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hinaaspanda · 3 years

Text

scrawny | pjs

Pairing: Bad Boy! Jisung x Chilhood Besfriend! Reader

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, a lot of beating people up, **TW: minor instance of sexual battery, stops really early on**

Genre: Angst, some hints of fluff?

Word Count: 10,805 whoops

It was expected that guilt etched itself into your heart. You were the reason Park Jisung was so beaten up, after all. You always were.

inspired by the song Scrawny by the Wallows!

a/n; I apologize if the contents of this fic personally harm you in anyway; I really never meant to hurt anyone, I just wanted to write a more mature-themed fic.

08 . 07 . 12

“You can’t beat me! I’m older and stronger than you, Sungie!” The high pitched voice of your prideful older brother irked your ears as you timidly picked on the weeds below your crouched knees. His hollers, coupled with laughs from his twin always ruined the calmness the breeze brought you. Your eyes glance towards the poor boy on the receiving end of the torture, none other than the boy next door, Park Jisung. You huffed out a sympathetic sigh. No matter how annoying your brothers get, that poor kid just a few feet away from you always had it worse.

Donghyuck, your first older brother, started at the neighbourhood weakling first. His fist hurled towards Jisung’s lower waist before the second member of this cursed partnership, Jeno, trapped the poor kid’s skull in a headlock. Jisungs figure plummeted into the grass, his small fists punching the air as he failed to fight back. Donghyuck belts out another one of his ear shattering howls before turning to your once peaceful frame.

“Y/N! LOOK! WE BEAT JISUNG AGAIN!”

Your hands find themselves tugging at the grass a little harder than you wanted to, the green residue staining your palms once you finally let go. You were almost at your limit with Donghyuck and Jeno, the two buttheads you had to call family. You had enough of it all. You stomp towards your brothers as rays of irritation emitted from you.

“You two are so annoying sometimes! Can’t you just stay put and be quiet for ONCE?” you pleaded, your demanding voice throwing everyone at the park off, especially your two brothers. After all, you were always quiet, always patient with them. They watched fearfully as you gestured towards the poor Jisung lying limp on the grass, bloody bruises and scars covering up his once innocent skin. The air froze still as everyone on the playground waited for your next words. “And please stop hurting Jisung already! He’s younger than you, it’s not fair!”

Jisung winced at your words. He knew you'd say that he wasn’t strong enough. He rubs the fresh scab on his knee, his eyes concentrating on the drops of blood dripping down from it, in the hopes of distracting himself from his own confusing feelings. He knew he was weak, more than anyone else on this playground. But hearing it from you hurt just a little bit more.

The air between the four of you grew silent, the only thing making any noise was the wrestling leaves caught in the spring breeze. In any other occasion, you would have taken your time to relish this moment, but now you had your dumb, older brothers to take care of. You scan their seemingly scared figures before Donghyuck once again lets out an aggravating chuckle.

“You can’t talk to us like that!!” Donghyuck suddenly gave you a stern look, slightly shaking his head in disappointment, as Jeno stepped beside him. “You better watch your mouth, y/n. We’re older than you, remember?”

Fear shot down your spine. What were you thinking? You’d practically be dead meat once your mom finds out you yelled at them! You sealed your eyes as you braced for impact, impact of your brothers lecturing fists breaking your frame. Impact that, also, never seemed to actually occur. Slowly your eyes opened, revealing something jaw dropping.

Jisung’s back faced you, his stance showing an essence of power his 10 year old figure never showed before. His hands, already bruised and crumpled into fists, lowered themselves to his side as your older brothers both took their turn laying defeated on the beat up grass. Groaning in pain, Donghyuck cuddled his newly injured torso, while Jeno soothed his side with the back of his palm.

“Don’t talk to y/n like that, Donghyuck.” Jisung boomed, his eyes never leaving the sight of the two conquered 12 year olds still drowning in pain.

Later that night, you watched as all three boys sunk into an endless night of lectures about not getting into fights, a night you were luckily allowed to skip. Your mind runs back to that earth shattering scene, your brothers lying below the neighborhood weakling, his stance more powerful than those of superheros. You watched Jisung trot home from your bedroom window

Maybe Park Jisung isn’t so weak after all.

...

05 . 16 . 15

“Zhong Chenle, If you make us late to class ONE MORE TIME I swear I will hurt you.” You threaten your new neighbour on the phone. You rubbed your temples with the nimble pads of your fingers, knowing full well Chenle hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet.

“Hold on! I’m almost ready, just give me like five more minutes!”

“You said that ten minutes ago!”

“I mean it this time! I swear!”

“Just hurry up, ok?” You pleaded before cutting the call. As you hastily shoved your phone into your jacket pocket, a disheveled Chenle emerged from his front door, the piece of toast hanging from his lips reminiscent of those anime girls Donghyuck always drooled over.

You could still remember the day Chenle came into your life, taking over the vacant house beside yours. His bubbly, cheerful demeanour taking over your entire summer with all these trips to the basketball court and raids at the neighbourhood convenience store. In your eyes, he was the perfect addition to your neighbourhood friend group, which at that point in your life, only consisted of you and the neighborhood scrawny boy, Park Jisung. Well, that’s what you thought at least.

As the days diverted from bright and sunny, to cold and frigid, and as the three of you grew more overwhelmed with middle school, Jisung grew more and more distant. As for the reason? Well, you wanted to know more than anyone, but that puzzle was harder to crack than any of your grade 7 homework. These days, it was so rare to see his face, you almost forgot he shared a class with you, or still resided six steps beside your house.

“When do you think Jisung’s gonna hang out with us again?” Chenle’s abrupt voice awoke you from your sorrowful slumber. Your head sinks down, your eyes watching your feet on the subway floor. “I don’t know, Chenle.”

Your ears couldn’t help but drown out your teacher’s voice as they taught today’s lesson. You had other things to worry about, anyways. Like what you were going to eat today, or how your hair looked tied up like how it is now. But more importantly, what was going through his mind from across the classroom. It wasn’t long before the bell finally rang, signaling the student’s freedom. Your exhausted eyes watched as the herd of teenagers crowded the exit, leaving three figures inside and all alone; you, Chenle, and Jisung.

From the corner of your eye, you watch Chenle slumps his bag over his shoulders as he, with overflowing panic, shuffled towards the brooding teenager, who looked like he was just staring at you a minute ago. Off to the side, you prayed for Chenle’s success. Or more accurately, his safety.

“H-hey Jisung, do you wanna, uh, walk home with us?”

Jisung pondered for a little bit, then continued.

“...us?”

“Yeah, me and y/n.” Chenle raised a palm in your direction while Jisung’s eyes followed almost instantly. All while you tried your best to hide the fact you were watching all of this go down.

You sensed a shift in Jisungs mood just then, going from simply tired and wanting to head home already, to… anger? Why would he be angry?

“No thanks, you guys can go ahead”

Jisung shot up from his desks, various chairs and classroom furniture shivering in fear. Jisung winced at those words. The same sting he felt all those years ago at the playground with Donghyuck and Jeno, ripped through his chest. But it wasn’t like he was being called weak, or that he needed to prove his worth. No, it was simply that you were with someone else. Not with him. “But we all live on the same street.”

“I’m fine, Chenle”

“Come on, man-”

Suddenly, Jisung whipped around, facing the innocent transfer student. He shot him one last glare before sending his figure to the ground with his fist, faster than the bullet train that provided you a ride to school this morning. Chenle let out a howl of pain as you bounced out of your seat, coming to his aid. Jisung watches as you hold Chenle’s body close, closer than he would’ve liked, before sending you a glare as well.

“Stay away from y/n” He huffed before trekking away from the scene of his own crime. You follow closely behind, the zipper of your bag opening wider as you drag it along.

“Jisung!” You cry, your eyes scanning the halls for your neighbor, your neighbor that was always full of surprises. You finally find him slowly making his way towards the school doors before he stops, turning around to face you.

You never really noticed how much he grew over these few years. Now, his figure was taller, much taller than yours ever could be, easily towering over your small frame. His shoulders were broader, he looked meaner. This wasn’t your scrawny neighbourhood friend any more.

“What?” He muttered, his face noticeably softer now that Chenle was out of his sight. His fingers gripped the strap of his bag as he stared you down, watching you fumble with your own words. He would rather die than admit it, but you looked cute, all nervous like that.

“Why’d you hit Chenle?”

“I-” Now he was the stuttering mess. “I don’t know”

He paused, his suddenly guilty eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t like him being with you.”

You could almost laugh in disbelief. Was he being serious? Your head cocks to the side while your arms cross into themselves. “Jisung, please”

Jisung held his head down, knowing full well of how lame he was right now. Your eyes however, tried finding his again. Reassurance etched in each of your pupils as you lightly nudged his shoulder.

“Don’t worry Jisung, I’m not gonna leave you.”

His frame brightened up instantaneously as you watched him practically jump for joy at your words. So after all those years, Jisung was still a big softie, huh?

“Now, go apologize to Chenle and let’s all go home together, ok?” You spun around, back to the classroom. Jisung swiftly trailed behind you. Of course he didn’t think twice about his apology. Sure, his pride was at stake, but for you? Park Jisung would do anything.

...

04 . 10 . 17

“Get off me, you freak!” The pinned down middle schooler scowled under the grasp of Jisung’s bloodied knuckles. He gasped for air as Jisung clamped his hands down in a chokehold. Jisung tired his best to shoot him a mean glare through his bruised and blackened eye.

“Don’t you dare touch y/n like that, got it?” He growled, his eyes never leaving the sight of the suffering student. Jisung watched as he desperately pried himself away from Jisung’s grasp. He deserved this, though. That moron had zero right grazing his against your thigh. Especially not on his watch.

“It was an accident!” The student dizzily coughed out, his neck still trapped between Jisungs strong palms. “I won’t do it again, alright? Just let me go already!!”

Like the parting of the red sea, Jisung’s palms subsided from the student’s neck, finally setting him free. The student collapsed to the ground, hissing in pain before sending Jisung a dirty look. The various students that once crowded around the scene rushed away to the sounds of an irritated teacher, leaving an awestruck Chenle, a damaged Jisung, and your guilt ridden self behind in the third year hallway. It was expected that guilt etched itself into your heart. You were the reason Park Jisung was always so beaten up, after all. You always were.

Your sorrowful frame couldn’t muster up the courage to spit out a cohesive sentence before the P.A. system blasted through your ears. The next words that deadpan, robotic voice would utter were terribly easy to predict.

“Park Jisung to the principal’s office, please. Park Jisung to the principal’s office. Thank you.”

“Ow! That stings!” Jisung seethed, his hands, newly patched the moment you retired home for the night, digging into your teddy bear’s flesh as you applied the medicine to his wounded cheekbone. You scoffed beside him, picking up more medicine with the q-tip in your hand. “Well, it wouldn’t have to sting if you didn’t beat up that kid in the first place!”

“He touched you weirdly!” He groaned in pain as you plopped another layer of that ice cold medicine he hated.

“It was an accident! And he apologized before you choked him to near-death!” You shot back, your grip on the q-tip growing tighter. A sensation you noticed only happened whenever emotions overflowed in your heart. The pads of your fingertips gently spread a bandaid over his callous skin as the air in your bedroom grew tense. Your chest pushed out a heaving sigh. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“I can take care of myself, Jisung.” You glanced down, cleaning up the mess from your first-aid kit. “So please, stop hurting yourself for me. I hate seeing you all beat up like this, Sungie.”

Sungie. Sungie. It sent butterflies to his stomach. That simple childish nickname, pulling him back to that playground. The start of his fighting career. He didn’t care if that was some random nickname from Donghyuck. It sounded better when you said it. Much, much better.

Jisung awoke from his daze as he felt a pair of lips softly graze his newly mended cheek. His head whipped fast to face you, but barely catching up to the record breaking speed of his ears turning pink. With his cheeks soon following after. His eyes, wider than any body of ocean found on this planet, flusteredly stared you down with only one question in mind. What. Was. That.

You held your clumsy eye contact as you leaned away from your rushed, but sweet, kiss. “Please?” You barely let out in a whisper. Jisung let out a soft grin, his hand hesitantly brushing yours.

“Alright.”

You once again watched Jisung trek the four steps to his front door before freefalling onto your bed, a full on, red-cheeked, flustered mess. Lee y/n, what the hell is wrong with you.

...

07 . 23 . 17

The ice cream melting at such a rapid pace underneath the scolding summer heat was the least of your and Chenle’s concerns. Not with the moving truck parked outside the house of your childhood neighbor and friend?, Park Jisung. After sending flabbergasted looks to each other, the two of you bolted to the front door, disregarding any need of cleaning up after yourselves.

You couldn’t keep still as Chenle banged his fist on the door. Was he moving out? You thought back to this summer. The countless nights the three of you would relish in each other’s company, whether it would be just resting on one of your beds, scrolling through your phones, or at the playground, taking turns on the ancient swings. You smiled to yourself, remembering how Jisung would never swing himself, opting to just push you instead. Would you ever see him again? Your heart cracked open just a little bit at that last thought. The possibility of him leaving you? It hurt more than any punch or chokehold could.

Suddenly, the tired figure of Jaemin, Jisung’s level-headed older brother, emerged. His irritated expression contrasting his welcoming gestures as he allowed the two of you inside without saying a word. And while you had nothing against Jaemin, you really wanted to see Jisung. That boy had some explaining to do.

“Boarding school!? Overseas!?” You and Chenle collectively yelp in surprise, the lemonade Jaemin generously provided you quivering in response.

“Yeah, our parents thought it was a good way to calm him down, get rid of that fighting habit he got over the years.” Jaemin informed. “He left yesterday, didn’t he tell you?”

Your lip bled as you bit into its flesh. No, he didn’t tell you. But you had a strong gut feeling you were the very reason for that hiatus he was taking from your life. You couldn’t help but lock yourself in your bedroom for the rest of the night, against poor Chenle’s wishes. All of it, everything was your fault. Park Jisung wasn’t the weakling, now. You were.

...

03 . 18 . 19

The azure sky looked almost haunted at night. Chills raged through your spine as you, and an exhausted Chenle, shuffled your way home. Your plastic bag of trophies, commemorating another shop raid, hung loosely from your fingertips. Your figure gravitated towards the worn out playground bench as Chenle let out another ear piercing yawn. You were glad he didn’t retire to his own home just yet, though. You enjoyed his company.

“God! My brother’s stuff was such a pain to lug around!” Chenle screeched, soothing his lower back with his palm as you opened one of the few soft drinks you earned from the convenience shop. “Why’d he have’ta move out for college now?”

“It’s not like he had a choice, you know.” you fought. “School does start back up tomorrow.”

“Don’t start with that now, y/n.” Chenle enveloped his forehead in his hands in a petrified manner, as you tried your best to stifle your laughter away. “uGH! SCHOOL’S SUCH A PAIN!!”

You took another sip of your ice cold drink, the can so frozen, it felt hot against your skin. You, however, didn’t really hate the idea of highschool starting up again. You weren’t some measly, small first year anymore. You actually had friends now. But of course, it was a good distraction from the 2 year childhood-neighbour-sized hole in your heart.

“You’re still thinking about him, huh?” Chenle leaned on the opposing side of the wooden park bench, taking a monstrous bite of the chocolate bar he threw aside his 2 dollars for. You sent him a stare, one conveying an emotion even you couldn’t pinpoint. “You already know what I’m gonna say, Chenle.”

Chenle let out a light scoff before softly tapping the exposed skin of your forehead with his knuckles. You squirm, interrupting the calmness that was sipping your drink. You hated that out of all the habits Chenle could have developed, flicking your forehead was one of them. “Don’t worry! All you need to do is distract yourself, and I bet you’ll find one once school starts!”

You tilted your head up to the stars, your eyes shifting to the left as they gazed upon a familiar set of navy window curtains. While Chenle’s harmless habit did nudge you a bit, your own habit of missing Park Jisung, was more detrimental to you than any weak forehead flick could be.

...

“We have a new student today…” The monotonous voice of your newly appointed teacher for the year already blew your ears dry with boredom as your eyes dug through every corner and crevice of this bland classroom for a way to keep you awake. But you deserved some slack to be cut in your favour. It was 9 am in the morning, you would rather be anywhere else but here at the moment. Your eyes were about to roll back in pure exhaustion as your teacher gestured towards the classroom door.

