides, “(Y/n!) (Y/n,) can you hear me?” He’s kneeling down next to you, sandy blonde hair tickling the tip of Seonghwas nose. You don’t even know why Seonghwa is still here, but a small part of you likes that he is. Almost like you two are more than boiling hatred and stolen kisses.

You hold a thumbs up to your friend, it takes every single ounce of your strength. Of all the reactions that you get, Seonghwa sighing in relief is the most satisfying.

“Told you she’s not dead.” Yeosang mutters from where he’s standing over you. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out to the boy, you almost want to laugh at their antics.

“Okay, Yunho is taking care of your field mics and prop. Do you think that you can walk by yourself?” You frown while turning your thumbs up into a hard thumbs down, eliciting a chuckle from your sweet friend. Seonghwa doesn’t laugh though, eyebrows still harshly furrowed while he stares down at your frail body.

“I’ll help her down to the band room.” He offers, causing Honjoongs eyes to go as wide as quarters. Along with Yeosangs, Wooyoungs, Junghos- pretty much anyone who knows anything about either of you, “I-I just don’t have a field job, and I can get Mingi to take my stuff down for me. She needs to get off the field soon, it’s slowing down the clean up.” Hongjoongs eyebrows clench slightly, but he eventually shrugs. You don't know whether to be grateful or to fight him.

But none of those thoughts are in your head as the tall boy scoops you up in his arms bridal style. His usually soft skin is tacky with sweat, yet he smells like fresh pine and spices. You think that it’s not fair that he smells good after a three hour rehearsal.

The last thing that you hear before dozing off against his chest is “You’re an idiot.” It’s whispered into your ear in a tone that almost makes you think that he’s being sweet.

The next time that your eyes open Seonghwa is propping your body up on the counter in the equipment closet. Something in your chest burns bright red at the memory of what the two of you were doing here after last rehearsal. It consisted of your hair in between his fingers, and bright purple hickeys blossoming on his neck. Now he’s forcing a huge water bottle into your face while trying desperately to hold you up by your shoulder. Considerably less sexy, to say the least.

“Drink.” He says curtly while handing the see through bottle to you. You accept with a shaky nod, then drink the water like you’ve been in the desert for the past fifteen years. It takes a minute before he manages to pry it away, “Hey! Not too fast you’ll get sick, and stop chewing on my straw!” A dry laugh escapes your lips, head tilting back ever so slightly. You don’t see the way that Seonghwas eyes trail on the hollow of your throat with a gaze so intense that it threatens to burn.

“Why’d you offer to bring me up?” You croak while reaching for his water bottle once again. He relents with a sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“No reason, just didn’t want you blocking up the clean up. Everyone was so focused on you that nothing was getting done.” His voice is flat, holding no traces of emotion, but you know that there’s something more. There was a reason that he was the first person to fall to his knees next to you. A reason that he scolded San for not catching you, “Don’t overthink things, (Y/n.) And stop chewing on my straw!” He snatched the water bottle away from you once again, causing both of you to laugh softly.

“Sorry.” You sigh, body relaxing as his soft hand comes to rest against your jaw. It’s a gentle touch, something so foreign in this relationship that you’ve created with your fellow captain, “About your straw, not the overthinking. Not that I was overthinking.” He exhales a short laugh at your witty remark, a signature smirk tugging gently at his lips, “Come on Hwa, just admit that you like me.” He leans in closely to you, hot breath fanning against the place where your neck and jaw meet.

“Okay,” He exhales, mouth dangerously wet and sweet, “I like you.” The words ricochet against the shell of your ear, teeth tugging against the skin where they’ve imprinted. It feels so good that you could collapse. He pulls away slightly and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You think that while you like when he throws you against a wall and kisses your lips numb, he’s good like this too, “But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still hate you.”

And then he leaves you in the musty equipment closet, with nothing except for his water bottle and your burning hot cheeks for company.

It happens like this; forty minutes after everyone’s finished clearing off the field. You were putting your flute away into your assigned locker when Seonghwa barged in grumbling about something that you couldn’t understand, then pushed you harshly against the lockers.

“Hwa, wait! I still have my flute, I can’t drop it!” He bounced back at your exclamation, head hanging cutely as he let you finish.

“My bad.” He muttered while reaching into his pants pocket to apply coconut chapstick. The part of you that hated him wanted to gag, but the part of you that kind-of-sort-of-maybe liked him was excited to kiss the taste off. You shut the locker door with a loud slam, then turned on your heel once again to face the tall boy, “Okay?” He questioned with a quirked eyebrow. You nodded eagerly, hands screwing into the collar of his cotton t-shirt.

“Okay.” Then his lips were crashing harshly into yours, hands touching your body with a fever that can’t be measured. You all but collapsed beneath the sensations, “Your diagonal at the end is shit.” He whispers against your needy lips. Instead of responding, you tightly pull on his hair. It’s as if to say ‘Fuck you just follow the form.’ His low groan is a simple answer, ‘Absolutely not.’

He’s just starting to do that thing that you really like, the thing where he pulls you as close as humanly possible by your waist and the nape of your neck, when a high pitched scream erupts from the instrument room door. Even though it sounds like one of the freshman girls, you both know that it’s Wooyoung without even having to look.

“Shit!” Seonghwa curses, hands detaching from you so fast that your back collides with the lockers, “Oh gosh, (Y/n) are you-”

“Can’t talk, gotta run see you tomorrow!” You rush in one breath, dashing out of the door and into the band room. Wooyoung is about to walk out of the exit and into the parking lot, the parking lot where Yunho and Yeosang are waiting for you, “Woo, wait up!” You pant, stopping him right at the exit ramp.

“Do you guys do that after every rehearsal?” He questions, eyes blown wide as saucers, “Oh no, is that why we all leave so late? Ew, gosh, gross, gross, gross! That was so gross, like actually the grossest making out I’ve ever seen! It was so weird and hateful, a-and... And weird! I would’ve rather walked in on you guys fucking- nope take that back, I would not have liked to walk in on that. Wait, have you guys-”

“No!” You shout, hands coming to clamp on the frantic boys shoulders. Your eyes check the room while you lower your voice before continuing, “We’ve never done that, it’s just kissing. Weird, hateful, kissing.” He nods, face still twisted up in disgust.

“Why would you do that to yourself? Like, he’s kind of a dick to you.” You sigh heavily and bring up a hand to wipe the lines off of your forehead.

“Yea, but he’s also sweet sometimes. Not to mention like, really good at kissing-” Wooyoung gags dramatically at your answer, you think that if you weren’t so panicked that it would be funny, “Look, just please don’t tell anyone. Especially not my friends, I think that this is supposed to be like... A secret thing? I just want it to stay a thing, and I just know that they’d lose their shit...” You trail off, words turning into nothing but indecipherable noises and flailing hands.

“Why does he want to keep it secret?” Wooyoung asks with an uncharacteristically soft voice. It’s a question that’s been nagging in the back of your mind since last week in the equipment closet, when he softly whispered the affirmation against your sweaty skin, “You’re obviously into each other, so why?” You don’t answer, opting instead to bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it might start to bleed, “Maybe ask him about that before you worry about your friends.”

It’s late after your thursday rehearsal. You’re pressed flush against the door to the equipment closet, Seonghwas plush lips hot on your throat, when silent tears start to fall down your cheeks. For a moment they remain silent, mixing in perfectly with the whimpers you were letting out just moments ago. But then it hurts too bad to hold in, and you let out a loud sob.

“Jeez, it can’t feel that good.” The boy teases, face falling harshly when he sees tears mixing with your post-rehearsal sweat, “Oh no, oh gosh, was I too mean? I didn’t mean it, you’re really good at marching! Like-” You wave him away, not wanting to be doted on. While you and Seonghwa have definitely gotten... Closer over the past two weeks, this is certainly overstepping. More than that, it’s like barreling past the line and leaving everything around it crushed.

“It’s not that,” You respond, hands releasing from the fabric of his shirt (a black tank top that perfectly highlights his toned arms.) He wants to tell you that they could stay there, that they could stay wherever you want. So long as it makes you stop crying, “It’s... I don’t know what it is.” The words are flat, clearly a lie. You don’t want to tell him why you’re actually crying, that you think some part of you has actually started to like him. But not just like him as a friend, as someone that you wouldn’t mind spending a day with. More like, someone that you fall asleep to. Someone that could kiss you for days and it would never bore you.

“I, uh, I don’t know-” He doesn’t know what to do, which is painfully clear. You don’t particularly mind that he doesn’t know, just that he’s here. Here for you to hold if you need to. Until he also starts crying, that is, “why are you-”

“Shut up. I just, I cry whenever other people cry!” You cast him a questioning gaze, mind jumping to all the cases where he did not do that.

“That’s so not true, Mingi literally cried two days ago and you laughed at him!” You wipe at your cheeks fervently, hoping that he wouldn’t say anything about the red that was definitely painting your face.

“He cried over DCI! That doesn’t count, I cry for things that matter...” You want to ask what he’s about to say, to tell him that there’s no real reason for you to be crying either. But you don’t, because he’s crying. Sad, crystal tears that paint his sun kissed cheeks, and his arms are open for you, “Can I hug you? I feel weird not doing anything.”

You don’t say anything, just fall into the open space and inhale sharply. He smells sweet, and feels warm. Not the gross kind of warm that touches every part of you, but the comforting kind. The kind that feels like wearing fuzzy socks and sipping on hot chocolate.

“Don’t feel weird.” You mumble, lips moving softly against the fabric of his tank top, “I-I have to go soon.” He shushes you, hands softly rubbing the line of your shoulder blade.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s almost like a plea, like he needs it too, “You can’t go out crying, they’re gonna think that I did something.” He didn’t... But in a way he did. In a way, he made you fall for him by having lips that taste painfully like coconut. He made you fall for him by kissing like he’s made of fire. He made you fall for him by always smelling like a fall candle.

“You didn’t do anything.” You whisper, but it’s a lie. Because he did do something, something that he doesn’t even know about.

He made you fall for him, which is something that definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

In your freshman year there was an... Incident on the bus (one that consisted of a girl, her boyfriend, and very loud sex) which unfortunately resulted in separate boy-girl buses. Which meant no more sitting with Yunho, no more sharing snacks back and forth with Yeosang, no more geeking out over music with Hongjoong and San, and no more ignoring Seonghwa for hours at a time (a task that you found very satisfying as a meek little freshman. It was clearly before you learned how to argue.)

But then Junior year rolled around, and there were too many girls and not enough boys. Your director said that it would be fine for some girls to switch over, which equated to being back with your friends. The first time that you climbed onto the bus all of your friends cheered, to which you responded with bowing down jokingly.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes harshly, then muttered something that you couldn’t hear. What you could hear, however, was Wooyoung laughing and telling his friend to lighten up. He’d always been so sweet, up until two weeks ago you didn’t understand why he’d be friends with someone like Park Seonghwa. You’re starting to get it now.

“(Y/n!)” San cheers from the back, eyes crinkling into an excited smile. Someone starts clapping, the same way that they always do, and you laugh. Seonghwa claps as well, to which Yeosang shoots him a look that reads ‘what the fuck.’

“I’m sorry, the only seat left is next to-” Seonghwa. The only seat left is the aisle chair next to Seonghwa. Yunho’s eyes look apologetic as he tells you, but then there’s Mingi curled up next to him with hot cheetos and a gallon jug of water and you can’t even be mad at him. Even if you still despised Seonghwa, you wouldn’t be mad.

“It’s fine.” You respond quickly, one hand coming up to pinch the boys cheek. He smiles brightly, “Since when have you been friends with Mingi?”

“I guess as long as you’ve been friends with Seonghwa.” The comment is quick, painless. Almost like you could tell him everything and he wouldn’t mind.

“Fair.” You slide down comfortably into the seat with Seonghwa, pulling a pack of dried apple slices and sour gummy worms from the stuffed book bag around your shoulders, “Hey.” The word is tiny, almost a whisper.

“Hi, love the snack selection...” He opens up the bag of apple slices, popping one into his mouth before offering them back to you, “Good to see you.” It feels like there’s more that he wants to say, but instead of pushing you giggle and accept an apple.

“You saw me two days ago, dummy!” He smiles softly, heart going limp at the (now friendly) teasing. You turn away before he can keep talking, jumping immediately into banter with your friends, “Hey, Wooyoung! Can you call Jongho back?” The boy in question glances at the empty seat beside him then moves things for a second before cupping his mouth to shout to the front.

“Jongho!” Your freshman looks up with wide eyes, “Sit with me!” He grins widely, throwing back a thumbs up before gathering all of his things. You mouth ‘thank you’ to Wooyoung before turning back to Seonghwa.

“Do you know who has the speaker?” Seonghwas eyebrows furrow, making it painfully clear that he was not paying attention when the boys decided this.

“Yeosang, I think. Him or Hongjoong, somewhere in that seat.” You know immediately that it’s Joong, Yeosang never takes his speaker out of the house, “You better not play that shitty playlist-”

“My playlist is fire, thank you very much!” You slap his bicep with one hand while the other clutches your chest.

“No it is not, half of it is Hannah Montana!” His laugh is sweet, with a slight edge seeping through. Like there’s a dash of liquor in your coffee, “Joong, I have the playlist!” Your friend smiles affectionately and cheers, accepting your phone with a radiant smile.

“Everyone say thank you, (Y/n)” He teases, which unfortunately results in the entire back half of the bus chorusing back ‘Thank you, (Y/n.)’ You giggle softly, a sound that ricochets through Seonghwas head.

“Thank you, (Y/n.)” He whispers into your ear. If you two were alone in the instrument room he would’ve nipped at the skin there, the loss of that touch makes your body shudder. Seonghwa smiles at the way you roll your neck back, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re welcome!” You respond to everyone else. Right as you turn back to Seonghwa, Britney Spears floods the entire bus, “You’re welcome, Seonghwa.” He smiles, you almost think that he’s going to kiss you.

But then the bus starts moving, and everyone is cheering ‘First comp! First comp!’ You join in with a smile, Seonghwa rolling his eyes at everyones antics. Like he’s much too cool to have fun. Two weeks ago it would’ve been obnoxious, but now you think that it’s painfully endearing.

That seems to be the nature of things with Seonghwa. Everything that used to be the worst part of your day now brightens up any situation. You think that you hate it. Yet it’s also painfully okay.

Right as the band is done warming up for the competition your band director tells everyone to find a buddy to zip their jackets. You’ve always been able to do it by yourself, but before you can maneuver your hands to the space in between your shoulders Seonghwa is there.

“You’re gonna rip the jacket,” He grumbles, fingers making quick work of the zipper (there are definitely not sparks flying down your spine as his fingertips brush against your show shirt.) He pats it once after finishing, “good luck out there.” You turn around, hands dusting off the orange and black jacket. It hasn’t been worn in months, yet it’s like putting on your favorite dress. Comforting, empowering... Almost normal, yet if you were to wear this to a school or a grocery store you’d feel entirely insane.

“Let me get your-” He waves the question away right as you notice that Wooyoung is already taking care of it while chattering excitedly, “Oh... Good luck to you too!” Something about the lights of the warm up lot on his tan skin mixed with his uniform that elongates his legs and broadens his shoulders makes your stomach fill with butterflies, “You look good.” He grins in a way that’s shy.

“Thanks, you too.” In that moment you know that he must like you, because there’s sweat on your brow and a light slump to your shoulders. Every ounce of hair is plopped to the top of your head so it’ll fit in the shako, but Seonghwa said that you look good. He said that you look good, and he never lies. Not even to you.

“Mingi!” Wooyoung screeches, barreling towards the taller boy (who’s conversing excitedly with the drumline captain,) “Can I have an Oreo pleaseeee-” Mingi’s face twists a little bit, but eventually shifts with a wide smile.

“I don’t know, they’re Yunho’s so-” The boy in question shifts ever so slightly in his spot next to you. He flashes an apologetic smile to you before running up to take his boat of fried Oreos. He pinches one between his fingers and drops it into Wooyoungs mouth, who catches of the air like an excited puppy, and then offers one to Mingi, “Okay I guess it’s fine.” The contra player answers through a full smile.

“They’re so cute.” Yeosang coos while slinging his arm around your shoulders, taking Yunho’s spot. You smile and grab onto the boy's hand where it hangs down, “Before you ask, Joong is getting food with Jongho. Now, how was your run?”

“Fine, good. Always room to improve, y’know?” You both nod, knowing the exact feeling that you’re talking about, “But it was good.”

“And Seonghwa?” The question comes out so calmly that you almost miss it, but when the words finally settle in you’re left sputtering and confused.

“W-what?!” He looks confused, but you feel panicked. Down to the core of your body, you are panicked.

“Well you guys are friends, right? Like you seem to be friends now and... It’s okay to be friends with him. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not your friend, and it seems good too. For him, he’s nicer lately.” Warmth blossoms in your chest, rising all the way up into your ears as your eyes involuntarily move over to where the boy sits on the bleachers. Where he sits alone, “Go ask him to join us.”

“Really?” Yeosang nods, hand releasing from yours as hope rises along with your blush. A small giggle slips past your lips, “Okay. Yea, okay! I-I’ll be back, um... Yea.”

When you settle down next to Seonghwa he greets you with nothing more than a curt nod. It’s strange, to say the least, but you brush it off. He’s probably just pissed about something, because he’s Seonghwa and always pissed.

“Hey,” You exhale, “h-how was your run?” He shrugs, shoulders tensing violently.

“It was good.” He’s supposed to ask how you did, and you’re supposed to say what you always do. But he doesn’t ask, so you don’t answer.

“U-um... So I was just wondering if... L-like if you wanted to have- not have, if you wanted to-” He looks you square in the face with a glare that could cut, “I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with us.” One of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek.

“If you want to make out you can just say so.” Something clenches around your vocal chords, throat closing up so hard that you think you could choke, “You don’t have to make up some bullshit excuse about wanting to be friends.” It’s not quite clear what tips you over the edge, maybe the biting tone of what he says. The hatred in his eyes that you were so sure you had moved past. The flicker of excitement that dies in your chest, but prickly tears start to gather in your eyes.

“What?” You squeak, swallowing hard, “I-I just wanted to-”

“To make out like we always do.” Those are certainly the words that come out, but they can’t be right. He can’t be actually saying that, because it’s not what you always do. Just two days ago this boy held you so tenderly that you could’ve broken, and now he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know your name.

“Oh, um...” There’s a part of you that could cry. But then there’s also the part that could bite back, the same way that you would at the start of this season, “Just, fuck off.”

You barrel out of the stadium like a train that’s on fire, mind focused on nothing other than sinking down into your seat and crying. Or screaming. Or doing anything to get something out of your body. You’re halfway there too, weaving in and out of the rival schools buses with ease, until somebody's hand grips your wrist tightly.

“(Y/n) stop!” Seonghwa. His pink lips are parted and panting. You pull your hand away and cradle it into your chest, fire forming on the tip of your tongue.

“Do not touch me.” The words are spat out like venom, causing him to physically recoil. It’s strange honestly, how less than a month ago this was your normal form of communication and now it’s something that hurts, “Don’t touch me, or talk to me, or even fucking look at me.” His eyebrows crinkle, the soft skin there folding ever so softly.

“I-I just thought that-”

“Thought what? That you could make out with me, and comfort me while I’m crying, and fucking carry me to the band room, and that I wouldn’t care about you? That’s what you thought?!” Earlier this season, back at the second woodwind sectional, Yeosang said that he thought fire was going to shoot out of your eyes. You didn’t get at the time, but now you do. Now, with anger pulsing through every last vein in your body, you understand. Because you want to slap that stupid confused expression off of his face, you want to make him cry the way that you’re going to cry, “Fucking answer me, Seonghwa!”

“I... I definitely didn’t think that you would care about me?” He knows it’s the absolute wrong thing to say as soon as your jaw solidifies into a harsh line. It’s one of your tell tale signs, along with steely eyes that pierce straight through his chest. It seems that pissing you off for three years had some benefits, “Nope, no. Definitely not that, I-”

“Fuck off.” You bite harshly before turning on your heels and storming off towards the bus. He’s about to follow you, but something about your clenched fists and shoulders that are raised so high that they could mold into your ears tells him to stay behind. You’re not sure whether to be grateful or pissed. Maybe both.

When your back finally slides against the cheap leather of your seat, it’s clear. Definitely both. Grateful because there are fat, snotty tears falling down your cheeks with reckless abandon. Because your sobs are so loud that the people on the next bus can probably hear you. Because you’re crying in a way that you never have before.

But pissed, because no one has ever held you as tightly Seonghwa did just two days ago. Pissed, because the person who you were supposed to hate more than anything just broke your heart. Pissed because something that wasn’t supposed to happen did.

After hours (or minutes. Maybe seconds, you don’t really know) of crying you sit up and assume the natural post competitions pose. Knees hugged to your chest, fingers touching knuckle to knuckle, and head resting softly on the sweating window pane. When your eyes close Seonghwa is the first thing that you see, followed by dark sleep.

An hour later all of the boys crowd onto the bus, filling the space immediately with loud dialogue and banter. Hongjoong leads the group, holding a trophy nearly as tall as his torso and wearing a smile brighter than the sun. You quickly scan down the line for Seonghwa but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey! Where were you, we got fir-” Hongjoong halts at the sight of your tear stained cheeks, jaw falling slack at the sight of your wrecked appearance, “What happened?” Seonghwa ducks onto the crowded bus just as your mouth opens. You don’t know whether you should let it all out or pretend like everything is fine and go back to sleep.

“It’s nothing, just tired.” You don’t believe yourself, and the drum major's tight lipped smile let’s you know that he doesn’t either. With an exhale and a soft ruffle of your hair, he moves back to his shared seat with Yeosang. Making just enough room for Seonghwa to slide in next to you.

“(Y/n,) I-” You twist to the seat behind you and drop the half eaten bag of gummy worms into the drumline captains lap. San looks up with a thank you already on his lips.

“Wake me up when we’re twenty minutes from the school?” He nods with a smile, hands already ripping into the bag of candy as if he’s starving. You poke the tip of his nose softly before falling back into the seat, where Seonghwas legs are touching nearly every part of you (really only your thighs, but it feels like he could sit farther away. Like he should sit farther away,) “I’m going to sleep, San’s going to wake me up so don’t bother with it.” His eyes look sad in a way that makes you want to scream.