As if on cue, a towering figure sauntered in, woahs and gasps bouncing on the beige walls. You could feel Chenle’s stupefied look burning through the nape of your neck, but you were too trapped in your shock to give him a reciprocating stare. Not with him right in the center of your view.

His uniform wasn’t remotely set on his frame correctly. The paper-like school blouse, which was supposed to be fully buttoned, was opened up, exposing a black graphic t-shirt splattered with text you never considered to be school-appropriate. In place of the faded-plaid, beige trousers that coupled with your uniform, tight black jeans hugged his legs, the gaping rips showcasing old and newer bruises and scars. A small chain hugged his left hip as your teacher once again gestured to the center

“Everyone, please welcome, Park Jisung!”

You knew you were just scanning and processing his appearance like two seconds ago. But finally having that name rip through your ears, you could almost explode from the overwhelmness.

God, can I just pass away now?

...

“Y/n, I won’t ever leave you again.” Jisung’s husky voice brushed through your ears softly, as he cradled your frame, your faces just centimeters apart. His eyes, with all the stars in the sky trapped inside, gave you a look of sincerity you haven’t properly felt in such a long time. He scooped your hair behind your ear before letting out another heart fluttering whisper.

“Be with me, y/n. Let’s run away together, hm?”

“Y/n? Y/N!” The dolphin-esque hollers of Zhong Chenle, combined with the faded ruckus of your school’s cafeteria, jolted you awake from your fantasy as cheap bronze tinted soft drink catapulted itself into the innocence of your white school uniform. Snorts and giggles filled the chests of your friends, especially Chenle’s, as he skipped away to get you a paper towel.

“You seem so out of it.” The voice of a concerned Sungchan your一classmate and resident caretaker一notices, handing you the towel Chenle oh so urgently retrieved.

“When am I ever in it?” you scowled as you began destroying the fabric with the white cloth. It earned a sweet chuckle as Sungchan discreetly slid the bottle of pop away from your grasp, avoiding another image-wrecking incident. He shined a refreshing grin in your direction as Chenle bounced back onto the lunch table.

“She was probably just bein’ emo about Jisung again, leave her be, Sungchan.” Chenle leaned in to inspect your once again dazed figure, the clicks of his judging tongue just pissing you off a little more than it usually did. “Weren’t you, y/n?”

Of course you were, you always were.

“Park Jisung? The new kid? He was an asshole to her, she's allowed to be mad, right?” The other new addition to this weird clique (and your saving grace), Shotaro, chimed in.

Chenle let out another snort, his knowing eyes now glaring at yours. “You would think so, Sho, you would think so.”

“Okay. But he still outright ignored her, right? That’s still a pretty bad move” Shotaro rebutted. Chenle’s eyes went from devious to anxious in a heartbeat as the air around you grew silent.

Yes, Park Jisung一your friend and neighbour for almost all of your life, did indeed ignore you after two whole years of little to no contact. And yes, you were bitter about it. Hell, it broke your heart, smashed it into pieces better than any one of his anger filled punches could. The way his eyes never fully reached yours, his cold, irritated expression. His back turned away from you, this time in an effort to hurt you.

Although, he shouldn’t have this effect on you. For two years, you were deprived of his dangerous yet heartwarming company. You were left alone, ignored via text, forgotten. You could handle this. You watched as he shuffled past your table silently, earning gasps from the audience of students as the delinquent character he recently shifted into. You could handle leaving Jisung. Right?

“I know what could get your mind off that asshole!” Sungchan suddenly chirped beside you, earning the eyes of a curious Shotaro and a confused Chenle. You however, tuned in as fast as humanly possible, praying for any decent distraction you could get.

“Let’s go on a date.”

Jisung couldn’t pry his eyes off your figure, glistening under the afternoon sun that peeked through the cafeteria windows. Your attention, laid on anything else but him as you chatted away with your new friends. He stabbed the stale food with the flimsy plastic fork as he watched you, from the other side of the room, let out your signature laugh; a window-wiper sounding chuckle that you always shielded with your hand. He hated that hand part, though, your smile was too pretty to hide.

Despite your upbeat demeanour, he knew you. Confused at his lack of connection, the barren text threads on your phone. He knew you were probably furious at him right now, for not even sparing her a glance throughout class. And despite how much he just wishes to just stomp on over to you, pick up your precious frame, and kiss you right then, he couldn’t.

He scans his morning old text threads, finding any way to distract himself from the fanservice playing in his thoughts. He clicks the most recent thread, a thread that only made him regret his decision to pick up his phone ever.

Jaem Bro [8:46am]: have fun at school :)

Jaem Bro [8:46am]: remember what mom said, too. don’t talk to y/n

Jaem Bro [8:47am]: she’ll only bring back your bad habits

Jisung scowls as he shoves his phone away.

Piss off, Jaemin.

...

“I had fun today.” Sungchan hummed as he practically skipped beside you that Saturday night. His towering figure shielded you from the glaring light of the street lamp as you softly hummed a response. “Yeah, I had fun too.”

Of course you weren’t lying. All in all, you truly did have a good time on your date. Sungchan kept his promise, all while enjoying kittens at a cat cafe, demolishing your self esteem at the arcade, and even feeding you food you never thought a 17 year old could afford. For the whole day, it felt like that Jisung-shaped hole in your heart was filled, simply retiring into an afterthought. And that would be true, if you hadn’t passed by an all too familiar bedroom as you walked home that night.

It was an all too familiar feeling, the clenching of your heart as you gazed upon those curtains. His bed, which was also in view, sending you memories of patching that clumsy boy up almost every day. It all washed back to you. Sungchan suddenly nudged your side, waking you up from your cursed thought train. But after seeing what he saw, all you could do was yearn to return back to your dreamland.

To say that Jisung’s eyes simply widened at the sight of you, grinning sweetly at another guy, would be a definite understatement. He came so close to dropping his newly opened soda can as a series of texts shifted into his mind

Don’t talk to y/n, she’ll only bring back your bad habits.

Jisung clenches his jaw watching you giggle at that asshole’s (presumably bad) joke. Maybe Jaemin was right. Maybe he shouldn’t talk to you anymore. You clearly didn’t need him now.

“Jisung?” You yelped, stunned. Jisung watched you slowly inch back closer to that beanpole. He felt his limbs being pulled back into his fighting habits, jealousy burning through his lips. His hands, still off to his sides, balling up into fists. Someone was gonna get hurt tonight.

“Were you guys on a date?”

“We-”

“Yeah, we were'' Sungchan cut in, his arm shielding you from Park Jisung’s wrath. “Got a problem with that, buddy?”

Steam puffed from Jisung’s ears as he stalked towards Sungchan. “You got some nerve talking to me like that, buddy” Jisung hissed. He was at his limit. He gave Sungchan one last nasty look. Target: Acquired. Except, with the last two years of zero practice under his belt, his aim wasn’t exactly good. It was horrible, actually.

It all happened too fast for you, one second you were safely guarded by Sungchan’s shoulder. The next? Lying limp at the mercy of Jisung’s hatred-filled fist. His knuckles jabbing deep into the crevice of your cheekbone. Deep down, you knew it was probably just an accident. But your heart didn’t listen to you. It never did.

“Ji-” You could barely muster through your own tears. You wanted to scream from the pain. But not just the physical pain.

Jisung stood frozen before your defeated figure. Shit. What the hell was wrong with him. All he wanted was to knock out that asshole for a little bit.

“I-” Jisung stammered

“Forget it, Jisung. Quit being an asshole and leave me alone!” You spat out those last few words a little louder than you intended to as you wobbled up, storming away. Away from him, away from Sungchan and your own home. You didn’t care how far you’d go. You didn't care about the sudden rainfall pouring on you. Your mind just told you one thing and one thing only. Run

I hate you so much, Park Jisung.

Jisung waited for the sky to dress into its daily midnight attire before finally ducking into the comfort of his own home. He was overwhelmed, to say the least. Pissed, definitely, with that Sungchan asshole just existing around you. Tired, for staying out till 1 in the morning again. But mostly guilt, for being the very reason your eyes weren’t completely dry that night. He knew he was gonna regress into his fighting habits soon enough, but never like this. His eyes glazed over his screen clicking on a familiar contact.

“You WHAT?” Chenle shocked what was left of Jisung’s poor eardrum as he gawked in full astonishment. Jisung couldn’t see Chenle’s face, but he knew for a fact it was scrunching up in confusion. Jisung watched the still streetlight from his bedroom window, guilt still welling up in him. “Man, what am I gonna do?”

“Oh, I don’t know? Apologize?”

“How am I gonna do it? She’s not gonna wanna talk to me after this! I’m screwed!” Chenle grew silent on the other line, his brain striking an idea harder than the sudden rain pour. “That’s it! Sung, what’s y/n’s favorite thing to buy at the shop? The one down our street?”

Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed. “...She likes their ramen a lot, but what’s that got to do with any of this?”

“Meet me at the shop tomorrow morning. I know how to fix this.”

...

“SUNGIEEE!” Donghyuck shrieked, throwing Jisung off of his caution-filled thought process as the front door blew wide open. Although, it wasn’t much of a thought process, but rather just the repeated question of What the hell am I doing here, and you, of course. But no matter, you were always running through his mind anyways. Donghyuck pulled Jisung into a tight, brotherly hug. “Where have ya been?? I missed you!”

Jisung shined a bogus smile at his childhood bully. This better fucking work, Zhong Chenle.

Jisungs legs drowned in a pool of hesitance as he shuffled into your home, his ears shielding the irritable rambles of Lee Donghyuck, one half of the annoying Lee Twins duo. He didn’t care if he hadn't seen Donghyuck’s face in over two years, the only thing he searched for was you.

“You’re here for y/n right? She got a cold from the rain last night, but I could probably let you in.” Donghyuck informed, as if he could read Jisung’s mind.

“You should hurry up and be our in-law soon, Sungie!” He nudged Jisung’s arm a few times, a mischievous grin suggesting that he either read into his mind a little too much, or that Jisung was just blatantly obvious about his feelings. He prayed that it wasn’t the latter. Another figure suddenly emerged from the kitchen, giving Donghyuck a nice, crisp slap on the nape of his neck.

“Oi, quit bein’ such a creep, will you?” Lee Jeno, the other, more down-to-earth half of the Lee twins, defied. “He’s 17, dumbass.”

Donghyuck jokingly wailed in pain, a habit he's kept since childhood, apparently. Jeno turned his attention to Jisung, a sympathetic stare shining in his eyes. At least he turned out half-way decent.

“Y/n’s upstairs if you need her, but uh-” Jeno scratches his head. “I don’t think she wants to see you, or anyone, really.”

“That’s fine,” Jisung’s eyes ducked to the bag of snacks hanging from his hand. “I’ll just drop these off and head out.”

“Don’t have too much fun, Sung-OW!” Donghyuck chirped, irking Jisung as he earned a slap on the shoulder from his twin. Thank god for Jeno.

Your aching head actually didn’t hurt that much, at least compared to the pain of your brooding heart. You watched a leaf fall to the ground from your bedroom window. The pain still piercing through your side, the guilt for leaving Sungchan behind at the playground, or the confusing monstrosity of Park Jisung, it all overtook you. Your measly little brain couldn’t handle it.

The creaking of the door wasn’t enough to spin you back to reality, but apparently, his cautious footsteps were. Your head snapped forward, your eyes meeting the view of his ripped jeans, and a plastic bag littered with snacks. Of course.

“Jisung?”

“H-hey”

You watched as Jisung stammered under his breath. He looked so nervous facing you, worlds more nervous than moment’s before one of his brawling sessions.

Jisung’s eyes kept rejecting yours as he fumbled with the plastic bag amidst his grasp. To be completely honest, Jisung was sure you wouldn’t even let him in, much less talk to him. Even if it was in such a cold manner. He shuffled towards her laying figure, his eyes still glued to the wall as he hands her the plastic bag.

“I, uh一no, my mom wanted me to give you this.” Jisung stuttered.

You dig through the bag, the only thing trapped within it bound to give you diabetes. You scoff. “Your mom wants me to eat instant noodles?”

Shit, right. That doesn’t make any sense.

“Ahaha, yea” Jisung trailed off, backing away from you before proceeding to brutally stab his elbow onto your door handle. Who’s dumb idea was it to name it the funny bone, anyways? Nothing about it was funny. He lets out a soft hiss after finally turning away from you. Well, maybe Jisung himself was, he was a clown, afterall.

“Wait.” You suddenly squeaked, making Jisungs' shoulders jerk up. Was she gonna-

“Come help me.” You handed him the cup noodles, wanting nothing but to laugh at his stupid, stupifyied face. You sniffled. “I can’t make noodles by myself like this, you idiot.”

“Oh, right.” Park Jisung, you absolute clown.

...

Out of all the situations you could get stuck in, the last one you expected was in your bedroom, trapped in an annoying cold whilst being fed instant noodles by your childhood neighbor, Park Jisung, three whole days after that incident. You watched as his plastic fork, etched in a tremble that had you thinking he was going to die that instant, hastily scooped the processed food before making its way to your mouth.

However, and you would rather die than admit it, but you missed this warm sensation. You missed the company Jisung provided, the way he would grow soft just for you, moments after beating up some stupid kid. The countless bandages you used in his favour as you patched him up almost every night. You missed it all. And despite having him back in your street, he never really came back to your life. It was all different now.

You watched him chuck the fork into the now empty noodle bowl, his next few actions sending you on the verge of cardiac arrest.

With a tissue in hand, Jisung suddenly leaned in, his eyes still veering away from yours as he wiped off some stain on your cheeks. There could have also been no stain at all, and this was just a ruse to get you flustered. Park Jisung has gotten good at playing with your heart lately. His chest was just centimeters apart from yours, any closer and your thumping heart would be completely exposed, not that your vermillion cheeks weren’t a dead give away already.

“A-am I too close?” Jisung barely whispered. Half of you wanted to say yes, while the other half wanted to pull him even closer. You couldn’t handle this anymore.

“Why are you here, Jisung?” You suddenly blurted out as you grabbed a hold of his gentle wrist. “And I know it wasn’t for some stupid noodles.”

Jisung’s chest caved in as he let out a sigh. “I, uh wanted to say sorry.”

Your mind flashes back to that night, the image of his fierce, cold eyes still sending shivers down your spine. Jisung continues, his eyes finally holding yours hostage. Here goes nothing.

“I'm sorry for punching you, for making you run away like that.” His guilt ridden eyes scan your bed-ridden frame. “All of this, it’s all my fault.” His eyes collected the stars that hid beneath the afternoon sky. “If you wanna stop talking to me after this, I understand. I’m not good enough for you.”

There goes your heart again, clenching at anything related to Park Jisung. You hated how he had that effect on you. Yet you also loved it. You let out a soft chuckle sending waves of hope to him. You could never really reject him, could you?

“You really are annoying, sometimes.” You gaze at him, a small grin lining your lips. “But, I don’t think I wanna stop talking to you just yet.” The way Jisung’s frame brightens up the same way it did all those years ago, didn’t fail to warm your heart. “I’ll forgive you, Park Jisung.”

Without thinking, Jisung pulls you into a gentle hug. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, Jisung softly smiled. No matter how many times Jaemin could nag him, Jisung could never stay away from you. His life was finally back to normal.

“Oh! one more thing!” You murmured. He smiled at you sweetly, giving you the signal to continue.

“Sungchan’s one of my good friend’s, so please, don’t try and beat him up? And maybe you could even hang out with Chenle and them at school! There’s some new guys there that I think you’d get along with great!” You suggested, your bright demeanour too strong for Jisung’s poor eyes. “Would you at least try? Promise?”

Jisung shrugged. I mean it wouldn’t hurt. He sends you another soft smile. “Yeah, I promise.”

...

“That’s why you ask for help, dumbass!” Shotaro barked at Chenle, who was currently slumped on the lunch table, brooding about his not so stellar math grade.

“You, good sir, have NO right to talk.” Chenle proudly clapped back. “Mr. ‘35% in english’.” Chenle heaves out an over-exaggerated sigh. “If only y/n was here today, she is the smart one.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t that hard being the smart one around you, Lele.” Jisung shielded Chenle’s incoming offended slap to the shoulder as he nibbled on the plastic straw drowning in his vending machine soft drink. It alarmed him how fast he mended with your friend group, even if it did just consist of that dolphin brat he’s known for years, and probably the sweetest guy he's ever come across, Shotaro. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t beat up every guy he comes across.