“(Y/n-)”

“Goodnight, Seonghwa.” You manage through the fresh lump forming in your throat.

Though your head hits the glass immediately, you can’t fall asleep for almost twenty minutes. Chattering boys and Mingis terrible playlist isn’t exactly the best backdrop for sweet dreams. But they settle down, cheers turning into yawns and a bluetooth speaker into Mingi and Yunho sharing earbuds. You do fall asleep eventually, but it’s not the booming bass of Mingis meme rap.

When you fall asleep, it’s to the beat of a rattling windowpane that won’t fully close and Park Seonghwa breathing deeply next to you.

There’s always a trend of depleting motivation after the first win of marching band season. Like freshman year after the regional competition, the following rehearsal was absolute torture. Color guard flags colliding with brow bones, entire passages of music forgotten, and too many dropped drumsticks to count. Then there was junior year (which painfully mirrored the season prior,) in which everyone was sentenced to laps until the sun went down. Each year you’d huff dramatically while complaining about the lazy members, to which Hongjoong would listen with a heaving chest.

Needless to say, that’s changed for the worst (just like everything else this season.) You spent the first lunchtime rehearsal moping drastically while refusing to make eye contact with Seonghwa. All of your friends asked you what was wrong, to which you made up a lie about having an empty stomach. Yeosang saw right through the lie, seeing as he watched you wolf down a chicken biscuit, but he didn’t say anything. In all honesty he probably knew what was wrong but was too conscious to bring it up, an act of kindness that you couldn’t thank him enough for.

Then there’s now, Tuesday after school. Four hours before rehearsal, more commonly known as sectional time. Even more commonly known as designated argue with Seonghwa time, which you don’t want to do today. A small part of you wants to make Yeosang fight him, but the other part knows that it has to be you. It’s not as though you have any other way to get out your anger with Seonghwa (there’s messy makeouts in the instrument room, of course, but you’d rather cut off your own lips than kiss him. Or you’d give the world to kiss him again. Somewhere in between the two.)

You take the final step onto your practice field, fully prepared to see a block of brass being run ragged by Park Seonghwa. But he’s not there. No one is except for your group and Wooyoung, who’s at the front of the field busying himself with tangled field mic cables. You glance around wildly before bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s genuinely infuriating how upset you are that Seonghwa isn't here, but there’s no time to think about that now.

“Um... Yunho and Yeosang, can you guys lead stretches over by the trailer?” The trailer which is parked on the exact opposite side of the field from where Wooyoung is, “Jongho too, just... Go through the basics, please.” They nod dutifully before leading the group away, Jongho doing so with an earth shattering smile. You wait until they’re all seated and chattering before moving over to Wooyoung, who’s adorning sad eyes and hair that’s too long tied back into a ponytail.

“Hey, (y/n.)” He greets quietly while placing the mic cable into its case. Your stomach churns tightly at the conversation that’s about to happen.

“Hey... Where’s Seonghwa?” The words feel like slow acting poison, the kind that’s threatening to eat you from the inside out and leave you for dead.

“He’s having sectional in the gym, said that you’d probably need the field.” That’s when it kicks in, burning a gaping hole into the center of your chest. You want to scream, or cry, or for Seonghwa to hold you so tightly that it hurts. Instead you stare blankly at the space next to Wooyoungs head, eyes glazing over and body going numb.

“... Oh, h-he was right.” Wooyoung nods before moving on to the next mic cable. It’s so silent and awkward that you almost think that you should leave, even with poison burning in your chest. Even with sadness eating at your skin.

“He told me what happened, and like... The stuff that he said. He doesn’t want to miss you.” Your band director always says that silence is the most impactful thing in music. You never got it until now, because there’s Wooyoung saying these things. Saying all of the right things that you want to hear, a call that waits for your response. Then there’s your response, that leaves a gaping hole in the score of this conversation, “He seems sorry.” You mull it over, words ringing sweet in your skull like an isolated harmony.

With a soft nod you respond, “Me too” before rushing away to where the woodwinds are assembled already in a block. The poison leaves you as sectional bleeds into rehearsal, but for a brief moment your eyes meet Seonghwas and you’re made painfully aware of the hole that it’s left where your heart should be.

The last moments in the warm up lot are spent with you trying to zip up your own jacket, and then Seonghwa swooping in to do it for you. His fingers brush the space between your shoulder blades, sending a shock through the core of your being. Goosebumps raise on your neck as his warm breath hits the skin there.

“You’re gonna rip it.” The words come out so much softer than the last time he said them, completely void of any teasing. If anything there’s tenderness, akin to the night that he had to carry you into the equipment room. Caring, gentle, loving. Everything that you’ve learned about Seonghwa in the past two weeks shining through in four words.

“Yea.” You swallow harshly, gloved hands moving to adjust the front of your jacket. It’s already pristine, but you need to do something with your hands or else your body will explode, “Good luck.”

The director calls everyone into show lines before he gets a chance to say “You too.”

It’s always a struggle to get dressed on the bus after a performance. For starters, your band has to get the cheapest buses possible so there are a grand total of three lights which flicker in and out of commission. You’re also one of the only girls, which just makes things weird, but your seatmates are usually pretty good at helping you hide..

Like now, with San holding up your oversized cardigan while you rumble through your book bag in search for clothes. The space is filled with rambunctious chatter, including Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung arguing over who’s going to buy the fried oreos (Yunho suggests three way rock paper scissors, which ends just as poorly as anticipated.) For a brief moment Seonghwa is speaking too, laughing with Jongho about a field judge that they accidentally knocked over, which is the only thing that your brain hears for the next five minutes.

“(Y/n,) are you almost done? My arms are getting tired.” Even without seeing the drumline captain you just know that he’s pouting. It’s basically laced into his voice, causing guilt to pang in your chest.

“Yea,” You exhale while pulling out the more comfortable clothing (a dark green crew neck sweatshirt with fuzzy black sweatpants. You’ve been dreaming of the moment that you get to change since waking up,) “I just can’t see!” The boy chuckles with a nod that shakes the cardigan barrier.

“Hongjoong and Yeosang want me to tell you that they’re leaving and they hate you-”

“San that’s not what I said!”

“Hongjoong is saying to never speak to him or his family ever again.” The drum major sighs dramatically before slapping the side of Sans head, causing the boy to cry out like a child. A laugh bubbles out of your throat as the sweatpants come to a halt on the curve of your waist.

“I’ll text you where we’re sitting!” Yeosang calls from the front of the bus, which is now entirely void of people, “Joong I’m leaving you!”

“They’re a mess.” You grumble while pulling the sweatshirt over your head, “You can go San, I have to repack my bag and stuff.” He drapes the sweater over your head and tosses a packet of fruit snacks into your bag.

“Alright, I’ll probably be with the three amigos.” He’s already halfway out of the bus before you fully process the words, resulting in a giggle.

“Is that what we’re calling Mingi, Yunho, and Wooyoung?” He smiles the smile that makes his eyes crinkle and flashes a thumbs up before ducking out of the bus, leaving you to hum quietly to yourself. There’s something special about seeing an empty space when it was bursting with energy less than two minutes ago. Clothes are thrown around everywhere, uniforms hanging from cracked windows that let in an autumn breeze, bags thrown haphazardly into seats. Like a mist of peace has been pumped into this broken down bus, and you’re the only person lucky enough to see.

The only person until Seonghwa walks onto the bus, that is. You scramble to hide underneath your seat, praying to every being above that you managed to remain unseen. That you wouldn’t have to endure the painfully awkward conversation that’s about to come.

“(Y/n?)” He calls. While it sounds sweet, he’s biting back a laugh from the loud ‘thud’ that you made by rolling out of your seat, “Can you get off of the floor?” There’s a small bite in his tone. Where it should make you angry, it just makes you want to cry.

“No.” You answer, body curling in on itself. A small part of you is genuinely considering staying on the floor, but there’s something sticky about two feet from your hand Seonghwa moving back to where you sit. While the thought of facing him is embarrassing, the thought of him seeing you sitting on this disgusting floor is much worse, “You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore.” His nose is almost touching yours when you stand up, sparking a flame in your stomach (you so badly want it to be anger. Red, hot anger. But he’s looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows, warm light flickering against the plane of his face, and you want to kiss him more than you want to breathe.)

“I’m sorry.” He swallows heavily, pink tongue smoothing over puffy lips. You try to shove past him, but you’re halted by a hand on your shoulder, “Can we just talk? Please?” Sparkles form in his eyes, twinkling at you like stars. It hurts your stomach.

“No.” The word is hoarse, definite as you harshly push past the boy and storm towards the front of the bus. He’s trailing behind, hands still trying to grab at your own.

“(Y/n!)” The boy pleads, which does nothing to help your growing frustration. If anything it makes the tight coil of anger in your stomach snap, covering your body in nothing but fire.

“Seonghwa!” You bite harshly, turning around so quickly that your foreheads nearly bump together, “Leave. Me. Alone! It’s insanely rude to make someone like you, to kiss someone like the world is ending, to convince them that you care all for some weird sense of validations and then demand that they hear you out. I don’t owe that to you, so stop acting like I do!” Despite the firm words, your feet stay planted in place. As if leaving means that this is over forever.

“I know you don’t owe me that, I just... I want to explain myself, please just let me do that.” The light starts to flicker again, allowing you to see the sharp lines that compose his face. You’re supposed to say no, to leave and sit down in between your favorite people and make fun of other bands horn angles. Every part of you is screaming to go do that.

“You have ten minutes.” Clearly, you aren’t doing what you’re supposed to.

“Okay, well um... I’m a dick? Like, just a huge dick and it’s just now setting in that I can change. S-some part of you showed me that.” When the light flashes across your bodies you can see that his eyes are brimming with tears. They’re different tears from last time; more timid and less silly. You want to dab at the one that spills down his soft cheek, “And I’m sorry. For tripping you in rehearsal freshman year, when your elbow got scraped?” You nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. There’s still scar tissue travelling up your shoulder from that night, “And for telling you that your solo at regional auditions sounded bad. It actually sounded really really good, which you probably already knew... Oh, a-and um for blaming the woodwinds for not knowing their parts, because honestly we didn’t either I was just being... A dick.” You inhale deeply, trying to push down the hope bubbling in your chest. While the words are promising, you know all too well that apologies are meaningless without action.

“Why?” The hope is quickly replaced with tension that’s definitely trying to make you cry.

“Why am I sorry, or why am I a dick?” In any other context it would sound funny, but now it’s just a question. A genuine, innocent question that Seonghwa is asking you with a face twisted into sweet confusion. You shrug with a deep exhale, trying desperately to stall your erratic breathing.

“Either... Both. I just want to know why.” Seonghwa sucks in a breath, then runs his hands through his ink black hair before releasing the air. It’s embarrassing how you follow his movements as if they’re the tip of a conductor's baton.

“Um... Well, I think I was a dick because I thought that having people didn’t matter if you were good. That if I worked hard enough that it wouldn’t even matter that I was lonely, but you have both. Good and loved, not to mention kind. Always so kind.” The light has stopped flickering, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. It doesn’t matter, because his voice wavers slightly at unspoken memories and you know that he’s smiling, “Which is why I’m sorry too, I guess. Because you never did anything to me other than show me that I didn’t have to be like... This.” The next words are so quiet that you barely hear them, “And for making you think that I don’t care about you.”

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them.” Your eyes find his through the darkness, locking together like it’s the only thing happening in all of the world.

“I mean it.” It’s a deceleration scribbled into the space between his body and yours, signed by the weight of his hands cupping your jaw, “I care about you.” Goosebumps rise on your forearms as they wrap around the boys slim waist.

“Seonghwa-” There’s probably a right way to do this. A right way to fall for the bane of your existence turned friend. It’s out there somewhere, written up in perfect cookie cutter steps that are easier to follow than words on a page. They definitely don’t include him whispering the affirmation, ‘I care about you,’ against the skin beneath your ear while covering the space in wet kisses.

The boy wraps a hand around the back of your neck before pulling back. You can see him clearer now, all pleading eyes and taunting lips, “Can I kiss you?” It sounds like the climax point of a piece, the part where a chord rings out as the tempo slows just enough to make it itch. You nod while snaking a hand around his jaw.

Seonghwa moves in as if you’ve never kissed before, noses bumping softly. There’s a soft giggle, the rattling of uniform hangers against window panes, and then Seonghwas lips touching yours as if you’re going to break. So much is the same, like how his lips taste like coconut or the spicy scent that floods your nostrils, but it’s different too. Different in the way that he moves against you, in the way that his teeth don’t bite at your lower lip, in the way that his hands cradle every part of you that they touch. He feels like a caricature and more like a person, like a person who’s kissing you softer than you’ve ever been kissed.

“I like you a lot.” He whispers while moving to kiss the corner of your mouth. Old Seonghwa would tease you for the whine growing in the base of your throat while trying desperately to hide the way that you’re affecting him, “Cute.” He exhales, becoming putty in your hands.

“Please stop talking and kiss me.” It’s clear that he tries to smirk, but the moment is too soft for it. Too gentle for the fire that his quirked lips elicits in you; instead he gives off a perfectly soft smile. Gentle and caring, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” His thumb runs across your cheekbone, then to the crease of your nose, and finally all the way down to the set of your jaw. It feels like he’s setting you on fire, “Okay.” His lips brush yours softly with the movement, followed by him leaning in so terribly slowly. You think to yourself that you’re going to love him.

In the moment before his lips touch yours there are two things; two hearts beating faster than is safe, and his phone ringing loudly. Your eyes shoot open right as the boy mouths ‘fuck!’ with a dramatic eye roll. You offer him a quiet laugh along with a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, “It’s okay, answer it.”

“No, I don’t need to. Just Wooyoung telling me to bring him his wallet.” You nod silently, nearly crying at the way that his hands untangle from you, “I’m really sorry, I wish i could stay but-” You silence him with a quick peck to the lips, he thinks that he’s going to love you back.

“It’s okay.” You whisper, “We can pick this up later.” He really does smirk now, the familiar look tempting you to stay and kiss him until your lips fall off, “Go get his stuff, I want to see the bands!”

After ten minutes of Seonghwa fumbling through Wooyoung's bag in the dark, the two of you finally leave hand in hand. It feels strange, yet at the same time like what’s meant to be.

“Seonghwa, wait!” you call as your boyfriend pulls you into the shared bus seat by your book bag straps. He was only trying to be sweet, but unfortunately failed to think about how pulling you would probably result in falling. There’s a yelp, and you tumbling into him, then of course a loud groan as your palm collides with his collarbone.

“Oh my, oh gosh, I’m an idiot. Ow.” Mingi is laughing at you two, and it’s only a matter of seconds before your so called friends start throwing things, “Let me help you up, also did I mention ow?!” You laugh brightly and press a kiss to his temple before pushing yourself up into a sitting position.

“I think so.” You swat his hand away from your arms and pull out a box of tissues (packed in preparation for the last competition tears that were almost a guarantee,) “I need to check on Joong, okay?” He smiles gently with a nod.

Hongjoong is in the very back seat laughing his ass off while crying violently. It would be weird if he hadn’t done it three times before, each time at the last competition of the season. Sophomore year you asked why he was crying, to which he responded that it makes the crying less awkward. And that it makes everyone else laugh.

“Has anyone told him a joke yet?” You ask while ducking into the huddle of your friends. San is sitting next to the drum major and passing him candy, Yeosang dabbing at his cheeks with tissues that are quickly depleting. He accepts your fresh box with a silent nod.

“Not yet.” Yunho answers while throwing a sealed water bottle to Mingi, who also has tears rolling down his face.

“Okay um... What do you call a cow with no legs?” The boy looks at you with wide puppy dog eyes and a gummy worm hanging from his mouth, “Pork chop! Oh no, that’s not right wait-” The boy starts to laugh even harder as you shout ‘Ground beef! Stop laughing I meant ground beef please-’

“Did she just say pork chop?” Wooyoung asks through a screeching laugh while breaking his way into the circle. You nod as your sides clench, stinging tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa eventually comes back too with Jongho, taking purchase in the seat across from the slowly dispersing huddle. Somehow you fall to the floor of the aisle and settle between your boyfriends legs. He plays with your hair in a manner so relaxing that Mingi’s meme rap is barely audible (still audible though, sadly.)

Similarly to the first competition, you fall asleep. Only this time it’s to the drum of your friends shouting excitedly and Seonghwas heart beating in perfect time with yours.

#ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez #seonghwa ff #writekpop #admin reid #if u enjoy pls like or leave something nice!#sorry if it's hard to understand

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orange-waterfalls · 4 years

Text

Assistant

Darkiplier x male!reader

@just-bts-trash-00 ty for the request!

A/N: ok listen, I have zero clue how offices work or what assistants do. All I know is that lunch is at NOON. NOON is the time for lunch, I will fight you on this. Darkiplier not knowing how to handle feelings. We love an emotionally distant demon boi. Rated PG cuz 1 curse(that I'm aware of. I'm not reading it again cuz I'll want to change everything). Uh office romance yay. That's it. Enjoy.

Asks are open!

Word Count: 2.4k

You were the assistant of Darkiplier. The only reason you were his assistant was because nobody else wanted to be. When I say you were desperate for a job, you were desperate for a job. You had asked your friend, Bim Trimmer, if he knew about anyone who could give you a job. You figured, since he was famous, he might have connections.

He scratched the back of his head before saying "Well… there might be one guy… but I don't think you wanna work for him…". You then told him you would take literally anybody. The next day, you were introduced to Wilford Warfstache.

"Well, good morning!" He slurred a greeting to Bim. They hugged for a moment before Wilford saw you and gasped. "And who is this?"

"Wilford, this is Y/N L/N." Bim explained. "We were hoping you could give him a job." Wilford stroked his mustache thoughtfully before snapping his fingers.

"I know! You could be my assistant!" He grabbed your hands. You chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Oh, this'll be so fun! I've wanted an assistant ever since my last ones died!" Your smile dropped.

"Died?" You asked and turned to Bim. He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses and groaned. You turned back to Wilford, who was still smiling at you. You retracted your hands.

"Yes, all my previous assistants have died." He said nonchalantly. "It's not my fault the gun went off." You began to worry.

You told Wilford that, respectfully, there was no goddamn way you were working for him. He said he understood and suggested a job as an assistant for one of his friends.

That's how you ended up working for Darkiplier.

When you first started at this new job of yours, he barely acknowledged your existence. You tried to tell him about his schedule and he wouldn't even bother sparing you a glance. Whenever he did pay attention to you, it was only to judge you. Your handwriting, your clothes, your voice…

After the first two weeks, you got sick of it. You planned a whole monologue on how you were going to tell him to respect you. You got as far as "you need to respect me" before he agreed to treat you better.

He wasn't as bad as he seemed.

He began to actually listen to you when you talked and took your advice about whatever you suggested. You could tell whenever he was stressed and made him a cup of tea, leaving it on his desk for when he came back. It was always warm because you timed almost everything perfectly.

You liked your job, but the man was still scary.

You took a deep breath in before entering Darkiplier's office. You held your clipboard close to your chest and walked up to his desk. He was reading a book, not paying much attention to anything else. You cleared your throat, making him look up at you.

"Problem, Mr. L/N?" He asked, voice echoing. You blinked before shaking your head and looking at your clipboard.

"Um, Mr. Warfstache called for a meeting." You informed him. You heard him groan, but kept talking. "He has an idea for a… club…"

"A club?"

"Yes… a dance club." The demon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And why does he want a club?"

"He's been banned from all of them."

"In the city?"

"In the country, sir." Darkiplier rubbed his temples and you frowned, beginning to worry. "Migraine, sir?"

"I'm fine, Y/N…" he sighed. You raised your eyebrows. He'd never called you by your first name before. He realized what he said and looked up at you. You smirked playfully.

"Um…" he cleared his throat. "Tell them… that I'll be down in a minute." You nodded and left the office. Darkiplier sighed and buried his face in his hands.

You were his assistant, and you were a good one. You helped him manage his time, you catered to the other egos so they'd leave him alone, and you knew how to calm him down. You made him happy.

That was a problem.

Darkiplier wasn't good with feelings. The only ones he knew how to portray were anger and indifference. All he knew was that something had happened to him when you started working for him.

Anytime he was around you, his heart started to race. His palms would sweat, he'd feel his face heat, and he felt a knot in his stomach. He honestly thought you were, somehow, killing him. He then asked Dr. Iplier what his problem was, and the man chuckled before saying Dark was in love.

In love?

He thought there was no way.

But then he saw you laugh at something Wilford said, and it started to make sense.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" He mumbled.

You were obviously scared of him, no matter how much you helped. He couldn't blame you. There was no way you'd like him. Besides, he was your boss and you were focused on your job. He didn't want to seem like he was taking advantage of you. He didn't want you to quit. He wouldn't survive. He couldn't tell you. He couldn't. Not yet, at least.

He'd figure it out.

Three months. Three months you'd been working there, and Darkiplier still hadn't gathered up the courage to confess to you. Everytime he decided he was going to, you were busy. Making a schedule, talking to another ego, making him tea…

He couldn't do it.

Everytime he tried to speak to you he just ended up telling you to do something for him. It was your job, technically, but he felt kind of bad. He was making you do menial tasks just because he was a coward.

But today. Today was the day. He would confess to you in the meeting room, before the meeting started.

He took a deep breath and walked into the room, seeing you already there. You were sitting in his chair, scribbling words down on your clipboard. He stared at your focused face, not wanting to bother you. He stood there like a weirdo for two minutes before you finally glanced up, seeing him. You looked back down before realizing he was there and jumping up out of the chair.

"Sir! Hi! Sorry, I figured you wouldn't mind if I sat here…" you rambled. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice you, I-"

"It's alright, Mr. L/N." He reassured You sighed in relief and began to walk out the door. He gently grabbed your arm before you could leave, and you gave him a confused look.

He looked… frustrated. Angry about something. You frowned. Did something happen? Did you do something wrong?

"Y/N…" he began. You raised an eyebrow. He said your first name. He looked around, noticing the other egos beginning to enter. He had to say it right then and right there. "Y/N, I-" he was cut off by the fire alarm going off. Wilford burst into the room.

"Ok… so I may or may not have blown up the microwave…" he said guiltily. Dark let go of your arm with a growl and went to the lounge, while you and all the other egos went outside.

Dark sighed as he sprayed the fire extinguisher and Wilford hid behind him. He thought about you. You were right there. He was just about to tell you!