Jisung glances around the table, where only three chairs were actually occupied. Doesn’t that Sungchan guy hang out here?

“Where’s Sungchan?” Jisung drew in the attention of his new friend. Shotaro’s fingers tapped the plastic table. “It’s weird, he only hangs out with us sometimes, whenever he feels like it, I guess.” Whenever y/n’s around, you mean, Jisung corrected in his head.

“Or...” Chenle pitched in. “He didn’t wanna hang out with someone who was about to punch him.” Crap. He should probably apologize for that.

“Wait what?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it! Ahaha!” Jisung quickly cut off Shotaro, the fear of getting incredibly embarrassed riling through him. He hoisted the empty soda can in between his fingertips before standing up on his two feet. “I’ll, uh, get another one.”

Jisung couldn’t have felt more creepy than he did at that very moment, peeking through the heads of various students as he eyes Sungchan. His mind flashes a very cute image of you, smiling just as softly as you do both three days and two years ago. His breaths grew heavy. This was gonna be easy, just apologize to Sungchan and maybe become his friend, then y/n can really be happy. Jisung let out a deep sigh. For y/n.

He hesitantly sauntered towards the beanpole currently reaching for his newly paid drink at the vending machine. From the looks of it, this Sungchan guy couldn’t hear Jisung’s calls, making him yell louder. He could feel the stares of the confused highschool students burn through him. God, how annoying can this asshole get?

“Here to finish what you started, Park?” Sungchan suddenly sneered, his eyes narrowing nonchalantly at the Park in question. His laid back posture screaming 'you don't wanna mess with me.' Jisung raised an eyebrow, scanning Sungchan's current figure, which didn't match with his image from that night. Taken aback at the sudden mood shift, Jisung stuttered. “No, uh, I wanted to say sorry about that, actually.”

“Save it” Sungchan spat. His eyes fully locked in with Jisung’s before ripping them away at the last second. He encased a white box in his hand before pivoting on his heel. “I'm going for a smoke.”

Jisung eyes go wide. Who the hell is this guy? Sungchan didn’t spare the poor boy a glance before slipping through the school's only emergency exit. Various phrases, all containing the word ‘asshole’, ran through Jisung’s mind as he followed Sungchan, trying his best to remind himself that this was all for you.

The outdoor air brushed lightly against Jisung’s skin, coating him in a refreshing hug. With the pearly blue sky above him, and the lush green trees shading his face, he would’ve relished in the afternoon breeze. He would’ve, if it weren’t for the cigarette smoke overtaking him, all coming from that damn beanpole.

“What the hell do you want from me, Park” Sungchan hissed, a cloud escaping his lips before whipping around. “Are you here to make friends or some shit?” Jisung threw a hesitant nod at his direction.

“Look, Sungchan. Let’s just try to get along. For y/n’s sake. That's all she wants.” Jisung extended a hand to Sungchan, only to earn another annoying ass chuckle. “Why would I wanna do something like that for y/n?”

“Don’t you like her or whatever?”

“No, are you stupid?”

Jisung’s eyebrows stitched together in confusion. “Then why-”

“Isn’t it obvious, Park?” Sungchan, stenchy cigarette breath and all, leaned in. God, Jisung wanted to puke right in front of him. “She's hot. I want her.”

Jisung pondered for a few minutes, and honestly? He wished he never put two and two together. He couldn’t help but hiss under his breath as his hands balled up into their iconic fists. The random dates? The nice guy image? It was all for that? This bastard wanted to take your innocence away. And this bastard had the audacity to hurl another snicker at Jisung.

“You do know what I’m talking about, right?” Sungchan kissed his cigarette one last time before tossing it to the gravel, the poor paper feeling the wrath of his sneakers. “I wanna have sex-”

Jisung didn’t give him the chance to finish before crushing his gut between the school’s brick wall and his iron fist. Jisung leaned in, his eyes burning with a fury he hadn’t felt in nearly two years. “You’ll be dead before you get the chance to even touch her, got that?”

Sungchan let out a mighty growl of pain, bending away as Jisung reconnected his fist to Sungchan’s right cheek. The beanpole flew to the ground, red blood spewing from his nose. Jisung scoffed, standing tall with not a single scratch on his skin. For a little while, at least.

Suddenly, Sungchan flung himself back to his feet, his bruised fist upper-cutting Jisung’s jaw off its course before pinning him down to the stiff hard rock of the pavement. His hands pressed themselves onto each side of Jisung’s neck as the boy underneath gasped for air. Jisung’s fingers clamp onto Sunchan’s wrists, pulling for an escape as Sungchan spits out another irking laugh. “You’re not the only one who can put up a good fight, Park”

Jisung sounded off shallow breaths beneath Sungchan’s grasp. “Why would you...y/n…”

“I’m only human, Park. I got needs. And y/n? she was all depressed, just begging for the attention. It only made sense.”

Jisung sent a knee through Sungchans chest, rolling on top of him before staining Sungchan with punches all over his skin. Jisung’s fingers tense up around Sungchan's shirt collar as brings him closer, hissing at his leftover cigarette breath. “That doesn’t give you any damn right to fuck her.”

“Why do you care so much? Last time I checked, you left her without saying a word! Looks to me like you're the last person who she would care about.”

Those texts he left unopened abroad, the missed calls, the wanting stares you sent him on his first day back. It all washed back to Jisung like a typhoon. This bastard was right, he couldn’t protect you like this anymore, he didn’t have the right. He broke your heart over and over again. He was the last person you needed. But no. The bastard needed to be taught a lesson; don't ever mess with his girl.

“Cause I love her, and I won't let you have her.” Jisung suddenly blurted out, praying that the redness on his cheeks was simply blood. Sungchan let out a heaving chuckle. “Oh? Even more of a reason, then!”

Jisung hissed one final time before trapping Sungchan between his legs, throwing heavy punches left and right, staining his shirt, his fists, Sungchan’s face, and the ground with blood. Like a bomb moments before its explosion, there was no stopping him, he was trapped by his own haze of violence. The only thing pulling him back to reality were Shotaro’s arms as he and Chenle guided the two bruised bodies to the nurse’s office.

I’m sorry, y/n. I really am.

...

The image of a bloodied Sungchan, alongside an equally bloodied Jisung, was the last thing you wanted to wake up to from your hefty slumber. Your phone practically levitated from all the buzzing. People you faintly knew, and even some you didn’t, all came to you in utter fear. God, and to think you were on a break.

Y/N!! Sungchan and Jisung were fighting in the parking lot!

Y/N!! You need to come over here asap!!!

You need to control your boys y/n, someone could get seriously injured!!

You couldn’t help but laugh at that last hasty message. It’s too late to worry about someone getting injured. Especially if it’s Park Jisung in question. You glance at probably the only contact that hasn’t, well, contacted you. Your finger, laced with anger, clicks the screen. Park Jisung, you’ve got some explaining to do.

“You don’t understand!” Jisung’s mighty croak pounded through your phone speaker. However, your attention slowly began to drift away. It only made sense, that’s the fifth time he’s pulled that excuse in this call, alone. “That Sungchan guy is a complete asshole!!”

“You say that about every damn guy I talk to, Jisung!” You nagged, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head in disappointment. Some things just couldn’t change, could they?

“Y/n, I’m telling you!! He’s not as nice as you think he is!” You clenched your phone, agitation seeping through your teeth. Couldn’t he just listen to you for once? “He’s got bad motives, y/n, you don’t wanna hang around someone like him. There’s so many bad things he's hiding from you. The bastard smokes, fights regularly, too, and…”

You heaved out a deep sigh, your knuckles turning white from your angry grip on the bed sheet. First, he pulls the same damn excuses, and then he lies? You couldn’t take it anymore.

“And what? Jisung? What other lies are you gonna tell me?” Silence cuts through your speaker, finally giving your irritated heart a chance to breathe before Jisung continues.

“Wait...you think I’m lying about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re saying that a highschooler smokes! Jeez, if you didn’t like Sungchan you could’ve just said so!”

“You know I wouldn't lie to you, y/n!” Your buzzing figure leans back into your castle of stuffed animals as your bellows gradually get louder with each passing argument.

“I thought I knew, but you’re really making me second guess things. I’m tired of this, Jisung.” You finally hiss before ending the call, leaving Park Jisung suffocating in yet another guilt-filled haze. Just as you click away from the contact, a notification catches your eye, craving for any sort of distraction from your anger.

Sungchanniee :) [6:37pm]: hey :)

Sungchanniee :) [6:37pm]: you wanna call?

...

"I’m not so sure about this, Sungchan.” You fumbled with your fingers in the passenger's seat of Sungchan's car.

“C’mon! It's a party! It’ll be fun! Think of it as like a way to pay you back, for making you worry so much before.” You think back to your phone call, where you mostly vented about Park Jisung, while all he said was ‘calm down’ like ten times. Maybe he was right. You glanced out the car window, the greyish skyline growing darker and darker with each hour. God, your parents are going to kill you for staying out so late.

“Who is this YangYang guy, anyways?”

“Oh YangYang? That dude’s the best at parties, you’re gonna love him!” Sungchan beamed. You huffed. Anything to get your mind away from your childhood neighbor.

The bass-boosted, trap noise someone had the audacity to call music shook you to your core the moment you entered the party house. You met familiar faces, sure, but none you wanted to talk to. How did anyone have fun like this? Heck, where did Sungchan go? Your now curious eyes glance back to the bar, shiny bronze liquids all dazzled up in their own glass bottles. Nothing like your neighbourhood child self had ever seen. You found yourself drifting closer. What kind of house party was this?

The liquor slid down your throat with an extra sting. Too many flavours, all clashing with each other in the wrong ways. And yet, you found yourself coming for more. You’re already halfway done your first cup of the night when a figure comes up from behind you.

“Hey! I’m YangYang! Sungchan brought you, right?” He extended a hand out to you as you exchanged greetings. He carried your attention to the top of the stairs as you desperately tried to hear him over the music. “Uh-yeah, I’m y/n.”

“Just to let you know, we have a chill out room if you ever need a quiet place to stay.” YangYang informed, his smile radiating welcoming energy. “It’s up on the third floor, just to your left. Have fun!”

You bid him farewell before you resumed staring intently at your drink, hoping no one else would spare you a glance.

45 minutes and probably 2 drinks (though it really felt like 6) later, Your head starts banging with a sharp pain you never felt before, clenching at your brain. You hiss in pain, the bass pounding music only making you feel sick. You wobbly retreat up to that chill room YangYang mentioned. That would calm you down, right?

“Hey” The sudden yet comforting voice of Sungchan alarmed you as you creaked the door open. He was perched onto the bed, the light of the lamp setting his skin on fire. Your eyes couldn’t look at him for long, though, not with your heavy eyelids drooping. Sungchan scoots aside, patting a now vacant space on the guest bedroom, just for you. “You should rest, you look exhausted.”

...

Chenle slammed the car door shut, shoving his car keys in his pocket as Shotaro followed swiftly. The evening breeze swayed the flaps of Chenle’ jacket as he shivered. “We’re at the party now, Sung.” He muttered to his phone.

“Alright.” Jisung could barely breathe as he perched his head on his damp pillow, not with the guilt still rushing through his body. His eyes, still red and swollen, watched the bright stars contrast from the midnight sky. It was the first time he's stayed in at night. Yet he was in no condition to go out. Sure, the stars shined bright tonight, but his star was forever gone. He’d lost you.

“You just want us to check on her, right?” Chenle implored as Shotaro greeted the party, putting up his best ‘I actually want to be here!’ face. Jisung huffed softly through the other end. “Yeah.”

“Take care of y/n for me.”

...

Like a magnet, you flew onto the bed, positioning yourself for a good night’s rest. Sungchan swiftly laid beside you, a groan escaping his lips as he positioned himself too. You inhale, the air around you smelling faintly of…cigarettes? You brush it aside, this is a highschool house party, afterall.

Sungchan watched as your eyes struggled to stay open, his face merely inches away from your peaceful one. His heartbeat grew faster and faster, his heart racing as he pushed your hair behind your ear. A sly smirk lined his lips.

He started off slow, peppering kisses all over your sleeping figure as he made sure you weren't fully awake. Softly, he pinned you down, the blades of your shoulders digging into the mattress as he got on top of you, fully encasing your frame in his. YangYang's a genius, letting him use the guest bedroom like this. Sungchan felt you tremble under him, wriggling around as you send whimper-like sounds in his direction. He grew hot, practically salivating. Park Jisung can finally piss off.

"mmph, Jisung stop it" you uttered unconsciously, throwing Sungchan off his course. Anger ruling through him as he gripped the bedsheets, trying his best not to lash out on your peaceful figure. After all this time? You still thought about him? That asshole? His hand grabs a hold of the bare of your thigh. He was glad you only wore a skirt today.

The touch of a cold palm shook you away from your drunken slumber, only to find Sungchan, pinned on top of you with rosy, flustered cheeks. He stared you down with the hunger of a lion, moments before devouring its next meal. Your eyes widen, the sudden realization of Sungchan's current doings striking you like a flash of lightning.

Jisung was right, he was dangerous.

You pushed Sungchan's chest off of yours as you shot up from the bed, terror dripping from your eyes. His eyes still contained that hunger. A hunger that you were never going to solve. "Get off of me!"

You raced through the door, not sparing him a chance to answer. While sliding down the stairs and slithering through the crowds of drunken teenagers, you barely noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. All of your trust, all of your faith, brutally destroyed right before your eyes. Who could you turn to now??

"Y/n? Where are you going?" Chenle, who arrived late to this horrid party, tugged on your sweater lightly to get your attention. You, however, only responded with a stronger pull away.

"I'm going home, Chenle. I need to get out of here." You huffed breathlessly before escaping, not sparing him or Shotaro a glance. Chenle gave Shotaro a concerned stare before following your footsteps.

Sure, you had the willpower to get as far away from that monster as possible, but your legs didn't. They were weak, wobbly, and the mercy of gravity's pull. Your running form grew sloppy as your arms dragged themselves through the air. You were so beat, that it didn't come to your surprise when your sight switched to black and a thump of hard pavement striking your head before you laid limp underneath the streetlight.

“Y/N!”

...

You convinced yourself you were peacefully floating away on a cloud, so imagine your disappointment when your eye’s flutter open to see your bedroom curtains, followed by your comforter which you drowned in. The sunshine shot your weak eyes as you shifted around, wondering how you ended up back home in the first place. What happened?

Jeno sat right beside your sleeping figure, lazily perched on your desk chair as his eyes abruptly ripped away from his phone screen and onto you. He sent you a heartwarming smile, his once tense expression relaxed at the sight of you, alive and well. You never seen Jeno smile like that before. It was nice

“How are you feeling?” He soothed, patting the back of your hair softly after scooting closer to you. You murmured a half-assed response, the shockwaves of a major headache starting. God, you were never going to drink again. “I’m alright, I think.”

Jeno huffed out a relieved chuckle, pulling the blanket over so it would cover more of your cold looking frame. He gave you another bonk to the head with his knuckles, something that helped your headache. Helped it hurt, at least.

“That’s good. Well, you passed out last night, Chenle had to take you home. And don’t worry, I didn’t tell Mom and Dad about the party. You should watch out for Hyuck, though.” Your eyes widen at Jeno’s words, ‘party’ specifically shaking you to your core. The deafening music, the soul-irking booze, the unknown faces. You hated it. Jung Sungchan pinning you down on the guest bed, closing the distance between you without your approval. You hated it. Utterly disgusted by it. All your trust, your respect for him, thrown out the window. Your mind trails back to a certain phone call, your heart now drenched in guilt.

“That Sungchan guy is a complete asshole!”

“He’s got bad motives, y/n.”

“You don’t wanna hang out with someone like him!”

Park Jisung. Your childhood neighbor. The one who was right all along, and the one you foolishly disregarded. You clenched the fabric of your shirt, your heart pulling on your weakened frame. How could you be so blind, and still have the heart to blame him? Park Jisung. Your protector, your knight. The one who truly held your heart. That last thought sent butterflies straight to your stomach. Of course, He always had that effect on you. You’ve just never believed yourself. Always brushed it aside. If Jisung could tell you the truth, so could you. You love him. You’re in love with Park Jisung.

You scrambled out of your bed, your speedy figure scaring the living shit out of Jeno. “Woah, slow down! Where are you going?”

Your eyebrows wrinkle, etched in determination. “I need to find Jisung.”