He would have other chances. He'd be fine. It'd be fine.

Darkiplier groaned as he laid his head on his desk. He wanted to confess. He did! He really, really did! But… he got nervous. You were just so handsome! Especially since you'd taken up a new hairstyle. You looked so… confident. And outgoing. And sexy!

He couldn't. He refused to.

That is until Wilford waltzed into his office and claimed, "If you don't ask out that strapping young lad, I will!"

Now he had to ask you out. He figured it was a joke, but he couldn't take any chances with Wilford. The interviewer would probably kill you.

So, he made a to-do list of everything he was going to do that day. He was going to confess to you during lunch. He wrote it down in a small notepad you gave him for Christmas. He sighed and looked at the list.

Convince Warfstache not to kill everyone who annoys him: Meeting, 10:00 a.m.

He looked at the time.

9:45

He took a deep breath and stood up. He might as well get there early. Not like he had anything better to do. He left the notepad open on his desk and went to the meeting room.

You walked out of the restroom and headed towards the lounge, shaking your hands of water as you walked. You knew he was in a meeting, so you went to make him some tea for when it was over. You knew how aggravated he could get.

You made him a cup of Chamomile tea and walked to his office. You entered the room and sat the tea on a coaster he kept. You looked around the room for a moment before deciding you should meet Dark at the door of the meeting room when it's over. You go to pick the tea back up, but something catches your eye.

The notepad you gave him was open, and the page was titled, "To Do List". You raised your eyebrows. He had things to do? You were going to have to implement them into his schedule.

You picked up the notepad and read through the list. It was normal, for the most part. Meeting, meditate, nap, lunch…

There was just one thing you didn't really understand.

What did he mean by "confess"?

At 11:59, right before lunch, it said to "confess to Y/N"

Firstly, it was 12:15, so he was late.

Second, what did that mean?

The first thing that popped into your head was that he was going to confess his love. But he doesn't like you like that… right?

Well… he did act a bit strange around you… and he was nicer to you than the other egos… and you could swear you saw his face turn bright pink one time…

And you did hear Wilford say something about if Dark didn't ask out "that strapping young lad", then he would…

And Wilford asked you out a week after.

Oh.

Oh God.

He liked you.

Darkiplier liked you!

How did you not notice this before? Were you really that oblivious? How long had he liked you? You had so many questions!

And then Darkiplier walked in the door.

He didn't notice you at first, but smiled a bit when he did.

"Good morning, Mr. L/N. How--" he stopped his greeting and froze when he saw his notepad in your hands.

You turned to him, a confused look on your face. He looked at you, slight worry and fear in his eyes, before he sighed and walked over to you. He took the notepad from your hands and sat it on his desk. He walked around the desk and sat in his chair.

"Sit," he gestured to the chair across from him. You plopped down.

"You…" you breathed out. He smiled sadly and looked down.

"Yes."

"You love me…"

"Yes, I do…"

"How long?"

"How long have you worked here?" You both chuckled. You shook your head.

"I don't believe it…" Darkiplier stood. You stared up at him, wondering what he was going to do.

"I understand if you would like to quit. I will give you a recommendation for your next job."

"Excuse me?" You asked. He blinked and looked up. You were no longer sitting, as you were resting your palms on his desk, leaning over it slightly. "Why would I quit? I love this job!"

"What?"

"Everyone's so nice! I have never been in such a wholesome work environment!" You gushed. Darkiplier looked at you, confusion evident on his pale face.

"But… I-"

"Yeah, you love me. But guess what, dude? I love you, too!" You blurt out. Dark was taken aback by your sudden confession.

"I thought you were focusing on your job…" he pointed out.

"Technically, you are my job," you smirked. Both of you stared at each other for a moment before laughing. Well, you laughed. Darkiplier just let out small chuckles.

He let his eyes trace over your face. You looked so happy. He loved to see you happy…

He set a hand on your cheek and you stopped laughing. He was cold, but you didn't care. Your smile fell as you watched him. He leaned over the desk, like you were, and stroked your cheek with his thumb. He gazed into your eyes and just stood there. Just appreciating the moment.

You let your eyes flutter closed, hoping he'd understand.

He did.

You felt cold lips on yours. It sent a shiver down your spine and gave you goosebumps, but you didn't pull away. You both tilted your heads for a better angle, and you deepened the kiss by running your fingers through his hair and keeping them tangled.

And then the moment was ruined by Wilford letting out a wolf-whistle. You quickly pulled away from Dark and dropped yourself back in the chair.

"Well, Dark, I didn't know you had it in you!" He laughed. Dark turned towards him and you saw the red and blue auras around his grow. You looked back and saw Google and Bim give some money to Dr. Iplier, both egos grumbling in annoyance. You flushed and turned back, hiding your face in your hands. Dark stalked towards the egos, a threatening gaze daring them to say something else. All of them were smart enough to run. Except for Wilford, who asked "Can I be your best man, Dark?"

You then heard a scream of terror from Wilford and him running out of the office. Dark removed your hands from your face, his aura still large, and kissed one of your palms.

"Be right back, handsome…" he said too softly for the anger in his eyes. You grinned at his messier-than-usual hair and nodded. He stormed out of the office.

"Wilford!" He bellowed. You snorted and shook your head as you got out your schedule. You looked at the time.

12:30

You missed lunch. You'd have to make room for some food…

Among other things…

#darkiplier #markiplier darkiplier #mtv darkiplier #darkiplier x reader #darkiplier x male!reader #darkiplier x male y/n #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier x you #x reader #x male reader #x y/n #x you #markiplier egos x reader #markiplier egos

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talpup · 3 years

Text

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Chapter 79

Zora had only stayed one night at the Black Bulls base. Zara’s sister arriving the afternoon after Zara’s death to take Zora to live with her and her family in Rizon. While probably fortunate for Zora’s mental and emotional healing, it was unfortunate for the case and cause of justice that Zora hadn’t seen anything. With no idea who or why Zara had been killed, murdered in his own home; Zora seeing or hearing something would've be of great help to Magic Investigations.

It was mid-morning twelve days after Zara’s death when Julius arrived at the Black Bulls base. He had been carrying the final report from Magic Investigations; brow deeply furrowed, lips set in a hard line, and furious tears shining in his eyes. The case of Zara Ideale’s death was officially closed. Zara had been more than a friend to Julius. The man had enlightened and inspired him. Which made both the report, and things he overheard when walking the grounds of Magic Knights Headquarters all the more upsetting.

Seated behind the desk in his office, Jax lowered the report and looked up at his friend. “How could they find nothing? No trace. No lead. Is Magic Investigations really that incompetent? I’ll send some of my people out and we’ll find something.”

Julius shook his head and downed the whiskey he had let Jax pour him when he first sat down. Grimacing at the burn, he set the glass on the desk. “The case is closed. Sir Jorah was adamant about that.”

Jax frowned at the empty glass, eyes narrowing. “What’s going on here, Julius? There’s something you’re not saying.”

Julius sniffed, lip twitching. “I overheard some Purple Orcas.” His voice cracked with emotion forcing him to pause and swallow the painful lump in his throat. “They were conversing. I didn’t hear a name. But… They were talking about having killed someone in their own home.”

Jax straightened in his seat. Unable to believe it, he leaned forward and questioned. “You think Zara’s comrades murdered him?”

Eyes stinging, Julius looked up at his friend. “I’ve never known a Magic Knight to laughingly boast about having killed someone in their own home. I had Marx check the mission reports. There was nothing sent in from the Purple Orcas about entering someones home. Let alone killing them.”

“But why? Why kill one of your own?” Jax asked, incredulous.

Julius’ hands balled into fists. If he was right, just how far did this go? Surely Sir Jorah knew. Why else would he be so adamant that the case was closed? Why else would the Wizard King refuse to hear him out? Such news would be devastating for the Magic Knights. Was that why Sir Jorah was keeping it quiet? Or was it to protect the image of the nobles in the Purple Orcas? No matter the reason, it disgusted Julius. He had to get stronger and become Wizard King. He had to fix the hierarchical corruption within the Magic Knights. Sir Jorah might have taken the first step by implementing the star system. But it wasn’t enough if things like this could happen and be swept under the rug.

More dismayed than he’d been in years, Julius replied. “Heath may not have been the one to pick Zara for the Orcas, but he tolerated Zara well enough during his time as Captain. Whlif on the other hand.” Teeth gritted, he shook his head. “Zara might not have said anything. But I could tell things got exponentially worse for on him when Whilf became Captain.”

“Are you saying a Magic Knights Captain had something to do with the murder of one of his own?” Jax questioned, struggling to keep his voice down.

Rubbing his brow, Julius slumped back. “Mana. I truly hope not. Not wanting to cause Zara any problems, I didn’t openly reveal we were good friends.”

Jax nodded, understanding. Back in the day, before his rank had risen to the point of protecting him, Jamie and Pyter had set upon him more than once for forgetting his place as a merchants son and being friends with Julius. Even now, he still occasionally got flack for his friendship with the royal.

Realization dawned, a deep foreboding crawling up Jax’s spine. “There were three other royals and a noble who weren’t so careful about their friendship with Zara.”

Julius frowned and looked away. He should have said something. Should have told his sister and the others to be more mindful. That hate and jealously among the nobles was a very real and deadly thing. Maybe if he had...

“Are you saying I’m the reason for Zara’s death?” Sounded a voice from the doorway.

Julius jumped up, knocking over the chair as he spun. “Teris! You shouldn’t listen in on others conversations. Especially your Captain--”

“I wasn’t listening in. I was coming to ask Jax if he’d heard anything from Magic Investigations about Zara’s case.” Teris pushed the door open looking from her brother to her Captain and back. “Was our friendship with Zara really the reason he was killed? Murdered by members of his own--” She fell silent unable to go on. “What’s going to happen to them? Will Magic Investigations need more time to gather irrefutable proof?”

“The case is closed.” Jax said, pushing away a copy of the report Marx had smuggled out to Julius.

“So they’re being arrested? The entire squad? Or was it just a few? What’s going to happen?” Teris asked.

Julius and Jax shared at look.

Heart aching, Julius stepped toward his sister. “Teris.”

“No!” Teris stepped back. “Don’t say my name like that or look at me with that face! Something has to be done!”

“There’s no proof.” Julius told her, throat constricting. “I didn’t see who was talking. Only part of a squad cloak.” If only he had stepped around the line of shrubs. “Even if I did. I didn’t hear them say a name or give any details.” He told both her and himself. “They could argue it was a story. A game. A training scenario.”

Teris stared up at Julius with a look that hurt him almost as much as the wounded look she gave when he first left home after their mother’s death. Only this pained look of hers carried a spark of hope. As if she still believed he could do anything.

“You could go back to where you heard them. Use your time magic. Get a look at their faces. Better yet, you could go to Zara’s and see exactly what happened and who did it.” Teris said.

Julius swallowed, eyes red and shining with tears. He shook his head. If only he hadn’t been away on mission when Zara Ideale had been attacked and murdered. “It’s been far too long for that to work and you know it.”

“Then Marx or Advisor Ellara.” Teris tried. “They could--”

“Teris. No.” Julius interrupted, gently.

Teris spun around. Julius grabbed her arm. Pulling free, Teris made to light travel away. Julius used his magic to slow the time around her and speed his. He grabbed her once again and pulled her into Jax’s office, slamming the door closed.

Keeping a firm hold on her arms, Julius released the spell. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Where do you think!” Teris snapped.

“You can’t.” Julius said.

“Watch me!” Teris growled, struggling to pull free.

Holding her tighter, Julius shook her. “Teris! Stop! There’s nothing you can do.”

“There’s plenty I can do.” Teris said.

There was wild look in her eyes that frightened Julius for her. If she went to Magic Knights Headquarters or the Purple Orcas base and made a fuss she could be brought up on charges. She could possibly even be dishonorably discharge from the Magic Knights. Any chance she had of becoming Magic Knights Commander before her twentieth birthday would be ruined. Slim as that chance was with Commander Greywright not looking to retire until Sir Jorah did, Julius didn’t want that chance taken from her. He didn’t think he could stomach it. Not when he would’ve been the cause, her having overheard him and Jax. Not when his friend had been murdered twelve days ago. Not when his faith and love of the Magic Knights had been shaken to its core.

“No.” Julius said, grip tightening.

“Someone has to do something!” Teris expressed, angry tears welling in her eyes.

“Not you.” Julius mournfully told.

Tears slipping out of their banks, Teris stared up at him. Silently pleading him to fix this.

Julius’ throat bobbed with emotion. He had failed both his friend, and his sister. His friend was dead, and his sister was hurting. And there was nothing he could do about either. He hated it. He hated that the Wizard King he looked up to, and Magic Knights he loved would cover-up the murder of anyone. Let alone cover-up the murder of someone as kind and generous as Zara Ideale.

Julius felt powerless. Useless. And in his current position he was. But he swore he wouldn’t always be. When he became Wizard King he would make sure nothing like this ever happened again. He couldn’t seek justice for Zara. But he could honor the mans memory by making the Magic Knights a better, safer, more welcoming organization for all people, no matter their societal rank.

Brows pinched together Teris uttered hoarsely. “He was my friend, Juls. He had a son.”

Julius pulled her into a too tight hug. His eyes squeezed shut. A single tear escaped, rolling down his cheek to wet her hair. “I know. He was my friend too.”

79.2

A portal opened in the Black Bulls great room. Jax tensed, the gateway similar but different from Bronn’s. Fuegoleon stepped through with Randall and a group of other Magic Knights. At the sight of two Purple Orcas, Jax cast a quick glance about the room.

“You!” Jax pointed and whispered harshly to the Purple Orcas. “Go back the way you came.” When the two stared wide-eyed and didn’t move, the Captain stepped to them and growled. “Don’t think I’ll throw you through? I said out!”

The Purple Orcas turned and slowly stepped back through the gateway just as Cob stepped through.

“Close it up.” Jax commanded.

Cob looked back at the gateway.

“Now!” Jax ordered.

Confused as he was, Cob did as the Black Bulls Captain commanded.

Jax released a long exhale of relief. The last thing he needed was Teris seeing two Purple Orcas in the base. Looking at Cob, Jax told. “You’re lucky Bronn’s not here. He’s territorial about people magicking into the base, and doesn’t like other Spatial Mages. How’d you get in anyway?”

“Clearance.” Cob answered, cheerily.

Jax nodded. He should have figured. After all Cob worked for Magic Knights Headquarters. He turned to the Crimson Lion’s acting Vice Captain. “How’s Quince?”

“Still unconscious.” Fuegoleon reported, holding out the mission order for Jax to take.

Jax skimmed it and handed it back. “The geyser labyrinth, huh? Then let’s find you Yami and Teris in a hurry.”

“Did you note Xerx and Revchi’s names on there?” Fuegoleon questioned, referring to the two Purple Orcas Jax had ordered out and back through the portal.

“Drop the sarcasm acting Vice Captain. It’s not going to happen. You can have those two or you can my two Black Bulls.” Jax said.

“Sir Jorah wrote the order and names himself.” Fuegoleon told.

“I know the Wizard Kings hand.” Jax said. He turned to the Spatial Mage. “Cob. Fetch me Commander Greywright. Quickly, please.”

“Righty’o.” Cob created a portal and stepped through.

“Bran!” Jax called, seeing the boy enter the room and immediately do an about face. “Where’s Yami and Teris?”

Bran slowly turned back. “Yami’s in the training room. I think Teris is in the sun room.”

“Don’t think. Know. Go fetch Teris.” Jax watched Bran disappear down another hallway. He took in the Magic Knight’s gathered behind Fuegoleon. It was quite a mix. Randall from the Crimson Lions. Hamon and William from the Golden Dawn. Charlotte and Fraya from the Blue Rose. And Jack and En from the Green Mantis.

Knowing Jack was Yami’s friend. If finding enjoyment from always fighting each other could be considered friendship. Jax point at the Green Mantis then down the hallway. “Jack. Training room’s down that way. Take the hall to the right. First door on the left. Go get the big lug.” Thinking someone sensible should go along so Yami and Jack didn’t get caught up fighting, he added. “Charlotte. Go with him.”

Fuegoleon stepped closer to Jax. “Captain. The geyser labyrinth--”

“I’m well aware the geyser labyrinth is only accessible for a set amount of time, acting Vice Captain.” Jax interrupted. More to himself, he went on. “What’s curious is it opening up now.”

“Sir?” Fuegoleon blinked.

Jax smirked at the younger man and teased. “What? Didn’t know that the geyser labyrinth has been opening up like clockwork for hundreds of years and wasn’t set to do so for another two?”

Fuegoleon shook his head in answer.

Bran entered the great room with Teris. “She was looking at the page of Chaos.”

“Traitor.” Teris glared.

Bran looked hurt. “I only--”

“Teris!” Jax scolded. “What’s the matter with you?” He shook his head, waving off her excuse. “I don’t have time for this. The acting Vice Captain has a mission for you and Yami.”

“Acting Vice Captain?” Teris echoed as Bran slunk off.

“You heard about Quince. Did you expect Mereoleona to go without a Vice Captain?” Jax questioned.

Teris looked at her cousin. “You?”

“Just till Quince recovers.” Fuegoleon said, too concerned about his Vice Captain to smile or be proud about the temporary position.

If he recovers, Jax thought. From the sound of it, Quince was in a bad way. Though the man was finally stabilized, he was still unconscious and the healers had no idea when or if he would wake up.

Greywright stepped through a portal. “What is it, Jax?” He frowned seeing the group of Magic Knights still present and followed the Black Bulls Captain in stepping away from them.

Yami arrived with Jack and a beet red Charlotte.

Concerned, Randall asked the Blue Rose. “You feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine.” Charlotte snapped.

Jack cackled. “I think seeing Yami shirtless and doing pull ups with iron weights hanging from his waist might’ve been a bit much for her.”

“Dirty, disgusting...” Charlotte voice tapered off, her face reddening further.

“Think she’s talking about you.” Yami told Jack.

“I’m talking about the both of you!” Charlotte scowled.

“Well now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings. I took a bath this morning.” Yami said.

“Yeah. But after working out you stink now.” Jack said.

Yami lifted an arm and sniffed. Teris arched a brow at him.

Yami made his way to her, voice low and playful. “What do you think, Princess? Am I disgusting and dirty?”

“You could certainly use another bath.” Teris remarked, admiring the way Yami’s shirt clung to his broad sweat drenched chest and chiseled abs.

“Maybe you could help me with that.” Yami teased for her ears alone.

Thinking a change of subject was prudent, Teris asked. “Did you know Leon was made acting Vice Captain?”

“Good for him.” Yami circled around Teris and stood behind her. His chest grazed her back with every inhaled, breath tickling her neck with every exhale. “You smell delicious.”

“Stop it.” Teris breathed, feet wanting to turn around, hands itching to touch him.

“You’re beautiful.” Yami murmured, fingers trailing down her back where no one else could see.

“You’re hard.” Teris shook her head at the mistake. “I mean. You’re making things hard.”

“You have no idea.” Yami chuckled, hand sliding down to cup her ass.

Teris squeaked. The gathered Magic Knight’s looked her way. Yami chuckled again. Hands slipping into his pants pockets, he took a step back from her.

Fuegoleon looked from Yami to Teris, noting the blush in his cousin’s cheeks. The acting Vice Captain shook his head. Yami was a rogue. A nuisance. Fuegoleon would much rather have had Nozel on this mission. He didn’t trust Yami to obey a Captain's commands, let alone his. At least Teris was going, Fuegoleon thought, both grateful and disturbed that the foreigner seemed of bend to Teris’ will easily enough.

After a brief exchange with Jax, Greywright snapped, angry and annoyed. “Cob! Go get two Silver Eagles. I don’t care which.” As Cob disappeared, the Knights Commander frowned at Jax. “We’re wasting time. The geyser labyrinth is only open for so long.”

“I know.” Jax said.

“With it opening early, who knows if it’ll open when it’s suppose to.” Greywright said.

“Would you have rather I let it stay as it was?” Jax questioned, quietly.

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid.” Greywright looked about. “Where the hell is Cob with those Silver Eagles?”

“Geyser labyrinth?” Teris looked at the Knights Commander and her Captain.

“That’s the mission. We have-- Had six hours to get in. Find the vault. And get out before it closes back up.” Fuegoleon told.

“Quit complaining. You have the map showing the route those before you traveled. You should find the vault easily enough.” Jax told.

Greywright glanced at Jax knowing the Captain had been in the geyser labyrinth ten years ago when it opened at its scheduled time. The place was a literal maze. Hence the maps showing the routes previous explorers had taken. And the command that current explores map their progress. No one knew how big the place was. Only the entrance appeared when the labyrinth revealed itself. But the mapped out portions hinted at the places massive scale.

“Seems the acting Vice Captain's afraid his first mission will be a failure.” Jack cackled.

Teris made a face and turned away. Yami saw her distaste and smirked. He didn’t know why Teris didn’t like Jack. Given that she couldn’t give him a straight answer when he asked her, Yami doubted Teris knew herself.

“I’ve been an acting Vice Captain before. And had much success.” Fuegoleon reminded.

“Yami. Teris.” Jax waved them over.

“Here it comes.” Yami muttered, walking with Teris toward their Captain.

“I want you two back here as soon as the mission’s over.” Jax said. “No delays. No stops. Straight. Back. Here. Understood.”

“Why are you looking directly at me while you say that?” Teris asked, already knowing the answer.

“Understood.” Jax repeated, unblinking gaze fixed on her.

Teris stared back. Did her Captain really think she would head to the Purple Orcas base after this mission? Now that she thought about it, the idea didn’t sound so bad. She had no clue what she would do when she got there but she was she’d figure something out.

“Teris.” Jax prompted.

Teris rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“No. Not fine.” Jax said.

“Understood.” Teris amended, snidely.

Jax's eyes narrowed. He tried to recall if Teris had always been this difficult or if Yami was rubbing off on her a little too much. He fixed his gaze on Yami. “No deviations. No delays. You don’t let her out of your sight when the mission is over. Knock her out and carry her back if you have to.”

Yami almost made a joke but took in the Captain's expression and Ki. He shifted on his feet. “Really?”

“Yes, Yami! Really!” Jax ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath.

Yami looked at Teris out of the corner of his eye. It had only been four hours since he had seen both her and Jax at breakfast. What had Teris done in that time to rile their Captain up like this?