“Can’t that wait? You need to rest!”

“I need to tell him the truth.” you murmured. “My heart can’t take it anymore, Jeno.” he sent you a knowing nod, stepping aside as you rushed out the door.

Your brother did have a point, though. You shouldn’t be scrambling away like this, not with your knees about to buckle up from exhaustion. Your eyes, however, shot straight ahead, your pulse going through the roof. No more lying to yourself anymore. You race through the kitchen, not paying notice to a distraught looking Donghyuck, protecting his full cereal bowl from a fatal accident.

The grass still felt damp from the week-old rainfall as it hugged your bare feet. You raced through the sidewalk, your chest heaving as the wind pushed against you. Where was he?

The creeks of the ancient swingset didn’t fail to irk the ears of Jisung and Chenle as they sat in a comfortable silence, with a few (but very opinionated) comments thrown in by Chenle to help lighten the mood. It was the only thing Chenle could think to do, with a guilt-ridden, messed up Park Jisung at his side.

“I couldn’t protect her, Chenle.” He barely whispered, breath shaking. “I was too late.”

“You did everything you could, man. You can’t protect her all the time.”

“I wasn’t even there when she needed me most!” Jisung shouted, his voice booming as he shot up from his swing. “If I can’t do something like that, how am I gonna…” He trailed off, his figure slumping back to his swing.

“How are you gonna...what?” Chenle’s curious eyes scanned the brooding figure. His hands, fully enveloping his head, ruffling his hair in the process. If Chenle hadn’t leaned in right beside Jisung, he would’ve never caught his little一yet electrifying一confession. “...How am I gonna be her boyfriend?”

“JISUNG!” The two teenagers jolted back into reality, the sounds shallow, exhausted breaths hurling their direction as their whip in unison. Your disheveled figure一complete in its oversized t-shirt, tousled hair, and lack of proper footwear一bolts towards them. Despite the energy surging away from you, you wouldn’t rest until you reached them. As you got closer, your eyes finally locked with Jisung’s, mirroring your guilt ridden expression as he towered over you.

“Jisung, I-” You began, not sure if your shaky breath was caused by the immense amount of cardio you just did, or your rapidly thumping heart about to explode in your chest. “I’m sorry for blaming everything on you, not listening to you about Sungchan, everything. I was being stupid and selfish and一” You cut yourself off, not daring to look up at the dumbfounded Park Jisung, ear’s more red than the red scrunchie on your wrist.

“I-I need you in my life. You’re the one that keeps my life together, the one who kept me safe, ever since we were kids.”

Your eyes finally had the courage to look at him, your fingers wrinkling the hem of your shirt as you bite your lip in pure anxiety. Your heart was racing, was this what a heart attack felt like?

“I’m in love with you, Jisung.”

Jisung froze, his lips parted in utter shock. It all hit him too fast. His brain lagged behind as his hands, etched with a sense of impatience, roughly cups your cheeks, bringing them inches before his face. Eyelids fluttering shut, he molds his lips onto yours, his arms clasping around your waist in an effort to hold you close, so you never leave his life again. You reciprocate, your arms wrapping around his neck, trying your best to hide the butterflies stuck in your stomach. A sensation only Park Jisung could achieve.

The two of you finally part lips from your breath-stealing kiss, your eyes never letting each other go as vermillion stains your cheeks. Jisung quietly stuttered out his reply. Don’t get Jisung wrong, he wasn’t hesitant to answer at all. In fact, you were pretty sure you already knew his. Jisung shined a heartwarming smile.

“I love you too, y/n.”

...

“Did you really need to punch that guy that hard? I think his nose started bleeding!” Shotaro yelped, still slightly out of breath the four of you running away from the shop security.

“That asshole deserved it! He shouldn’t be flirting with my girlfriend in FRONT of me!” Jisung laid back on the playground bench, an arm hugging your waist from behind as you lazily perched next to him.

“That asshole was the cashier, and your girlfriend was paying for our drinks, dumbass.” Chenle uttered with a deadpan look. He tossed another ice cold, convenience store drink. “Tell him, y/n!”

“Chenle’s right.” You responded automatically, softly smiling to the feeling of Jisung’s arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace, his head hiding in the crook of your neck. This boy really softened you like putty. You glance back at him, your eyes holding the stars above.

“Besides, I already have you, I don’t need anyone else.”

As you and Jisung both blissfully ignored the fake retching sounds emitting from a sarcastic Chenle, and the contrasting, supportive cheers coming from Shotaro, you sent Jisung a swift, sweet peck on the cheek. Turns out you could melt him like putty, too, judging by his embarrassed reaction. You didn’t need the questionable comments. You only needed him. Park Jisung. Your (scrawny) knight and shining armour.

173 notes · View notes

felswritingfire · 3 years

Text

First Parent up is Horkeu Kamui! I hope these satiates those who requested for him for a bit, I’m still getting a feel for his character!

Under the cut for length!

Word Count: 2429

Horkeu Kamui

IF YOU WANTED TO HAVE/RAISE BABIES, HE’D BE SO HONORED ABOUT IT

He’d probs go off into a spiel about it and you’d have to sit through this hour long talk of him shooting off about how humbled he is that “you’ve chosen this Horkeu Kamui to sire your children, my Hero- it is the highest honor-”

He’d probs end up with with three little babies, all of them boys, the oldest is two years older than the twins and all of them are extremely overprotective of you when they get older

He’s ecstatic when you bring home your first boy. He’s always been enamored with the thought of a family and now here’s the start of one with his beloved hero. He’s honestly euphoric about it

You’d think that he'd be an amazing dad with zero problems since he’s had a history of raising heroes- but, here’s the thing, he has zero clue how babies work because when he gets the heroes, they’re usually all older then, you know, little kiddos. So when you hand him your guys’ first boy for the first time, he just, let’s him lay in his arms too afraid to move because what if he drops him????

You have to lead him by the hand for a bit, which he’s a little embarrassed about, real talk, until he gets the hang of it- which he does, he gets it real quick

He’ll try his best with diapers, but,,, my guy- the dude has a sniffer, what, 100xs better than ours??? So like, he’s coming out of that shit (haha) with tears in his eyes and a migraine. So I suggest you doing it just to spare him and then just comfort him afterward, because a Kamui who’s in pain is… well, painful to see

He does everything else tho!

He loves dressing your babies up in general! He gets these really cute baby clothes that Bathym designed just for your babies, even tho your first boy would always give him grief about wearing clothes- which killed Kamui because he hates doing stuff that makes your babies uncomfy (he’s really soft for them- like extremely soft for them)

Your twins tho, love wearing the clothes and he actively sends pictures of them to Bathym who literally flips his lid everytime

Your older one will try to pull said clothes off of them any chance he gets though, in his two year old words: “Trapped!”

Kamui is distressed and you laugh at his distress, which just distresses him even more because:

“My Hero, are you taking a video of this?” “Yes” You say as you continue to hold up your phone, a bright smile on your face.

He’s struggling with pulling your biggest boy off of your youngest son who’s fighting to keep his shirt on.

With your guys’ babies, they slept in their crib until they started figuring out how to crawl out of it (especially when they all respectively start walking) to get to you guys; you thought that this was just going to be a trend with your first born- but no, he started breaking out the twins and you two almost shit when you both woke up when you felt shifting on the end of the bed that ended up crawling up until your guys’ chest, Kamui tensing, and then you two open your guys’ eyes and there’s three sets of sparkling eyes staring down at you. Suffice to say, Kamui almost launched your boys into the ceiling until he realised who they were. Which they were giggling all the while, your oldest holding the other two up by their waists, until your youngest yawned and flopped down in between you two. And then your middle boy went right after and then your oldest boy rolled your middle out of the way and squashed him up to your youngest, proceeding to curl up against Kamui’s side and knocked out

You and Kamui looked at each other until you shrugged and grabbed the blanket at the end of your bed and pulled it over the boys before you snuggled deeper into the blankets. Kamui promptly followed your lead

When they turn to toddlers, Kamui starts to teach them all how to fight since he wants his boys to be able to protect themselves (and you)

Your first born is, of course, two years ahead of them in his training compared to the twins so he takes it upon himself to help them when they need it so that their papa doesn’t have to worry about them too much, which Kamui is so proud of him for

When he he first took them to the Berserkers colosseum- they uprooted EVERYTHING because all of the gladiators went bat shit crazy when they met the babies; nobody went to do any of the fights, they were all derailed because everyone wanted to say hi to the boys

Kamui was a little worried about his oldest because he almost bit Claude’s hand when he tried to touch his youngest brother, but Claude just laughed it off and started into a spiel about how he would make a great gladiator for the Berserkers one day!

It all changed when he noticed Snow and he screamed and rushed to hug his leg. Snow was shocked and Kamui was trying to pry him off his leg all while saying “Apologies, I should have warned you all, he loves lions and other such big cats.”

Snow was so flattered that day

The boys are enamored with Pollux and they cheer every time he’d show off his punches, your middle thinks he’s one of the coolest things ever and wants to learn how to punch like him

Bathym already knows the boys but he’s still so excited to see them and he shows off his moves too, which the oldest tries to copy but he refuses to let go of Snow’s pant leg so he ends up slipping and almost falling but there’s, like, four different sets of hands shooting to keep him from falling; but your youngest is hoping around and toddling towards Bathym and Bathym is MELTING. He ends up holding him the entire time that Kamui is there with them

They meet Nomad and Macan and your oldest is determined to hold onto all of the cat therians; Nomad complains as he lets him hold onto his pant leg too- Macan he has to be convinced a bit more. “Hah? You wanna get eaten, kid?”

“Not if I eat you first!”

Kamui almost shit until Macan laughed and wrapped his tail around his arm (which left him sparkly eyed) and said: “you can’t even if you tried.”

Your middle boy noticed this and decided to grab onto papa’s tail and Kamui almost died

All three end up meeting Garmr and they are IN LOVE with him and Garmr gets all the pets and love he could ever want

They’re all sad to leave and the Berserkers force Kamui to make a promise to bring the three babies back

Kamui is happy too because now he has like, 20 different babysitters. Score.

When they hit the tween years, your oldest is very boisterous and energetic, he bounces off the walls and you have no idea which one of you he got that from. Your other two are very calm, though your youngest is the shyest out of your boys

Your oldest boy is very popular and definitely joins a sports club, something like football, but he definitely goes into wrestling if they have that (he practices with Uncle ‘Suke who makes him a mask for him, but instead it’s wolf themed). He’s protective of his brothers and the people he cares for, so he doesn’t put up with any bullying on his watch. He will square up if he has too, but it usually doesn’t have to come to that because he’s pretty chill by the end of it

The oldest comes to Kamui when he needs help with emotional problems, which, might not be the best, but it also is an added oof for Kamui because your oldest has zero filter so when he asks why you have to pee into a girl to have a baby, Kamui almost DIES

Your middle flits between you and Kamui, luckily he is not one to just hit you with any off the wall questions, so it’s all nice and relaxed when you answer his questions

The little one goes to you with any of his problems. Which can go either way because he’s very similar to Kamui with his social skills, so you’re sometimes sitting there blinking at him trying to figure out how to answer a question

The boys at this point are becoming more and more protective of you and they are determined to keep you safe and happy. Like, any person even thinks about flirting with you- they’re getting three tweens in their face and it’s terrible because they could all snap a man’s back over their knee and they’re only, what? 13 and 11 respectively (they are huge baby bois, adopted or not)

Your twins are both much calmer than their older brother, they’re also much closer to their dad’s disposition too, so they tend to be closer to wall flowers- or at least they try; their big brother drags them into the spotlight a lot because he talks about them ALL THE TIME- so they have to put up with their brother’s rambunctiousness a lot

All three of them have a tendency to get in trouble together, your oldest usually runs head first into things while the other two are trying their hardest to get him to not do what he wants to do

There was this one time you and Kamui had to go and get them at three in the morning because your oldest dragged the boys into, what they thought was an abandoned fake haunted house, and your youngest twin called you in near tears as he quickly screeched that: “THE HOUSE IS ACTUALLY HAUNTED- THE HOUSE IS ACTUALLY HAUNTED- MOM/DAD/NANO- COME AND GET US-” And then the message cut out at the sound of your oldest son screaming bloody murder and your oldest twin… also distantly screaming: “DAD. COME AND GET US-” You also heard some… growling??? And more screaming????? You think???? Anyway- you almost shit, and since you were in the living room at the time and Kamui was in your guys’ little home gym you both ended up almost running into each other trying to get out of the house and into the fucking car-

So, you two get there, ready to murder someone- when you see all three of your boys sitting in front of said “haunted house” just to see Benten of all people yelling at them with Ebisu holding his face in his hands; turns out Benten also thought that the house is haunted and decided to go in their for a video, she also dragged the poor man into it too, and they ended up bumping into a dresser and knocking it over, which set off the boys which caused your son to start swinging, which kicked up a whole bunch of dust, almost got Ebisu punched in the face, and caused Benten to start swinging as well-

Long story short, they were very grounded after that 😔😔😔

By the time they get into high school, your oldest is still loud and boisterous but he’s already on the verge of getting a scholarship for his football and Wrestling and the twins have really committed to their passion: which is MUSIC!

Your oldest twin is in band and plays the French Horn, but he also plays the violin and Bass (Kamui really likes the bass so he learned how to play it just for him ); while your youngest is in choir! Him and his brother get together and do a mini concert just for you two and their older brother- who cried whenever they first played, he was so proud

Their older brother still brags about his little family- it’s actually gotten worse

All of his friends know almost everything about you guys, it’s kinda freaky tbh

Also, you will never forgive Kamui for instilling the instinct to protect you with their lives because they really take their job seriously

There was this one time where your oldest brought one of his friends over and, aw, poor boy had a big ol’ crush and you and almost got chucked through a window when he tried to be smooth with you by three different giant boys

Kamui just sat with a serene smile on his face as he flipped some pancakes- he’s such a little shit, you swear-

Your boys still like to be near your guys despite being older- like they prefer sticking to you guys than going with their friends

UM, YOUR BOYS TRAIN- despite the boys not focusing on a fighting career or anything of the sort, they still like to be able to stand on par with their big brother so they can help him train- WITH THE RANKERS AND CLAUDE HAD TO REALLY SELL YOU TWO ON IT TO LET HIM TRAIN WITH MACAN BECAUSE, BRO, IF MACAN HURT YOUR BOYS HE WAS GONNA BE TURNED INTO A TIGER RUG BY THE BOTH OF YOu

But he’s actually a really good teacher??? Which shook the fuck out of both of you (and Nomad)

Speaking of that, your oldest likes training with him, Snow and Nomad the most, while your oldest twin likes training with Pollux and your youngest likes learning from Bathym the most and has some scary ass kicks now

When your boys do graduate, all of the Berserkers are there to see it and Kamui is so proud of them- he’s not one to cry but he will have this super proud smile on his face and he’ll bring his boys into his arms and squeeze them real tight- your oldest is full on sobbing because he doesn’t want to leave you guys for college; the twins are also sobbing because they don’t want to leave, but they end up going to the same college as their older brother (who is excited AS FUCK ABOUT IT)

Another really good dad, I think he’d be really fulfilled by the end of it all- he loves his boys to death and he’s so happy you chose to have a family with him- he’s just- ah- so good

#dad hcs #Horkeu Kamui #SFW #x reader #nonbianary reader #gender neutral reader #reader scenario #housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners

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ohdearhiddles · 4 years

Text

request: What about a one shot where there's a really big age gap between reader and tom and one night the reader tells him that she feels like she's holding him back from settling down/family etc. and he comforts her..... basically fluff please? thanks!!

TITLE: With You

WORD COUNT: 1914

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: fluff fluff :) i have a problem with writing too much. i hope this was okay!!

The door to your bedroom opened softly, revealing a tired and disheveled Tom. He had been out all day for interviews and public events, working hard even when he was technically not meant to be working at all. His curls were more than just a little messy; he looked as if he had run his fingers through them a countless number of times throughout the day. As your eyes locked with his, he smiled. You smiled back at him, knee bouncing up and down as you sat at the edge of your bed, book in hand.

“How was your day,” you questioned him, curling your leg underneath you in order to turn in his direction. Tom loosened his tie and sighed before plopping onto the mattress beside you.