“Jax. The Sliver Eagles are here. Quit badgering your squad members and let them head out.” Greywright told.

Cob opened a portal to the labyrinth.

Greywright looked at Fuegoleon. “You have the countdown stones for each of the teams. Vault or not, be on your way out with no less than an hour and a half remaining. I don’t want anyone stuck in there when this thing disappears. Got it.”

“Yes, Commander.” Fuegoleon nodded.

Nozel and Neyres were sweaty and out of breath from their sparing session. The two Silver Eagles looked at their fellows wondering what was going on.

“I’ll explain as we head in.” Fuegoleon told the Silver Eagles, leading them through the portal.

As soon as the group was gone Cob closed the portal.

Eyes on Jax, Greywright ordered the Spatial Mage. “Wait outside if you would, Cob.”

“Yes, Sir.” Cob said, cheerily.

When the front door closed behind Cob the Magic Knight’s Commander stormed. “You told Teris it was Zara’s own squad? What the hell were you thinking?”

Jax shook his head. “I told Teris nothing. She overheard Julius telling me what he heard some Purple Orcas say.”

Greywright frowned. “Julius told me the same.”

“And?” Jax inquired.

“And what? It’s hardly enough to bring them in for questioning.”

“They’re Magic Knights.” Jax argued. “We should expect questions. Especially when one of our own, a member of their squad, is killed. Zara didn’t die on some mission or battlefield. The man was off duty--”

“We’re never off duty.” Greywright cut over him.

“He was in his home. His son was there.” Jax said.

“And there might have been a different outcome if the boy had seen something.” Greywright said.

“Who’s to say he didn’t? Maybe he’s too afraid to talk. Or has blocked it from his mind. Did Ellara have a look? Did any memory or communication mage? Or are you all too afraid to look too hard cause you’ll have to do something about it?”

“Careful, Captain.”

“I mean Zara Ideale might’ve been a Magic Knight. But like most of my squad, he wasn’t really one of you all. Was he? His life and service didn’t really matter. Did it? He was a commoner. A peas--”

Greywright’s mana cloaked fist hit the stone wall. Several large rocks crumbled and fell. Cracks broke through the surrounding stones. Spider web fractures splintered through the grout from ceiling to floor. Voice dangerously calm, the Magic Knights Commander warned. “Next time it’ll be your face.”

Jax stared at Greywright moment then lowered his gaze.

“The case is closed.” Greywright said. “Zara Ideale died in an unfortunate attack that we will never understand or have answers to. Magic Investigations combed the scene. They spoke to everyone in town and interviewed his squad members. It seems the man was loved by all. He had no enemies. No outstanding debts. He rarely drank and didn’t gamble. Everything he made went to provide for his son or help his less fortunate neighbors in and around the town he lived.”

“Julius heard--”

“Julius heard something that could’ve been anything.” Greywright interrupted. “He didn’t even see their faces. What do you want, Jax? You want us to question the entire Purple Orcas squad about something Julius overheard? Even if anyone admits to being party to such a conversation it could easily be explained away as the most benign thing.”

“Ellara--”

“Isn’t going to enter the minds of upstanding Magic Knights so we can find out if they murdered one of their own.” Greywright told. “Do you have any idea the fuss that would cause? Not just with the other Magic Knights but with the ranking classes?”

“If it were one of mine dead I’d freely volunteer if there was a chance justice could be served.” Jax said.

“Leave it, Jax. Do the smart thing. Follow Julius’ lead. Much as he doesn’t like it, he’s letting it go. You need to do the same. You need to get Teris to do the same. She’ll run into or have to work with someone from the Purple Orcas eventually. I can’t be worrying about what she’ll do when that day comes. She’s yours. Accident or not, you’re the reason she knows. Fix it.”

“Knows what?” Jax asked, latching onto the phrase. “You said it was something we’ll never understand or know the answer to. So what would she know?”

Greywright growled, mana rising again. Did Jax think he liked this? Refusing to dig deeper because of what they might find. He was following orders. And it wasn’t easy for Sir Jorah to make those orders. But the Wizard King did what he had to for the sake of the kingdom and the Magic Knights. “Enough. You’re beginning to make this difficult on me.”

“Good. It should be.”

“We live to defend and serve the kingdom and its people. Sadly that comes with every sort of danger imaginable. Even sadder. Sometimes we die.” Greywright said.

Jax shook his head. “Not at home. Not by attack from--”

“If you say ‘from one of our own’ Jax Jerren, I swear this squad will have a new Captain by the end of the hour.”

Teeth tightly clenched, a muscle in Jax’s jaw ticked.

The possible truth behind Zara Ideale’s death and Sir Jorah ordering the case closed with no findings had disenfranchised Greywright to the point he had seriously considered handing in his resignation. What further disturbed him was the reason that he hadn’t. It had nothing to do with his promise to serve Sir Jorah until the man retired. Nor was it because of anything the Wizard King had said. The reason Greywright remained was because of Julius’ suspicions about Ellara. Greywright still had his doubts, but they weren’t as firmly held as they once had been. If Ellara was working with the Agents of Chaos and using her magic to effect the Wizard King, Greywright couldn’t leave. He owed it to Sir Jorah, to his Captain's and Magic Knight’s to make certain no one was controlling the Wizard King.

“It isn’t right.” Jax said.

Shoulders slumped, Greywright turned toward the door. “There’s a lot in this world that isn’t right.”

79.3

Yami stood beside Teris at the mouth of the geyser labyrinth. He had thought that once away from Jax she would calm. But the opposite happened. Her mana flow becoming so rough and volatile he had to take a side step away from her to keep his harnessed.

Fuegoleon looked over the Magic Knights. A spiteful, personal side of him wanted to put Yami and Teris on separate teams. But like it or not, they worked better together. And without Teris or someone Yami marginally respected, who would make Yami submit and obey?

Fuegoleon sighed and ordered. “Yami. Teris. You’re with me and Randall.”

Nozel looked at the acting Vice Captain. He wanted to challenge the call. But after the unquestioning support Fuegoleon had shown him during his time as acting Captain. He didn’t feel it would be right.

Fuegoleon gave Nozel and Hamon, from the Golden Dawn, a time stone and copies of the mapped areas of the labyrinth. “Nozel, you have Neyres, Charlotte, and Fraya. Hamon, take William, Jack and En. You heard Commander Greywright. Vault or not. Give yourselves at least an hour and a half to make your way back out. Nozel, take the left split. Hamon the center.” He looked at Randall, Teris, and Yami. “We’ll take the right. Be careful and good luck.”

The three teams entered the labyrinth and went their separate ways.

Fuegoleon, Yami, Randall, and Teris well into the labyrinth when Randall commented. “It’s almost like we’re back in the Diamond Kingdom.”

“Hardly.” Fuegoleon said.

“Well, we’re missing Nozel and--” Randall fell silent.

Teris glanced at the Crimson Lion. “Can’t even say his name.” Her nose wrinkled, lip curling. “You disgust me.”

Fuegoleon watched his cousin take point despite her not having a map. Randall made to speak, but the acting Vice Captain held up a silencing hand and shook his head.

Yami pulled up the rear, following in line behind Randall. He looked up a head taking in Teris’ straight back and stiff shoulders, once again wondering what had gotten to her. She had been fine this morning. A little somber and more temperamental than usual, but much better than she had been during the first week after Zara’s death. He knew she harassed Jax daily, inquiring what Magic Investigations had found and when the full report on Zara’s case would be filed and ready for viewing. Maybe the report had come in and she hadn’t liked what it said? But even if Magic Investigations hadn’t found the culprits. Whatever info they discovered might lead to finding them. Teris might’ve been disappointed by such a report, but she wouldn’t be angry.

“To the right.” Fuegoleon said, looking at the map.

Teris took the sharp left turn.

“I said right.” When Teris didn’t turn back, Fuegoleon hurried his steps. “Teris!”

Teris kept on walking.

Fuegoleon grabbed her arm and spun her around. “ Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. I said we’re going to the right.”

“That’s the wrong way.” Teris said.

Fuegoleon waved the map in front of her. “The map clearly shows--”

“Then the map is wrong.” Teris said.

Fuegoleon took a breath, trying to control his rising temper. “The map shows where those before us have traveled. Someone already went the way you’re going. There’s nothing down there.”

“There’s something definitely down there.” Teris looked at the three men. “Do none of you sense it? Really?”

“Sense what?” Fuegoleon asked.

“Maybe it’s a beast or some left over trap.” Randall offered, knowing a royals magical sense was far better.

Teris looked at Yami, hope and question in her eyes.

Yami stayed silent a moment, focusing his Ki and magical senses down the path. He looked at Teris almost apologetically. “I don’t sense anything.”

Teris’ shoulders sagged, even as she insisted. “There’s something down there.”

“What sort of something?” Fuegoleon asked, impatience making his voice sharp. They didn’t have time for this. They had already lost twenty minutes when Captain Jax had refused the Purple Orcas and called for Commander Greywright.

“I don’t know. But it’s powerful.” Teris said.

“A powerful trap or beast?” Randall questioned.

“No.” Teris snapped.

“So you don’t know what it is, but you know what it isn’t.” Randall said.

“Leave her alone.” Yami rumbled. He looked at Teris. “I believe you.”

“Well now I feel so much better. Yami Sukehiro believes his girlfriend.” Randall drawled.

“Hush.” Fuegoleon commanded his friend. He turned to his cousin. “We’re turning around and going to the right. That’s an order. Don’t like it. You can head back out and wait.”

“Fine.” Teris snapped. She looked over her shoulder down the path then headed back to the main tunnel.

Fuegoleon gave a nod of satisfaction and led Yami and Randall in following her. Fuegoleon frowned when Teris didn’t head down the path he had instructed. Teris turned back up the tunnel they had been traveling that would lead her back out.

Fuegoleon sighed, exasperated. “You can’t be serious.”

“You told me to head back out if I didn’t like it. Well, I don’t like wasting my time so I’m heading back out.” Teris said.

Fuegoleon ground his teeth. He didn’t have time for this. “Stay just inside the entrance.”

Teris waved and continued on her way. Yami passed Fuegoleon, following her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Fuegoleon questioned Yami.

Yami looked back over his shoulder. “Do you really have to ask? Good luck, acting Lion King. Don’t die down here. Or do. See if I care.”

Fuegoleon spun around heading down the soft sloping curve to the right. “Randall. Let’s go.”

Teris walked another hundred paces and stopped.

Yami halted a step behind her. “You’re about to do something I would do.”

“Yeah well. What can I say? You’ve rubbed off on me.” Teris replied.

Yami’s eyes lowered to take in her backside.

Teris turned around. She a lifted an eyebrow.

Caught in the act of appreciating her form, Yami smirked. “This is the part where you usually try to reason with me. I should probably do the same. But all I can think of is rubbing off on you some more.”

“Yami. Can you focus.” Teris chided, lightly.

Yami looked her over. “I am focused.”

“On finding out what’s down there.” Teris said.

Yami slipped his hands into his pockets. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You said you believed me.”

“I do. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Teris questioned.

“We don’t have a map to mark and follow to get out.” Yami said, knowing how easy such a thing could be worked around.

“We can set blazes in the rock.” Teris said.

“And we don’t have a time stone telling us how much time’s left before this thing closes up and disappears.” Yami said.