“Long,” he responded, nothing more and nothing less. You knew that Tom was having a rough time recently from all the new interviews he had to take part in as his latest work premiered. He was always so kind when being asked questions about not just his work but his life as well. Despite his kindness, it still took a toll on him when interviewers seemed to ask all the wrong questions. From the way he was acting, he most definitely had gotten asked all the wrong questions today.

Instinctively, you reached out to run your fingers through his hair, earning a soft hum of appreciation from your older boyfriend. You knew better than to pry into what’s upsetting him immediately after he had just found a second to relax. When Tom wanted to talk, he would talk. He always did.

You maneuvered yourself closer to him, laying on your side with one arm propping your head up as the other rested on his chest while your hand remained in his hair. By this point, Tom’s eyes were closed as he enjoyed the small gesture you were displaying. As your fingers continuously ran through the locks on his head, his hand made its way onto your thigh where he, too, began administering gentle caresses. It was almost as if he was finding solace in being able to reciprocate the comfort you were providing.

The two of you sat in silence for a few more moments before he opened his eyes and tilted his chin up to look at you. “How about you?”

“Hm?” You hummed in response, not quite sure what he was referring to. “Oh, my day was alright. I just got home from work not too long ago.”

It had been only a month or so since you started your job, and it was safe to say that your employers never failed to remind you that you were a newbie. Sure, it was tough on you, but you didn’t let that stop you from getting the job done. Tom knew it wasn’t exactly easy for you at the workplace because many of your coworkers had already recognized you as a celebrity’s girlfriend, poking fun at the significant age gap between you both.

Tom was 39 years old, a bit older than anyone you had dated in the past, especially because you were still {Y/A}. Between the two of you, the age difference wasn’t that big of a deal, but not everyone saw it the way you did. At first, this was something you said you could accept. Love was about acceptance; at least, that’s what Tom would say. One year later, and these words alone didn’t seem to be quite enough to hold your worries at bay. Looking into his eyes, you could see how tired he was, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe his worries away, but you didn’t know how.

“They kept asking about you today,” he sighed, not because he was upset but because he didn’t want to worry you about it.

“What were they asking about,” you asked, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“Well,” Tom started, “they were asking if we were planning on getting married, how our schedules work, if you plan on being a stay-at-home mom since I travel for work.”

Your eyes wandered around the room until they settled on the buttons of his shirt. If you had kept your eyes on Tom, you would have noticed that his eyebrows had knit together at your reaction, his worry only increasing. A minute of silence passed before you realized he was probably waiting for you to react to what he was saying. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what to say.

Was there a wrong or right answer? Were you supposed to tell him what you had planned for the future?

As your mind raced a hundred miles a minute, Tom’s hands had found your hips as he urged you to straddle his lap. With your knees on either side of him, Tom placed his right hand on the small of your back, holding you steady as his free hand pushed his body to an upright position. You were slightly elevated and his eyes were level with your neck. The position only granted him the access he needed to leave soft kisses along your collarbones and up your neck. Your fingers grasped the back of his neck when he stopped, and you took the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Y/N,” he exhaled, grip tightening around you. “Their questions had me thinking.”

You stilled, not wanting to know where this conversation was going at all. In an effort to keep him from talking, you pressed your lips to his. Of course, Tom knew what you were up to, but even for a split second he also enjoyed the distraction from an otherwise serious topic. The distraction only lasted a few seconds before you felt his hands on your cheeks as he pulled you away from him. In the blink of an eye, his expression had turned serious once again.

“Y/N,” he tried again, this time holding your face centimeters from his own. “We’re going to have to address these things sooner rather than later.”

You sighed, leaning back from his grasp as your hands fell to your sides. “Okay,” you replied.

“I love you,” he started; his words sent shivers down your spine. “I don’t want to be the reason this relationship falls through, though.”

You tilted your head, not quite understanding what he meant, and he noticed this. He grinned sheepishly before letting out a sigh of his own. You had a feeling these sighs were only the first of many to come in this relationship.

“Your job, are they still giving you a hard time?” He questioned.

“Well, no,” you tried to say, but the look in his eyes immediately showed that he didn’t believe you. “Yes, yes they do, but it’s simple stuff. It’s not like they’re harassing me or making my life entirely too difficult. It’s just a little extra workload here and there.”

His right hand reached up to rest on your cheek, brushing the area beneath your eye. Tom smiled sadly before speaking again, “Darling, I don’t want to be the reason your job is difficult, nor do I want to be the cause of the bags under your eyes. If this continues, you’ll be working yourself to death by the time you’ve fully settled into things.”

Shaking your head adamantly, you firmly disagreed, “It’s nothing coffee and a few days of overtime can’t fix. I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can, but,” he paused. You wish he hadn’t because your heart stopped beating the second he stopped speaking, impatiently waiting for him to carry on. “This is your dream job, yes?”

You nodded.

“Who am I to make your dream job more of a nightmare?”

“The man I’m in love with,” you answered quickly, knowing where he was going with this already. If he wanted to end this relationship because your job was getting a little too much, what was he going to do when other things started to go south? “You think you’re holding me back from loving what I do?”

It was Tom’s turn to nod. You laughed, almost bitterly, at his thoughts.

“Thomas, you think you’re holding me back?” You asked, voice rising in pitch. Standing from your spot in his lap, you let it all out. “You’re 39; you want to settle down. You want to have a family. Your family wants you to settle down and have a family. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for all that, and you want to say you’re holding me back? I can barely wrap my head around finally starting my career, let alone starting a family right now.”

Tom was standing now, worry etched into his features as he took in your distraught stance. Your hands were in your hair, gripping tightly as if you wanted to rip it out. Your eyes began to sting as tears of worry threatened to fall down your cheeks. With your chest heaving as breathing seemed to get harder by the second, you turned your back to him. You didn’t want to see him get worried over your own feelings of not being able to give him what he wants, and as much as he would like to pretend he didn’t know that you were uncertain about the future and what it might bring, he couldn’t ignore it now.

Tom’s hands reached forward to lightly grip yours, attempting to gently pry your fingers from your hair. As he wrestled your arms to your sides, he pressed his lips to your forehead, softly shushing you until you finally allowed him to comfort your mini meltdown.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around you. “I didn’t know you were carrying all that with you, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, knowing that you needed to apologize for semi-yelling at him for something you shouldn’t have even gotten mad at. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just - I sometimes think maybe it’s better if you find someone else, someone who can give you that family and kids because I’m not ready. I’m not ready for marriage, and I’m most definitely not ready for motherhood.”

At the sound of your suggestion, Tom released his hold, eyes now trained on your face. When you looked up to meet his gaze, he looked almost mad. Before you could say anything else, he closed his eyes and let out another deep sigh.

“If it’s not with you, then what’s the point?” He spoke with his eyes still closed. “Yes, we have things to work out, and the future to talk about. And yes, Y/N, I want a family and I want children, but I want that with you. Don’t tell me to find another woman when I’ve already found the person I want to be with. Age, race, or whatever, none of that matters to me as long as it’s with you.”

You stared at him blankly, not knowing how to respond to his declaration. It was almost as if he was proposing to you; part of you wanted to glance around to see if he had a ring in plain view, but you knew he wouldn’t propose like this.

“But-” you began.

“No, no ‘buts.’” Tom opened his eyes and was quick to cut you off this time. “Take all the time you need until you’re ready to take those steps. I’ll be here waiting alongside you every step of the way.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston imagines #ohdearhiddles imagines #thomas william hiddleston #hiddleston imagine #imagines #age gap imagine

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sakurablossomcreamlatte · 4 years

Text

tiny giants made of tinier giants

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines

Characters: Dipper Pines, Ford Pines, Stan Pines (mentioned), Mabel Pines (mentioned)

Words: 3,596

Summary: “It’s two AM, and Ford has a visitor.”

[AO3]

why would I work on any of my own WIPs or try and get my life together when I could write oneshots

(this work was inspired by this super sweet comic by @rosesanddoodl3s! I hope you don’t mind, I just really loved it and had to write some of my feels out)

Ford’s been back in his own world for approximately thirty-two hours, and yet it’s almost like he never left - sitting at his desk in his old room, scribbling in the back of his second journal and muttering hissed curses between his teeth. The Oregon sky sits inky and indigo outside the panes of his window, studded with stars, and despite their apathetic, twinkling benevolence Ford can’t shake the feeling that they’re watching him.

It’s not something he can just let go of after thirty years on the run between dimensions.

On top of snatching away his chance to finally take out that demon once and for all, mercilessly and swiftly as he was powerless to stop it - his idiot brother’s activation of the portal literally created an interdimensional rift. He spent most of the day figuring out a way to contain it... and subsequently wrestling the slippery splashes of interdimensional matter around the portal room into the glass orb he was able to create. At least he’s in good enough shape to do so, despite his age - not that Stan would have a clue, if the beer gut he’s developed over the years is anything to go by.

He crosses out one equation and scribbles another, tugging at his hair in frustration. All that stands between Bill and his goals now is a veil of worryingly breakable glass.

There has to be something else he can use to protect everyone until he can find something stronger. Project Mentem, maybe? Would the machine still even work? It would probably need some level of repair after thirty years of disuse - not that he’d even used it successfully the first time round.

A tentative knock on the door jolts him from the letters and numbers that are starting to spin on the pages in front of his eyes, and he really hopes it’s not Stan - but then again, Stan’s not really the type to knock either. Brow creasing, Ford turns to face the door. “Yes?”

The door slowly creaks open, and he can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the sight of the boy twin - Dipper, that’s it - hovering apprehensively in the doorway, clutching what looks like the comforter from his bed. “Um, Great-Uncle Ford?”

“Dipper?” Ford frowns again, closing the journal and setting his pen down as he checks his watch. It’s after two AM. “What are you doing up?”

Dipper hesitantly crosses the threshold, and as he steps into the dim light of the room Ford notices that his eyes are red - and a little puffy. “I, uh…” he averts his gaze, biting his lip, “...couldn’t sleep.”

“I… see.” Ford can feel his heart sink a little. Dipper and Mabel were certainly a lot to take in upon his arrival back in this dimension, considering the thought of descendants hadn’t even crossed his mind - but they seemed assured of themselves, despite the way Dipper had almost fainted and/or thrown up upon discovering that yes, Ford was the one who wrote the journal he was clutching in his hands. The bright-eyed expression of hope and determination the boy had turned to him with as he’d pulled the memory eraser gun from his rucksack was a stark contrast to the one on his face now, and Ford’s struck out of nowhere with a sudden urge to protect him - his sister, too. He’s only known them for a day and he already knows he never wants to see them cry. Ever.

Stan might want him to stay away from them, but he certainly can’t stop him from caring about them - and if Dipper’s down here of his own volition, Ford certainly won’t push him away. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Something like that.” Dipper hugs the comforter to himself a little tighter, and Ford makes a decision, rising from his desk and crossing the room to take a seat on the couch. The kid’s wide-eyed gaze follows him, and Ford simply pats the cushion next to him as an invitation.

Dipper comes to sit on the couch next to him, tugging the worn, patched blanket around his shoulders. There’s still something hesitant in the movements of his limbs, like he’s holding himself back, and something twinges uncomfortably within Ford’s chest. He doesn’t want either of the children to feel like that around him - but he just wants to protect them from the dangers Stan’s opened their world up to, regardless of how inadvertent it might have been, and for that he probably needs to keep his distance. Even now he feels like he’s breaking some arbitrary rule, with Dipper perched on the couch at his side - before a wave of indignation washes it away. It’s Ford’s house, damn it, not Stan’s - despite what he may have told them… and everyone else in this town.

“Any reason you came to me rather than Stan…?” Ford ventures. He’s absolutely not against it - if anything, he feels strangely honoured that one of the kids came to him seemingly looking for comfort - but considering how long they’ve known him against how long they’ve known Stan, he has to wonder why. Dipper simply stares at his socked feet instead.

Were ten year olds always this… small? Both the boy and his sister barely come up to Ford’s - and Stan’s - elbows. Are they just short for their age? What were we like compared to Dad?

He wonders if it’s a good thing that he’s struggling to remember.

“I….” Dipper starts, and then seemingly gives up on himself, thin shoulders slumping with a sigh. “Sorry. I just - I dunno. I don’t think Grunkle Stan’s… mad at me, as such, but I kind of… said some things to him yesterday.” He averts his eyes, curling a little further in on himself.

Of course. Ford’s still smarting at the idea that his brother claimed his name as his own (and almost certainly amassed an impressive criminal record under it). Stan obviously cares about these kids - that part’s so glaringly obvious that even Ford can’t deny it - but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s essentially betrayed them.

“Well,” Ford concedes, “it’s… a lot to take in. I think you’re handling it better than I might have at the age of ten.”

Dipper looks up at him, stricken. “I’m twelve.”

Ford makes a mental note to correct his journal entry on the boy later. “I see. My apologies.”

His great-nephew (and that feels so bizarre to think, knowing that less than forty-eight hours ago he wasn’t even aware of the kid’s existence) just deflates even further. “It’s... okay, I guess. I know I’m short.” He pulls his knees up to his chest. “I mean, it’s just really annoying right now. Grunkle Stan’s really tall - and so are you, actually - and so’s my dad. I guess I can’t be short forever, but… I dunno.”

Right, their father. Shermie’s boy - David.

“How is Shermie, anyway?” Ford ventures, and no sooner have the words left his mouth than he wishes he hadn’t asked - because at the mention of their elder brother’s name Stan’s face immediately falls, any light that might have remained leaving his eyes, and that tells Ford pretty much everything he needs to know.

“What’s your father like?”

The question leaves Ford’s lips before he even really has the time to think about how random it is. He hasn’t even seen David since… what, Thanksgiving in third year of college? His nephew was barely four or five years old at that point, a rambunctious child with big brown eyes and a mop of chestnut-coloured curls who gleefully ran around their parents’ apartment while Shermie chased after him, throwing out frantic, stuttered apologies in their dad’s direction. It’s crossed Ford’s mind every now and then while jumping between dimensions, but he’s always pushed it away just as quickly, not wanting to dwell on the pain of everything else he threw away the second he shook Bill’s hand.

Dipper’s seemingly just as taken aback by the question as Ford is, and when he lifts his head to look up at him, brown eyes wide beneath his fluffy chestnut fringe, for a second it’s almost like he’s looking at a carbon copy of David himself… although he thankfully hasn’t inherited the infamous Pines nose. “My dad?”

“Ah - yes.” Ford coughs, averts his own eyes. “I suppose - well, Mom babysat for Shermie sometimes.”

Dipper’s brow lifts a little in the light of recognition, before furrowing again in thought. “He’s…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right adjective. “Nice. Kinda goofy, I guess. Mom always says that’s where Mabel gets it from.”

“What does he do?” Ford presses.

“He’s a software programmer.” Dipper’s shoulders relax, if only by a fraction. “And Mom’s a lawyer.”

“A software programmer, huh?” A memory of Fiddleford holding up a laptop prototype with bright, shining eyes briefly floats to the surface, and a stinging pang of regret bounces painfully against the inside of Ford’s ribcage, and he tries to focus on the child sitting next to him - family that he didn’t even know he had. It’s more than he expected, and more than he could have asked for. “Does he work a lot?”

“Yeah,” Dipper answers, kicking his feet under the seat of the couch. “He has his own business, but he works from home a couple of days a week - and he tries cooking dinner sometimes, but he’s not great at it.” His shoulders twitch beneath his blanket, the shadow of a laugh bubbling up. “One time he made us spaghetti sauce with ramen noodles - it was so gross. When Mom got home we ended up ordering Chinese food instead.”

Ford has to chuckle at that. “You know Shermie was never a great cook, either.”

Dipper relaxes a little more, and his shoulder bumps against Ford’s elbow as he leans a tiny bit closer. “I don’t remember a whole lot about Grandpa Shermie,” he admits, hesitantly. “Mom always says he really loved us, though. And Dad always took us to the planetarium on our birthday, because he said that was his favourite thing to do with his dad when he was a kid.”

And even if Ford’s trying to stave off his own looming anxiety about the very real possibility of the world as they know it ending, there’s something in his nephew’s words that lifts his own battle-scarred heart by just a touch. Maybe it’s knowing now that for all he left behind him when he hightailed it out of Backupsmore with two PhDs and a fat research grant cheque, back home Shermie turned out to be a good man, bringing the happy, excitable child Ford once knew as his nephew along that path with him. Seeing that David apparently grew up to be a good man himself, if the little smile that tugs at the corner of Dipper’s mouth when he talks about his parents is anything to go by.

At least someone in this family of ours turned out to be remotely functional.

Ford’s next question emerges a little more easily, the distance between them slowly beginning to close in fractional increments. “Did they give you your nickname?”

The question had already arisen when Stan was catching him up on the family history - the name Mabel is a little old-fashioned, although sweet in its charm, but surely nobody would ever call their child Dipper legitimately? - and Stan had simply shrugged and grunted something along the lines of, ‘Look at the little goofus’s forehead. It’s like someone spilled hot sauce on his face.’

He would, if the kid would stop vibrating with anxiety/pen clicks long enough to sit still. Not that it was even necessary, with the carefully inked sketch - which, sure enough, was a dead ringer for the Big Dipper - he’d found flipping through the third journal under the entry titled, ‘Your new author!’.

He’s ten - no, twelve. Ford won’t hold it against him.

Back in the present, Dipper nods. “Dad said Grandpa pointed it out to him when we were little and then he couldn’t unsee it, and then they both started calling me Dipper and it just… stuck.” He hugs his knees. “I feel like it fits. My real name’s kind of dumb, anyway.”

There’s probably not much that could be dumber than naming a pair of twins Stanford and Stanley, but Ford decides not to push it. “Well, it’s certainly unique.”

Dipper shrugs and averts his gaze, and a silence falls between them… but after a few moments, there’s a soft weight against Ford’s arm as he leans against him.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his arm to rest it around the boy’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s expecting - but Dipper doesn’t jolt, or flinch away. Instead, he simply shifts to rest his head against Ford’s chest with a soft exhale.

That in itself can only be a testament to the kind of fathers Shermie and David turned out to be. When Mabel threw her little sweater-clad arms around his neck earlier that night and chirped, “goodnight, Grunkle Ford!”, the wave of longing and affection that surged through his chest was so powerful that it both ached and almost took him off his feet at the same time.

He’d forgotten what love - and the affection that goes hand in hand with it - felt like, and in one simple hug from a niece he didn’t even know he had, it had come rushing back with all the force of a tsunami. These kids - Mabel especially - are so strangely warm and open, with each other, and with Stan and that young man - what was his name, Zeus? no, Soos - and now with Ford himself, too. And Dipper could barely make eye contact or stop shaking, but in the middle of the night, worn down by exhaustion - and he hasn’t missed the shadows under the boy’s eyes, either - he’s far more subdued, seemingly removed from the stammering, gagging ball of pen-clicking anxiety that had first greeted him after he’d set foot back in this world.

Either way, they’re certainly a far cry from himself and Stan.

Belatedly, Ford realises that his eyes are stinging a little, and he awkwardly clears his throat. Dipper doesn’t say anything. Beneath his fringe, his eyes are distant, and Ford can only wonder what he’s thinking.

“Is…” he winces at how his own voice breaks the silence, but they’ve already crossed this line. He doesn’t even know what it means to be an uncle, but if something’s bothering the kid, he wants to help. “Is there... another reason you can’t sleep, Dipper?”

This town’s fascinating, but it’s also dangerous, and in those six years he lived here Ford had more than his fair share of close shaves. Dipper’s thin arms are covered by his blanket right now, but during the day, the thin lines and dots of scars and scrapes that traverse his skin haven’t escaped Ford’s attention.

Ford can only wonder what he’s seen, and he hopes to God it’s not the same thing that sparked his own suffocating paranoia.

He can feel Dipper’s shoulders stiffen beneath his forearm, and for a few long moments, another silence descends.

When Dipper does answer, his voice is quiet, partially muffled by his comforter. “S-sometimes it’s just…” he trails off, shifting slightly against Ford’s chest. “Difficult.”

It doesn’t exactly provide much of an explanation, and Ford sighs. It was probably a step too far to expect Dipper to open up right away - if anything, he’s grateful for the way he’s here with him now, even if it’s explicitly against Stan’s wishes.

Dipper’s voice breaks the quiet once again. “Anyway… I wanna know more about you. Like…” he trails off, searching. “What were you and Grunkle Stan like when you were twelve?”

A laugh bubbles up in Ford’s chest at the innocence of the question. It’s a lifetime ago now, like Stan had said. Before they thought anything could ever break them apart, when they were just two identical best friends - brothers, even - with a dream of sailing away from their shitty little town.

“Didn’t Stan already tell you? He was a troublemaker and I was… well, a nerd, I suppose.”

Dipper leans against his side, relaxing once again - and it’s a relief. If they have to do this on his terms, that’s fine. Hopefully the kid might open up to him when he’s ready, whenever that may be. “I mean… we heard Stan’s side of the story. I guess I wanted to hear yours.”

Ford casts his mind back. “Well, Stan wasn’t wrong - he was a troublemaker.” A chuckle. “But then again, I suppose I wasn’t entirely innocent either…”

The stories flow from him more easily than he would expect them to - for some reason, it doesn’t hurt as much to tell Dipper, who listens, giggles here and there, occasionally interjects with some quip or aside that shows Ford that for all that’s happened in the last forty or fifty years, there are parts of his brother that haven’t necessarily changed. With each story he recalls, hazy days gone by that leave his lips as a shared memory, Dipper slumps a little further into his lap - and in some complete paradox, the heavier the kid rests against him, the lighter his heart feels.

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he’s regaling Dipper with the tale of Fiddleford’s disastrous attempt at a college open mic night - guest starring that godforsaken banjo - he wonders if it might be worth revising the entry he wrote about the kid in the third journal.

It’s still painful to think about Fiddleford, though, and Ford hopes that one day he’ll get the chance to apologise.

Even so, it still comes back to Stan. It often does. And for some reason, it’s easier to separate them in his mind - Stanley, the goofy, scrappy little smartass with half his front teeth missing who always pulled Ford up by his armpits when bullies knocked him down and tried to pin most of his mishaps on Shanklin the possum, and Stan, the exhausted, hollow-eyed stranger in a hooded jacket who showed up on his doorstep on that fateful day in 1982… who’s evidently reinvented himself as the man they now know as Stanford Pines, with a fez perched atop his now-grey hair and lies and blatant falsehoods falling from his lips.

“It’s kind of crazy imagining Grunkle Stan as a kid,” Dipper murmurs. He looks like he’s having a progressively harder time trying to keep his eyes open. “Like… Mabel and I only ever knew him as this weird old scam artist guy.”

Ford can feel the smile tug at his lips. Dipper and Mabel are going to grow up one day, too, and he hopes he’ll be able to witness it. “Well, we were all children once.”

It’s like he’s taking a back seat to himself as he tells Dipper these stories from another life. If he thinks about Stan and what they’ve become, it hurts - even if it’s dulled into a detached ache over the years, the occasional wave comes, raw and fresh, and it’s sharp like a knife. If he thinks about Stanley, it still hurts - but the edges are softened by the miasma that nostalgia casts over everything, and that’s not quite as painful. At least back then, he knew some sort of happiness, and at least he can vaguely recall what it felt like.

He can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him at the memory of Stan trying to convince their mother that the person who set off the whole school’s sprinklers and took off into the distance shouting ‘that’s how Stan Pines does it, suckers!’ was someone trying to frame him, and the way she’d absolutely eviscerated him in response.

“...and that was the last time Stanley ever lied to our mom.”

There’s no response from Dipper this time - no giggle, or eye-roll, or dry quip - and he looks down to see that the kid’s drifted off in his lap, head pillowed against Ford’s thigh as he breathes, slow and soft.

Well. In fairness, that was pretty much what he came down here for. Objective achieved… more or less.

Tentatively, he runs his hand over Dipper’s hair. It’s a complete bird’s nest - he obviously doesn’t brush it that often - but it’s thick and fluffy, just like David’s had been as a child. The heavy curtain of Mabel’s long tresses that had hit him in the face when she’d hugged him had been more or less the same.

Twins run in the family, he’d written in the journal. It’s a comforting thought - if anything, knowing that they hopefully won’t turn out like him and Stan.

He hadn’t wanted to throw it away - neither of them had, but Stan had no idea what he was dealing with, and if he had any inkling of just how dangerous the forces he was messing with were, most likely didn’t care. Irresponsible and knuckleheaded to a fault, from childhood to now - and honestly, probably to eternity.

As a scientist, Ford is used to determining things by probability and likelihood. Each situation has a predetermined number of potential outcomes… but sometimes, something greater - fate, the universe - has a hand in things. And maybe this time, she’s granted Ford a second chance of sorts. There’s a second generation of Pines twins, and they might have the potential to be better than he and Stan ever were.

“Alright, my boy,” he mutters to the one currently sleeping in his lap. “Let’s get you back into your own bed before Stan notices.”

#own writing #dipper pines #stanford pines #ford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction

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n0-eyedtaissa · 3 years

Note

I hate your mom-ur choice

Ruthie could think of a list of places she’d rather be on her nineteenth birthday that weren’t the courthouse.

Maybe down at the swimming hole or at the quarry, sitting with Spyder and catching some sun rays while Dante and CD wrestled in the water, splashing and laughing happily. Or maybe a trip to the amusement park over in Centerville with Sweet Pea and Fangs, stuffing themselves silly on cotton candy and corn dogs and seeing who would throw up first after riding the tilt-a-whirl three times (one time for each of them). Ruthie would even be happy with spending her nineteenth birthday at home cuddled up in her favorite spot on the green couch, or in the backyard at the Fogarty’s house with Dante sneaking up behind her to smash her face into the cake that Maria spent all afternoon making for her. Anywhere but the courthouse.

It wasn’t a warm place. It was grey and empty and uncomfortable, almost sterile and definitely eerie. A big brown building filled with powerful people who had the ability to make Ruthie’s life a whole lot easier, or a whole lot worse. It wasn’t a place for birthdays, or for nineteen year old girls who deserved so much more than what they were given.

In the months leading up to that September, Ruthie was shuffled in and out of preliminary hearing meetings with the pro-bono lawyer she had found who was willing to take her case. She was trying to vacate her mother Emilie’s parental rights over Sweet Pea, which would grant her custody and legal guardianship over her brother.

“There’s a good case here” The lawyer said, pushing her bifocals up her nose and flipping through the manila folder that Ruthie kept full of old papers, paystubs, and utility bills, any evidence that she could prove that she was a fit guardian for her brother. “Even better is that you have people on your side to testify on your behalf. Mr. Tate and Ms. Fogarty both seem to think quite highly of you. That’s a good sign, Miss Soh-Peterson.”

The morning of the court hearing, Ruthie is a bundle of nerves. She stands in front of her bedroom mirror and smooths down the starchy fabric of the collared blouse that she was borrowing from Chimalma as an attempt to make herself look more adult. She pulls her hair out of her face with shaky hands, skips her morning coffee and her cigarette.

“Hey c’mon Sweet Pea, Tia Malma is expecting us at any minute and I can't be late today!” She tosses the twelve year old his sweatshirt and a granola bar and locks the front door behind them.

“So if you win today does that make you my mom now?” Sweet Pea asks, confused.

Ruthie laughs and ruffles his hair, her nerves being alleviated for a moment. “On paper, kind of. But things would just be how they are now, okay? It’ll always be me and you, kid.”

The front door to the Abrejo house is already open and cartoons can be heard blaring from the living room TV. Queenie is sitting on the floor in front of the TV in her pajamas, a bowl of cereal resting between her skinny legs.

“Ay, don’t sit so close!” Her mother chastises, stepping over Queenie to pull Ruthie into a bone-crushing hug.

Ruthie wraps her arms around Chimalma and breathes in the scent of her floral perfume. It’s a comforting smell, familiar and warm. Ruthie liked to watch Chimalma interact with Queenie, notices the small gestures like pushing the hair out of her face or pouring juice into Queenie’s favorite plastic cup covered with the different types of sharks, a souvenir from a summer trip to the aquarium.

“Breathe. The world works in mysterious ways” Chimalma says to Ruthie, her arms on the girl’s shoulders, smoothing away her nerves as well as the wrinkles in her shirt. Ruthie knows that Chimalma was what a mother was supposed to be like: comforting and calming and present.

Ruthie gives Sweet Pea a kiss on the forehead as she makes her way out the front door and he doesn't scrunch his nose and wipe it away like he normally would. Not today. Even he knew better than that.

Dante pulls Maria’s old boat of a car into the driveway and Ruthie slips into the backseat next to Atzi. Maria is smiling in the passenger’s seat, dressed in her best church clothes to make sure that she looked presentable when she took the stand on Ruthie’s behalf. She reaches her arm back and gives Ruthie’s knee a loving squeeze.

“You nervous?” Dante asked, his gangly arm draped over the steering wheel as he tried to maneuver his grandmother’s car through the South side of town.

“Like a sinner in church” Ruthie replies through gritted teeth.

Usually this would warrant a sigh and a sharp comment from Maria, but the older woman kept her lips in a thin line, staring forward. Ruthie could tell that she was concentrating, maybe rehearsing everything she was going to say when asked by the judge.

Dante parks the car in front of the courthouse and shuts the engine off. No one rushes to get out of the car.

“Breathe. The world works in mysterious ways” Ruthie repeated Chimalma words like a grounding mantra. She replays the phrase over and over as she gets out of the car, as they walk up the front step of the courthouse, when they’re left sitting on the bench right outside as they waited for the judge to be ready for them.

Ruthie bounces her knee up and down erratically, trying to exert some of her pent up energy and anxiety. Atzi’s weathered hand comes to rest on her leg, and with one gesture it was like she was telling Ruthie that she could stop being so nervous because she had people who were there for her and cared about her, whether they were family by blood or not.

The click-clack of high heels on the tile is enough to make every hair stand up on end. Ruthie whips her head around to follow the noise and is faced with a put-together woman in a handsome looking suit, her sunglasses still covering her eyes despite the fact that she was already indoors.

“You know you don’t really want to do this, Ruthann. You’re just going through all these hoops to get a rise out of me.” Emilie Montgomery (née Soh-Peterson) sneers at her daughter, pushing her signed sunglasses onto the top of her head, pushing her thick curls away from her face.

Ruthie can see how much she looks like her mother now. They were the same height now, though Emilie had a few meager inches due to her sling-back heels. They had the same tired-looking honey brown eyes, the same head of thick unruly curls. Ruthie knows that she’ll never end up like her mother but looking like her, looking like the mirror image of the one person in the world that she truly hated was a grim reality check. Despite everything that has happened, you can’t change who your family is. You will always carry them with you, whether that be physically, or via the emotional scars they leave.

Ruthie goes to open her mouth for a venomous rebuttal but Maria speaks up instead. “Save you energy for when you’re on the stand, mija.”

Maria turns towards Emilie, “And as for you, how dare you abandon your children then try to make yourself the victim. You’ve done nothing for those children except for make their lives more difficult because of your selfishness. Chase would be rolling over in his grave right now if he saw you doing this. How do you sleep at night?”

Emilie scoffs, taken aback by the mention of her late husband, Ruthie and Sweet Pea’s father. She recoils quickly and smirks down at Maria. “In a King sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets,” Emilie answers smugly before turning on her heels. If they weren’t all in a court house, Ruthie thinks that Maria would have slapped her upside the face right then and there.

As soon as Emilie’s footfalls are no longer audible to them, Dante (who had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning) speaks up:

“God, I hate your mom...”

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crowleyellestair · 4 years

Note

Hope you’re alright, after getting your wisdom teeth removed. You’ve asked for fluffy requests, and I’ve got one for you!!! How about Jaskier and the female reader having some children, and the Witcher’s (Geralt, Eskel, Lambert) being soft lovable uncles (even if they don’t want to admit it). Lots of cute fluffiness!! ❤️ Please and thank you!!

AN//// I’m doing fine other than not feeling my face. Thank you for sending this in!!!!! I need some fluffy scenarios to keep my mind off of it. It’s a little short, but I like it, and I hope you do too!!!

Y/n spun around to the kitchen table, hands quickly fitting under her daughter’s arms. The child giggled, but it was over shadowed by the loud, “but mom,” ringing in her ears. Fingers thread through the woman’s hair as the larger boy on her back tried to grab her attention.

“Alexi, that’s enough.” The boy huffed, but slid from her back. Large blue eyes, that contended even his fathers, stared with a disbelieving tone. Y/n simply rolled her eyes, and brought Lavinia to the sink. A wet cloth tried in vain to scrub the grime off of her daughter’s large cheeks. Alexi followed, huffing and placing his hands on his hips.