Teris paused at that.

The fact that she was still considering doing this. The fact that she had planned on doing it at all. It told Yami that whatever she felt down there was pretty strong and inciting.

Looking about the tunneled cave, Yami sighed. “Tell you what. I’m gonna round the time remaining down to four hours. And we have to head back out with two hours left.”

“Two! Greywright and Fuegoleon said an hour and a half.”

Yami crossed his arms. “So now you want to listen to the Lion Cub?”

Teris looked away.

“That leaves you two hours, Princess.”

“Me?” Teris questioned.

Yami grinned. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. But I’m following your lead on this.”

“Thank you.” Teris smiled.

“You’re gonna owe me something big for this.” Yami told.

“I’m alright with that.”

Yami grew serious. “Soon as I call time we head back. No arguments, Teris. I have no problem hauling you out carried over my shoulder.

Teris gave a nod. “Deal.”

“Let’s go.” Yami sighed, already regretting this.

Teris set the blazes into the rock while Yami focused on keeping his breathing even as his counted down their time. They had walked for roughly an hour and a half, and never once happened upon a trap. It seemed as if someone had indeed come this way as there were faded blazes set into the stone. As for creatures. It was possible they sensed the same thing Teris did; but unlike her, were repelled by it.

“Thirty minutes left.” Yami told.

Teris continued walking without a word.

Yami scrutinized her as he followed. He wondered what she would do if time was up before she reached whatever it was she sensed. Yami had begun to feel something as well. Though it had happened so slowly, like a rising sun, that he couldn’t say exactly when the feeling begun. It was sort of a teasing tickle of warmth. He wanted to ask Teris more about what she sensed. What it felt like. How she knew something was there. But he didn’t want to disrupt his breathing and mess up his counting of time. He had rounded up every so often preferring to have them head back with more than two hours remaining rather than less. He just hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in agreeing to this. It was almost as if Teris was in a sort of trance. He should have made her promise. Deals could be broken. Renegotiated. But promises. They had yet to break a promise they had made to each other.

As they went on Yami began to squint though he didn't know why. The tunnel was no different. The surrounding magical glow providing just enough light to see. A sort of hum rang in his ears, distant but constant. He began to sweat, the coolness of the labyrinth turning uncomfortably warm.

A sense of foreboding squeezed at Yami’s gut. “We should head back.”

“How much time is left?” Teris asked.

“Teris--”

“How much time?” Teris persisted.

“Five minutes.” Yami told.

“Then give me five minutes.” Teris said, without glancing his way.

Yami took her hand as they turned another sharp corner, not wanting her out of sight or out of reach. The turn led to a dead end.

The tempting, more sensed than heard, whisper that had first lured Teris down the left path had grown louder and more insistence the closer they drew. Frustratingly, the voice hadn’t gotten any clearer. She still couldn’t understand what it said. As soon as she came face to face with the stone dead end the voice had ceased, leaving a distant ringing hum in her ears. As if her ears were trying to compensate for the voices absence.

Yami released her hand and placed his hand on the small of her back. “Time’s up, Teris. Let’s go.”

“It’s here! Just behind this wall.” Teris said.

Yami frowned. He didn’t doubt something was on the other side. But his gut told him it was something they shouldn't mess with. “I believe you. We just don’t have time to break a wall down. We have to head back.”

“But...” Teris fell silent. Her hands pressed flat against the solid stone barrier.

Yami fought the urge to pull her back from the rock face. He didn’t know why he was so unnerved. “Come on, Teris. You agreed.”

Teris stared at the wall willing something to happen. Something to show itself. She urged the wall to disappear. Or the voice to return. Anything. But nothing happened. There was no doubt that something was on the other side. Maybe it wasn’t meant for her.

Teris sighed in frustration. “Fine.”

Yami relaxed then immediately tensed. Teris looked back at him, feeling it too. It started as a low vibration and quickly built. The cave floor and surrounding walls quaking. Yami reached for Teris but was too late. The wall came alive, swallowing her.

“Teris!” Yami pulled his katana from its scabbard. Cloaking it in darkness and himself in mana skin, he called upon all his strength and slashed out at the rock face in three quick successions.

79.3.2

“Yami!” Teris pounded on the rock wall.

She stepped back and raised a hand to blast a hole through the stone face. A rustling caught her attention. She turned, eyes darting around the enclosed space. A skeletal corpse rose up from the ground. Teris directed an outstretched palm at the mummified figure.

“I’d rather not hurt you.” Teris said, a faint waver to her voice. Frightful as it was to see a dead body come to life, the scholarly side of her couldn’t help but look on in wonder. Could a living dead body feel pain? Was it even still a person? “I just want to get out of here.”

The corpses jaw fell open. A bright golden light emanated from its mouth.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Ray of Annihilation.” A voice rasped in Teris’ head.

The hair on Teris’ neck stood on end. She had been called ‘Ray of Annihilation’ before. Once when Iban used his magic against her. And again by Alowishus Spade. Yet it wasn’t the title that made her skin prickle. It was the corpses voice. It resonated with something inside her, carrying a familiarity.

“Who are you? Why did you call me here?” Teris demanded.

Again the voice, as dry and brittle as the mummified body standing before her, sounded in Teris’ head. “I am the Light Bringer. The Harbinger. I called you here so I could fulfill my destiny and finally rest.”

Teris stepped back. Her outstretched hand half lowered. Her other hand reached behind her, touching the wall that had swallowed her. “Why call me?”

“The Lord of Destruction is coming.” The voice rasped like dry sand swirling in the wind.

“He’ll tear this place apart trying to get to me.” Teris said.

“He will do much more than that for you. And you for him.”

“Are you similar to the page of Chaos?” Teris asked.

“I was a girl. Blessed with light magic but not Light itself.”

Teris’ hand lowered fully, curious interest overshadowing wary concern. “You’re referring to the primordial forces the Agents of Chaos are obsessed with.”

“You hold the creation of Life and Chaos. You are Light given form. Death’s greatest enemy.”

“By Death, you mean Alowishus Spade? He has death magic.”

“Death needs you to wield his creation to his will. Death and Chaos made the Darkness. But only Light can bend Darkness. Only Darkness can shape Light. Light cannot exist without Darkness. Nor can Darkness exist without Light.”

“What does Spade want?” Teris asked.

“That is not my reasoning.”

“Then what do you want? Why did call me here?”

“I am the Light Bringer. The Harbinger. I called you here so I could fulfill my destiny and finally rest.”

“Yeah. You said that already.” Teris readied her stance. “Get on with it then. Fulfill your destiny.”

“I nearly have.”

Teris looked herself over, taking stock. She felt no different. Looked no different. Lifting her gaze, she looked at the corpse. “No offense. But if you’re my Harbinger. How is it that you’re locked up in here, nothing but a dried up husk?”

“I am the Light Bringer. The Harbinger of Darkness. I called you here so I could fulfill my destiny and finally rest.”

A cold prickle shot up Teris’ spine. Her heart clenched, even as it raced. “You said nothing about being the Harbinger of Darkness the first two--”

Teris stopped. Her breath fogged, the air suddenly filled with a permeating cold. Her feet shifted at an invisible pull. As if the earths natural gravity was unseated. The constant, steady tug came from the stone wall. No. It came from who was on the other side of the stone wall.

“Yami.” Teris breathed. She stepped to the corpse. “Let me out!”

The glow within the skeletons mouth dimmed. “I can finally rest.”

The mummified remains collapsed into a pile of ash. Teris spun to face the rock wall, hand lifted to incinerate the barrier. But the wall broke apart before she could call upon her magic. The once solid slab of stone exploded out in a mass of pulverized rock. Before it could reach her, the debris was sucked back by the new gravity field.

“Yami!” Teris rushed to him only to skid to a halt.

Yami’s warm tan eyes had been replaced by black bottomless pools reminiscent of the small black holes he created with his magic. He had his own gravity field which was growing stronger by the second. Teris’ arms pinwheeled, her boots sliding along the ground, pulled closer to him. She created a magical sword of light and thrust it into the rock floor, holding on to stop from being drawn in.

Yami radiated a biting cold that burned as badly as any heat Teris could create. Teris’ hands dried and cracked in the bitter air. The skin around her knuckles split open; blood freezing before it could spill. Her cramping hands lost all sensation. Fingertips turning blue, then purple.

Teris stared at her love. What had she done? This was all her fault. If only... “Yami. I’m sorry I led us here. Please. Please, come back to me.”

Inky black waves rolled off Yami like smoke from a hearth. The wisps of darkness consuming everything they touched. The tangible dark plumes squeezed the space, choking the air out of the cavern. The light of Teris’ magical sword began to dim. Not because Teris’ mana was draining. But because of the void Yami was producing. It was smothering her magics light faster than the light could cast.

“Yami! Please! I can’t do this without you. I need you. I love you. I came back to you. Please! Come back to me!”

Even more quickly than Yami had broken through the wall, the darkness emanating from him pulled in on itself like the snap of a bow string. Teris was lifted off her feet, yanked horizontal to the ground. Cloaked in mana she held onto her wavering sword of light hoping it and her strength held. Boulders bigger than Pilfer and No Name broke off from the cavern walls and went flying. Sucked up into the retreating darkness.

In a fraction of an instant the darkness and its immense pull were gone. Teris fell to the stone floor with a thud, magic sword and mana skin disappearing. Yami’s eyes returned to their natural tawny brown. Breathing heavily Teris rolled over. She already loved Yami’s warm, tender eyes but decided in that moment that they were most beautiful color in existence.

“I told you. Let’s go.” Yami’s eyes slipped closed as he spoke the last two words.

Teris rushed forward and caught him. Or at least tried to. They fell together as she tried but was unable to bare his weight, too shaken and weakened.

“Yami. I’m so sorry.” Teris pulled his torso onto her lap, hugging him close.

A great rumble sounded. The entire space trembling with its vibration. Teris looked about, body shielding Yami’s unconscious form. The labyrinth couldn’t be closing. Could it? That much time hadn’t passed. Had it?

The geyser labyrinth had a powerful mana coursing through it that hindered ones magic. As such Teris hadn’t been able to light travel. But that overwhelming mana had disappeared. Teris didn’t take the time to wonder how such a disrupting mana pool could come from a mummified corpse. Nor did she think on anything that had occurred.

Holding onto Yami, Teris light traveled. They appeared on a grassy knoll a couple hundred meters away from the labyrinths entrance just as the entrance crumbled and disappeared. She had a moment of relief at seeing the others standing a ways from the vanished entrance. Glad they had made it out safely. Then she fell over on top of Yami, succumbing to hypothermia.

Wishing you all a Happy Christmas and/or Happy Holiday's.

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Next chapter snippet:

Greywright cleared his throat. This was becoming uncomfortable even for him. And the Magic Knights Commander had both seen and given his fair share of dressing downs over the years. Even though Yami had played a part and stood beside Teris, Jax mainly addressed his scathing remarks to Teris. Greywright wondered how much longer the two could take it. Though they both remained at attention. Teris seemed to sink further and further with every word. While Yami’s muscles tensed and trembled, hands balling into fists.

#yami sukehiro #julius novachrono #nozel silva #fuegoleon vermillion #black clover jack the ripper #Charlotte Roselei #Black Clover #light in the darkness

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