“But you promised.” Her free hand wove its way into the hair of her four year old daughter, the color matching that of her own. Her body turned to her six year old, a smile trying to find its way to her at the spitting image of her husband.

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t. I distinctly remember saying ‘maybe’.” Alexi’s jaw dropped.

“That’s practically saying yes!”

“Still using maybe?” All three of their eyes flew to the door where the White Wolf enveloped the doorway. A large smile spread over her face.

“Geralt! It’s great to see you!” Y/n’s attention was quickly brought away from her long time friend back to her daughter, who was bouncing in excitement, chanting his name. Y/n rolled her eyes, letting the girl go, jumping all the way to the witcher. The girl practically scaled his body, into his arms, a rare smile forming on the man’s face. “I will have you know, that ‘maybe’ is my specialty. The day you see me give a direct answer will be the day I’ve been switched out with a doppler.” Geralt stepped farther into the house, and a voice quickly followed him in.

“You said yes to the bard, didn’t you?” Lambert’s confident voice rang through the kitchen, his swords dropping to the floor by the door. Alexi was quick and quiet in his movements, but he flew to Lambert’s side, giving him a swift hug. Lambert replied with a gloved hand ruffling the chestnut hair, trying to stifle his smile. It was true he loved the kids, especially his ‘little apprentice’ Alexi, but he had a reputation to uphold. The young boy smiled up to him through thick eyelashes, and ran, tripping up the stairs as he went.

Y/n smiled, handing the youngest witcher a mug of ale, and a small parcel. His brow flew, scars molding with it, but she simply smiled.

“The kid’s been asking for knew needles, and I’m sure he’d rather get them from you.” Lambert tensed, eyes flying to Geralt, though he seemed too busy shaking all of the rocks out of Lavinia’s pockets. He quickly snatched the items, grumbling about mentioning his hobbies in front of others, and gave the woman a quick peck on the cheek. He followed the boy, knowing exactly where their little workshop was. “So, where’s my favorite of the three?” Geralt’s smile widened as he too was handed a mug. He balanced the cup in one hand, the girl still held upside down in the other. It fell however, once he took a drink.

“This is water.” Lavinia’s feet started to kick out, her left heel hitting the witcher’s chin.

“You’re not going to want to drink the usual. She asked every week when you’re coming back to fight. Bruxae and Katakan’s are one thing, Lavinia’s a whole other. You remember how Ciri was, and she was already twelve.” Geralt gave an agreeing huff, before letting the girl down, though she immediately attached herself to his leg. Y/n leaned against her counter, arms crossed, smile wide. “How is my niece doing anyways?” The witcher gave another reserved smile, placing the now empty mug on the table closest to him.

“On the path. She checks in frequently, though Yen always keeps track of her.” The woman nodded, pushing herself up and towards the entryway of the next room.

“That’s great, Geralt. I don’t want to say it-.”

“Then don’t.” She smiled, shaking her head.

“But I told you so. I knew you’d be happy in the end; it just seems people don’t listen to me.” She continued out into the next room, hearing him call,

“Even the bard?” She laughed, and softly replied,

“Especially my bard.” Y/n continued on her path, knowing full well where Eskel, the previously mentioned favorite, was. A crib was built in the lounging room, it being the easiest spot for it. It’s where Jaskier played most of the time, and it was on the ground level. The brunette stood, bent over the side. A finger was being chased by small, fisted hands, though they often opened to try and catch the appendage. Small giggles rang through the otherwise quiet room.

“She’s grown well.” The woman came to lean over the other side, not interfering with what was happening.

“Yes, for a one year old.” Her tone was jesting, and the ghost of a smile formed in reply to it.

“I saw her eleven months ago. That’s a long time.” Y/n smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Sit, and take of the swords. Gambeson too.” His eyes squinted in confusion, but he only received an eye roll and shooing hands in reply. He did as he was told, plopping down stiffly into the armchair by the window. The view was beautiful. The hill the house had been on hid a small pond before the forest began and it was surrounded by wildflowers. The sun was high in the sky, Geralt being seen in the picture, wrestling with a four year old wild cat. He looked up to the woman as she approached, baby Juliet in hand. He stiffened even more, about to make an argument when he received another eye roll. “You didn’t hold her last time, and that must be rectified.” She quickly yet gently instructed how to hold his arms, and gently set the young girl in her knew strong cradle. Y/n had yet to see her husband, and turned to leave, though Eskel called after her. She smiled, placing a kiss on the crown of his head. “You got this. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The three witchers had always made time to visit a minimum of twice a year. Usually, they all came at separate times, but the house Y/n and Jaskier built was big enough for the family they all made up.

#witcher x reader #witcher imagine #eskel imagine #lambert imagine #witcher lambert imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #geralt imagine

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Hymn (Part 4)

Winchester Brothers x Sister!reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the Masterlist!

Warnings: a good amount of feels and angst. . but there is fluff!

Summary: Y/N Winchester has wrestled with demons ever since her mother died, but when her younger brothers lives are in danger it’s their souls she fights to save, because isn’t that what a big sister should do? (Based on the song Hymn by Joel Porter)

A/n: *Throws chapter at you and runs away* Have fun! (gif created by the lovely ellen-reincarnated1967)

“What do you think your doing?” Your voice slightly raising as you stepped back into the motel room, shutting the door softly behind you with a loud click.

“Definitely . . . Not jumping on the bed?” Dean tried, both him and Sam staring down at you from their perch on the nearest bed.

“Wow. I’m convinced.”

“It was Deans idea!” Sam quickly pointed, his little hand lightly smacking against Deans face as he did.

“I leave for three minutes and you guys go crazy? Now I know I can never leave you guys again, which is disappointing-“ you sighed. “Seeing as I was gonna give you guys this extra bag of funyuns.” You slowly pulled the bag out of your hoodie pocket, instantly making Dean freeze.

“Okay, wait we’re sorry.”

“Oh are you? I said no funny business while I was gone.”

“Yes! I’m sorry! Can we have them?” Dean was practically vibrating at this point, teetering on the edge of the mattress.

Narrowing your eyes, you let a silence fall between you before giving in and toss the bag onto the other bed. “Fine, go to town. No crumbs on the bed.” It didn't even take a second before the middle child was vaulting over the space between the beds and ripping the bag open.

Sam grimaced, not making a move from his spot at all. “Funyuns are gross.”

“Yeah, well that’s why I got you this-“ being a subtle as you could, you passed Sam the candy bar you had grabbed from the vending machine with a quick wink, his eyes lighting up as he grabbed it.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Dean.”

“I won’t.”

“Pinkie promise?”

He linked his small finger with yours. “I pinkie promise.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

“Sam? . . . Sam!”

Suddenly snapping back into reality, Sam whipped his head around took at his brother. “What?”

“I’ve been talkin to you for the past five minutes, have you even heard a word that I’ve said?”

“. . .yes?”

“Wow, you are a terrible liar. What the hell were you even thinking about?”

Pressing his lips together the younger Winchester contemplated whether or not to say anything. You were always a risky topic . . . Especially to Dean, and seeing as his brother had been in a decent mood most of the drive he really didn’t want to take that away.

“Dude, seriously. Tell me what’s going on in that weird head of yours.” Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, Deans eyes bounced back between the road and Sam.

“Y/N. . . What else do you think I would be thinking about right now?”

Dean sucked in a breath before he nodded his head in understanding. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. She’s gone. What’s it matter?”

He expected Dean to snap, lash out- like he did when they were younger and the wound still fresh, but instead he was silent. . . Only because he was trying to remember everything he could about his sister, both good and bad. He needed something to keep him grounded. For instance, You had been good at making people laugh, you’d take things in directions people wouldn’t expect- lewder, darker, more absurd— then ambush them into responding. Some of Deans humor stemmed from your own, he liked to think it was his way of keeping you close. Along with a love for old western movies and a passion for classic rock.

Happy thoughts. Just keep thinking happy thoughts, Dean. Just because Sam brought up Y/N does not mean you need to get bitter.

Turning his attention towards the radio, the hunter played with the volume until it was a soft hum that could easily be spoken over.

“You remember when Y/N used to play music in the mornings while Dad was gone on hunts?”

Sam let out a soft chuckle as confirmation. “You mean with that dinky old radio she got at a yard sale for like three bucks?”

“Yes! That’s the one!” Dean snapped his fingers, a grin tugging on his lips. “And it wasn’t even the good music we usually listened to in the car. . . It’s was like shitty upbeat soul and R&B.”

“You know she would probably smack you on top of the head if she heard you say that, right?”

“Yeah, probably-“ Dean chuckled, flicking on the turn signal as he turned onto a narrow two lane street. “Anyways you know how’d she dance around to it too? For like the soul purpose of embarrassing is even though there was no one else around?”

“Yeah, and she couldn’t dance worth a shit.” Sam added, smiling as he slowly began to remember.You were always doing stuff to get them to smile or laugh because you knew that in a lifestyle as dark as your families, you needed to keep something lit.

The rest of the drive felt lighter. . . Easier after that small conversation. Even after decades of absence you somehow still managed to put smiles on their faces.Still working hard even in death.

And then Dean pulled into the cemetery and that light and happy feeling he had had moments ago flickered and faded like a dying candle and he could feel his insides slowly beginning to twist as his face dropped. He turned off the engine and barely got two steps from the car before the feeling was too much and it felt like he was being crushed.

“Dean?”

“You know what? On second though this was a terrible idea. Why did we do this? We shouldn’t have done this. Why the fuck did I suggest this?” He quickly rambled, backing towards the car and reaching for the keys again. “Let’s- lets just go home and forget I ever suggested visiting this place-“

The older Winchester didn’t get very far before his brother was letting out a sigh and pushing him forward again. “We drove all this way. You’re not backing out now.”

“Sam-“

“Dude, we both agreed we would do this. Let’s start with just a minute and go from there.”

There was silence for a moment before Dean huffed and stopped resisting his brothers pushing. He felt like a kid again coming back here. Hell the last time he had been here he still was one. Even though they never found a body, their dad was decent enough to pay for a headstone, a place to come back to.

And then they never did.

The cemetery was cool, dew still on the grass as the morning sun began to peak through the trees and light haze. The place was empty except for them. . . Because who visits a cemetery at 6:30 in the morning? Dean sucked in another breath of fresh air, jamming his hands into his pockets despite it growing warmer out as the sun began to rise.

“You know, we probably should have brought mom with us. It’s kinda a dick move on our part to do this and not tell her.” Dean grumbled, eyes already glued on the headstone ahead.

“She’s still on that hunt with Jody. I didn’t really want to bother her.”

“Oh yeah, you’re totally right.” Dean snarked. “Would hate to remind good ol’ mom that her first born has a headstone right next to hers.”

“Why are you being such a dick? You suggested we visit.”

“It’s nothing, Sam. Just drop it.”

Gripping his brothers shoulder suddenly, Sam halted Dean in his tracks. “Nice try. Tell me what’s going on. You were fine ten minutes ago.”

Dean gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before letting another sigh sleep through his lips. “Do you remember that case we worked a few weeks ago with the psycho spirit that caught us?”

“You mean reverend Johnson? Yeah, why?”

“I keep thinking about what he said-“

“Dean, he was a vengeful spirit. He was crazy.” Sam shook his head, dropping his hand from his shoulder. But Dean squeezes his eyes shut as if trying to forget. The words from the reverend still banging around inside his skull. Bad guys really needed to stop it with their monologues.

“What I’ve seen is that the lord provides for those who need it. If you don’t have something, that generally means you don’t need it, or you don’t deserve it.”

At first it had made perfect sense and Dean had just gone with it. He didn’t have his sister because he didn’t deserve to have one.

But then again, by that logic, they didn’t deserve a home when they were younger, and they didn’t deserve to love their sister and be safe. Y/N didn’t deserve her life.

“You’re right.” Dean nodded, in hopes of getting Sam to back off. “You’re right. Dude was crazy. Just hard to get those fuckin words out of my head.” He mumbled, the two of them somehow turning in unison to look at your headstone a few yards away.

It was like the granite slab was staring them both down. The two brothers both afraid to get closer. . . Because to Dean it was like having to face the truth all over again. You were gone. Here reality was set in stone (Pun intended). But then his legs were moving before his brain was and he was kneeling down the wipe the dirt and dust away from your name, calloused fingers smoothing over the engraved letters.

“Why’d you have to go be a hero, huh?” He whispered under his breath, feeling the sudden and familiar sting of on oncoming tears.

He could remember it all so clearly still, how you had thrust your rifle into his hands and quickly tugged on your oversized canvas jacket. How the wind had whipped at your partially pulled up hair when you swung the door to the motel room open. How you told them you’d be back and then never were. Dean wondered if you would still be the same now. Back then he was still too small for his flannels and still wasn’t sure how to aim a gun properly. If you were still alive what would you have looked like now? Would you be taller? Would your hair be longer? . . . And would you have recognized what he and Sam had become?

Would you recognize them at all?

“We shoulda brought flowers or something.” He mumbled, picking the few stray weeds that had grown around the base of the stone. He was fidgeting. He did that when he was uncomfortable.

“We can always go get some. We ain’t too far outside of town.”

Dean mumbled a soft I guess as he rested his chin on his knee, arms looping tightly around his leg as if trying to mimic a hug.

“I think I’m gonna call mom. She would want to be with us for the next stop we make. . . We can always come back here too if she really wants.” Sam spoke up, extending a hand to help pull his brother up.

“Do what you think is right or whatever. I’ll be in the car.” rising to his feet, Dean wiped the dirt from his hands onto the front of his jeans. If he stayed here another minute he was bound to start crying. As He began the trek back through the maze of headstones, his fingers absentmindedly tugged on the piece of fabric on his wrist. The bit of flannel gave him a sense of comfort, because sometimes a bit of cloth could feel like love, and that was all he really wanted right now. It was one of those moments in which he realized how many things he had lost that mattered. Dad. Bobby. Y/N. Sure he had lost mom, but she was back. The rest were still gone.

All he wanted was the chance to see Y/N again, to hear her say I missed you, and I've come home.

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe

HYMN Taglist:

@biahblue @brebolin @noahandthegiraffe @psych0crybaby @beetears @supernaturalenchanted @skyelikestowrite @leej2468 @vicmc624 @let-me-luve-you @lilwinchester67

#dean winchester #Sam Winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

Text

OS - Bouncy Castle Birthday

America promised himself that this year was going to be fun.

All the states came this year, and Canada even came early with the provinces to celebrate Canada's birthday yesterday. It had taken a lot of energy to set up the inflatables, but he had a blast jumping with the kids and using the giant slide.

Yelling and laughter ring through the air, and water balloons fly.

"'BAMA! Stop eatin' all the hot dogs!"

"Illinois! You're not aLLOWED TO TAKE ALL THE WATERMELON!!"

America sits back in the afternoon sun and enjoys the warmth on his face.

"DAD! SOMEONE'S HERE TO TALK TO YOU!" someone shouts from the back door of the house.

America sighs and gets up from his spot. However, the statement does have him slightly confused. It's normally only the states and Canada's group who come for his birthday.

He walks inside and opens the front door. He finds Russia standing on the doorstep, looking embarrassed.

"Hey, Russ. What's up?"

"It's your birthday, so I brought a gift. I did not know you were having a party."

"Oh yeah! Thanks! Come on in."

Russia walks in with his head down.

"Hi Mr. Russia!"

"HI RUSS!"

"That's Russia? Wow, he's tall. No wonder he's friends with dad."

"I heard that!" America calls.

He turns back to Russia, "you can put that over here. I'm planning to open everything later, but I'm keeping out of harm's way for now."

America opens a coat closet, and Russia sets the box on top of a colorful stack. America looks up and smiles.

"Gotta say, it's kinda weird to see you without your long sleeves and hat."

Russia's face goes flush. America laughs and pats his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Ruski, you look great. Besides, it's hot outside anyway."

America walks Russia outside, and Texas waves in greeting before smacking Alabama's hand away with tongs.

"There are a lot of people here," Russia comments.

"Yup. Most of 'em are my states, though Canada and his provinces are here to. Aussie and them wanted to come, but he got busy," America says with a shrug.

America walks over to the blanket with Russia and sits down when Virginia runs over.

"Pops, UK is here with France. They got a lot of questions 'n forced their way into the mudroom. Massy is about to explode."

America sighs deeply and stands up.

"Sorry Russ, I gotta go handle this. I should be right back. Feel free to explore and whatnot."

America hurries inside with Virginia, hoping that Massachusetts hasn't cursed anyone yet. The state was close when America gets inside.

"MASSACHUSETTS! Stop this instant!"

Massachusetts freezes and then slowly lowers his arms.

"Fine."

America turns back to the two visitors.

"And you two! What are you doing here? How did you get here?!"

"Canada mentioned that you two were having a joint birthday party. It took a lot to get the address out of him. We also saw Russia walk in, so we did too," France replies, fixing her hair.

"Utah, can you go get your uncle for me, please?"

"Okay, Dad."

"We meant to come earlier but couldn't," France says in an unapologetic tone.

"What's with the sudden interest?" America questions, suspicious.

"Mom?! What are you...?" Canada interjects.

"Did you seriously give them the address of the Big House?!" America shouts.

"I did WHAT?!" Canada shrieks.

"Oh, will you stop with the yelling? The twat didn't give it to us without a bit of persuasion."

Canada's eyes go wide, and his face goes pale.

"Magic," he mutters.

The anger that had grown for Canada disappears in an instant. But a lump grows in his throat when he turns back to UK. He scowls.

"YOU USED MAGIC ON UNCLE CANADA!?!" Massachusetts roars. The state sprints forward, and his hands and eyes glow bright green with magic. Louisiana grabs him.

"Massy, like it or not, they are guests. We can't hurt 'em. 'Least, not yet," she says.

"Fine, but I'm telling the others," Massachusetts mutters. Louisiana releases him, and he runs outside.

"And America, I would like to know who all these people are," UK says, looking distastefully at the states that peak in at the conflict.

"Wouldn't you like to know? These 'people' are states and provinces who should really be outside."

The crowd outside the hallway dissipates quickly.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce us?" UK asks.

"No, not if I don't have to," America bits back.

"Canada?"

"What? You expect Am(pronounces aim) to welcome you in when you got the address out of me with magic?"

"We are not leaving," UK says.

America sighs in defeat.

"Fine. Come on."

America begrudgingly leads them outside and looks around. He notices that Russia isn't on the blanket anymore but shrugs it off.

"Dad, DUCK!" one of the states shouts. America dives with Canada, and a barrage of water balloons fly above them, hitting UK and France.

France shrieks.

"AMERICA! CONTROL THESE BLOODY CHILDREN!"

America smirks.

"Nah. It's my birthday. I don't have to do anything. Besides, you're the one who insisted on staying."

UK scowls.

America walks away and ignores the shouting behind him. Normally, he would scold the states for acting in such a manner, but UK and France put him in a bad mood, so he turns a blind eye.

He walks over to Texas and takes one of the burgers of the plate. Texas almost smacks him before recognizing him as not Alabama.

"Howdy, dad. What was happening in there."

"My 'parents' barged in and demanded to participate, so I am ignoring the consequences."

Texas laughs loudly.

"No wonder Massachusetts was so mad! He even had-"

"Don't tell me. The less I know, the better."

Texas grins and nods.

America walks over to the fold-up table and finishes putting together his food. He returns to the blanket and begins eating. He looks around for Russia and catches a glimpse of his flag in the bouncy house. He chokes for a second and shovels the rest of his burger into his mouth before walking over. He gets closer and sees Russia flying through the air, and the states work together to bounce him high into the air.

"Come on y'all! Let's get him to the ceiling!" Kentucky yells. The others cheer.

On the next launch, Russia hits the ceiling, and the states cheer and fall back. Russia lands and bounces a few times and laughs loudly.

"Hi dad!"

"Hi daddy!"

America smiles.

"Hi guys. You having fun?"

"Yeah! Mr. Russia came to play with us," Alaska says happily.

"He did? Well, can I join you too?"

"Yeah!! Come on!" Kansas cheers.

America climbs in and begins jumping with the rest of the states. Russia scrambles up and jumps alongside America, and they all laugh like young mortal children.

America is put in the middle and bounced to high heaven. He laughs and spins in the air. Then Russia joins him, and they ricochet against each other when the states launch them into the air. America shrieks with laughter.

When he finally gets a break from bouncing, he stands up and drags Russia behind him. He hops out of the inflatable castle with Russia, out of breath, and so happy.

"Come on!" he laughs and runs to the inflatable water slide. Russia laughs breathlessly behind him.

They speed to the top of the structure and race down the slides. Water splashes up, and Russia wins the race to the bottom. America splashes water at Russia, and Russia laughs. America hops up, and Russia chases after him.

America runs laughing and trips. He tumbles and flails, landing face down in a pool of mud. Russia laughs hysterically. America scowls, then smirks. He hops up and charges at Russia, hugging him tightly. Russia shrieks and tries to push him off. America tightens his grip. Russia kicks him back into the mud.

America pulls Russia down on top of him and wrestled him into the mud. The two laugh and wrestle. They only happen to relax after their flags became so covered in mud that they were near unrecognizable.

The two lay side by side, laughing. America finds that he can't stop. Every time he calms down, he looks over at Russia, and another fit of laughter takes him. He clutches his stomach and howls.

"How irresponsible. You are nothing but a bloody child. Allowing your children to run wild," UK says, standing above America with a scowl. America abruptly silences and sits up stiffly.

"Well? You haven't bloody cha-"

UK is cut off by a mouth full of mud. America spins around and sees Russia sitting beside him, smirking, and holding a handful of mud. UK sputters and growls. Russia pulls America to his feet and the two escape, cackling.

America sees the other states begin laughing as well. Water balloons fly around them, and water splashes everywhere, rinsing and diluting the dirt on their faces and clothes. The two collapse onto America's blanket and panting heavily.

America stares up at the blue afternoon sky, grinning.

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years

Text

Some Trans!Danny Thoughts

When this hit its second page, I moved it to a new post. In no particular order of importance.

When Danny was a year old and learning to talk, he spent two hours getting in a power struggle with his then-three-year-old sister where she pointed to him and said “Danielle” and he said “Dannel” back, and then she told him “Jasmine” and he answered “Jassem”, and it ended with two kids in tears and Maddie having straight-up given up. This was not so much a gender thing as a “kids getting into a screaming match about nothing of import” thing. Instead of trying to fight the point, Maddie decided that her kids were now named Dani and Jazz, and that mostly resolved the issue. It was also extremely convenient later.

Maddie and Jack are not, shall we say, the most attentive parents in the world. Danny was in the third grade before he was required to attend a formal event of any kind (it was Jazz’s elementary school graduation), and while Maddie did manage to wrangle him into a dress, he scowled through the whole thing. Then Jazz bounced down to them, grinning and bright-eyed, and dropped her robe onto his head, because it was June and too warm for it. He spent the next hour running around like a wizard and destroyed the lower third of his dress and that was pretty much the ballgame on Danny and formal attire. He wore jeans to his elementary school graduation.

Jazz started being mostly in charge of making sure Danny had clothes that weren’t, A, full of holes, or B, contaminated around when she was twelve. She decided to do the big sister thing right and took him to Target, whereupon Jazz immediately got decision paralysis. This turned into Danny, ten, and Jazz, twelve, staring at each other in the baby clothes section like they had walked into a parallel dimension, until finally Danny very slowly lifted up a blue newborn onesie covered in elephants and said “I think we’re in the wrong section,” and then they had to sit down on the floor so as not to knock anything over while they lost it. It was a weird day for the Target employees. Jazz pulled it together enough to turn Danny loose and tell him that he needed three t-shirts, a jacket, a pair of pants, and underwear, but not enough to actually dictate anything about the clothes he found. If her sister wanted to run around in block colored t-shirts and a boy’s hoodie, that was between Danny and God.

The ONE dysphoria headcanon I will be including is that Danny was one of those people who went from completely flat chested to a C-cup more or less overnight when he was eleven and suddenly all the mild discomfort he’d ignored through most of his life crystallized. Jazz offhand said that they should go buy a couple bras, because she needed some more too, and Danny fully blue-screened out for five minutes before Jazz snapped her fingers in his face and went “Hey, Earth to Fenton, are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do that,” Danny said.

“What, go shopping? Listen, we haven’t gotten lost in a store since--”

“I don’t want to get--” Danny stopped there, because he was suddenly really not prepared to say any of the words that might go at the end of that sentence. “Can’t I just not?”

“Not—buy a bra?” Jazz asked carefully.

“Yeah.” And Jazz’s baby sister blinked at her from under the shaggy overgrown pixie cut she’d been getting since she was old enough to have preferences, and Jazz thought, a little idly, well, Dani won’t be able to look like a boy anymore, if she looks anything like me and Mom.

And then Jazz, budding psychologist, opened her mouth, shut it, and said, “Tell you what, how about we don’t worry about it right now.” So they didn’t, and watched a movie, and then after Dani went to bed, Jazz hauled one of her secondhand psychology textbooks off a bookshelf and started doing reading.

Three days of intensive research later, she sidled up to Danny and said, “Hey, I have a weird question. Do you even want to be a girl, or what?”

“Sure,” Danny said, distracted by frowning over his summer homework, in the universal tone of I’m really not listening but okay, yeah. “I—hang on, what?”

“Would you be a girl if you had the option?”

Danny blinked at her, again, and said, like Jazz was an idiot, “Would you?”

“Yeah,” Jazz said. “I like being a girl. But I was thinking that maybe you might want to start school as Daniel?”

And then it was Dani’s turn, Danny’s turn, to open his mouth, shut it, and say, “Is that—a thing?”

“Sure,” Jazz said with completely unwarranted confidence. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Danny went over to Tucker’s the same afternoon and said, in a tone of total shock, “Hey, did you know I was a boy?” And that was pretty much the end of that conversation. The conversation with Sam also featured Sam’s very earnest attempt to convert Danny to being goth, but that was because Sam was going through a Phase and tried to convert anyone who asked her anything about clothing.

Jazz helps Danny figure out how to explain to their parents. Since it doesn’t involve ghosts, Maddie and Jack could really give a fuck what pronouns their kid uses, and since it doesn’t really change anything except that Jack starts calling him “Danny-boy” instead of “Dani-girl,” it’s not…remarkable.

Later, Jazz is going to think about that conversation, and about the way their dad boomed a laugh and said, “From your face, I thought you were going to tell us something awful—like you were a ghost! Sure thing, Danny-boy, sounds good.” And she’s going to understand why Danny told them one secret and not the other.

Danny’s pediatrician is just relieved that, at Danny’s pre-school yearly physical, Jazz’s only weird question is “can you prescribe hormone blockers” rather than something like “hey if you eat something contaminated with ectoplasm do you think that’ll have effects or…?” (Someone please put this woman out of her misery.)

Danny’s wearing his binder during the accident, which is very convenient, don’t get him wrong, but also that was his favorite binder and he’s annoyed about it getting permanently removed from his wardrobe. It didn’t do that rolly thing at the base of the elastic, it’s hard to find binders that don’t do the rolly thing. Sam listens to him complain about it twice and then she tries to smother him with a pillow and accidentally slam dunks him through his bed.

Also, he initially has some concerns about whether he can take his binder…off as Phantom? You’re not supposed to wear a binder while you exercise, Jazz has drilled this into his head, and it’s not until after his first major dustup with a ghost that he remembers, huh, fighting ghosts probably counts. Some experimenting proves that, while Phantom is a lot more…structured than your average ghost and his suit does come off, it can’t really sustain itself without him for long. If he leaves a glove or torn clothing behind, eventually it’ll start to crumble, or, more alarmingly, melt. On the upside, the suit seems to repair itself, and can straight up regrow any pieces that he loses. A little more experimenting proves that Phantom doesn’t breathe except to talk, and even that seems to be mostly habit, so Operation: Fight Ghosts In A Binder is a go.

Real conversation:

“So…this is Dani,” Danny says, doing kind of a ta-da gesture at the long-haired ghost who, undeniably, looks exactly like him, if a little younger. “She’s my clone.”

“Hi,” Jazz says gamely, and the ghost waves back. “What are you two going to do about the name thing? If you’re both named Daniel it’ll get confusing.”

“My name is Danielle,” the girl says, bemused. “It’s Dani, with an I.”

“She’s not trans,” Danny says with a shrug. Jazz feels about four hundred questions hurl themselves at the back of her teeth, and she takes a deep breath, and Danny is already smirking by the time she wrestles down the impulse to never stop talking. “I told you it would kill her not to be able to write a paper on us,” Danny tells Dani. Then he turns back to Jazz and says, “So, Vlad gave me a free sister and she literally does not own clothes. I figured you could take her to Target and have a meltdown in the baby section.”

“Danny! God, you’re such a brat, that was one time,” Jazz says, flushing, and she grabs Dani by the hand and drags her off while Danny cackles at their back. “Congratulations on your jerk brother,” Jazz tells Dani. “He’s giving me grey hair.”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Dani says. “You’ll match.” Jazz narrows her eyes and Dani grins, unapologetic.

It makes Danny grin like an idiot the first time the Amity Times publishes a (nominally complimentary, before shit hits the fan) headline about the ghost boy, and he keeps a copy of the article.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny fenton is TRANS and you cannot STOP ME #jazz fenton #these are almost as much about jazz if i'm being honest i REALLY love jazz #anyway these are borne on the tide of my dissatisfaction with how every single trans danny thing is about dysphoria #i knoooooow okay i know i get it i know i GOT THE CONCEPT #can we PLEASE get some jokes up in here. some affirming stuff about jazz using her hyperfixation to figure out how to support her brother.#some stuff about how sam's entire conversation with danny was 'so if you're a dude are you going to change your look?'#'because i think maybe an eyebrow piercing or some gauges--' 'i'm not changing my look i like my shirts sam' 'danNY YOUR SHIRTS ARE BORING'#PLEASE give me sam (a bisexual goth drama queen) dunking on her boyfriend for dressing like every boring straight boy ever #(in any universe tbh come on folks)#danny was always going to end up tall but since he goes on t when he's 16 he's VERY tall #and since he's doing ghost hunting 40 hrs/week when he goes on t he also ends up PRETTY BUFF #(remind me to write some stuff about the following: how relieved danny is when he turns 25 and really doesn't look much like dan at all)#(and how profoundly uncomfortable danny is when his voice drops and turns into something WAY too close to dan's for comfort)#also listen i know that not many trans folks actually do the whole 'this is basically just my name but gendered differently' thing #but i (a person with a feminine first name and a masculine middle name) did so just let me project in peace #at some point some kid makes a joke in phantom's earshot about 'do ghosts even come in trans or what' and he's like 'i'm RIGHT here'#i have...more of these #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge

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vixensheart · 4 years

Text

Silence

Izuku was having a bad day.

Well, okay, maybe bad was a bit of a stretch. Hectic. He’d had a hectic day. In which he nearly woke up late, saved only by Aoyama tapping on his door with a french quip he didn’t quite catch. His alarm? Out of battery.

And yes, Izuku used an alarm that wasn’t his phone. It was the one he’d had as a kid, okay? A limited edition All Might alarm. His mom had gotten that for his fourth birthday, and well. He’d used it ever since.

Until the batteries decided to die on him, anyway.

Then he got lost in a muttering storm at least ten times during classes, today, because apparently his hyper focusing self was very active today, and the hero course was an absolute mess. They had a rescue exercise that Izuku nearly bombed because of course, Aizawa-sensei decided to pair him with Bakugou- who had to argue about every little detail because it wouldn’t be Bakugou otherwise. Like, Bakugou was doing leaps and bounds better than first year, by a long shot. The two could at least work together without punches getting thrown, anyway.

But that didn’t mean things were perfect. Plus, Bakugou was always out of his comfort zone in situations he couldn’t blast his way out, and their rescue exercise was very anti-explosion.

So yeah. Izuku has had a day.

And Izuku had made the mistake of signing up for a late evening patrol; part of his internship, of course. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue. Most of the time, evening patrols were nice. There weren't too many villains out and about at that time, surprisingly. Well. Normally.

It seemed like today wanted to defy all sense of normality Izuku had. Including throwing in a low level villain robbing a bank.

One minute Izuku was strolling alongside Burnin, the next, the storefront of a small bank literally exploded in an array of glass, brick, and mortar. Izuku threw his arms up to protect his face, a grimace twisting into his features.

Damn.

Immediately, Full Cowling crackled to life, its energy thrumming through him like a live wire. Izuku caught sight of the villain tumbling into the street, a tote bag of money clasped in their grasp. He was off in an instant, wind whipping through his hair as he bounced from the sidewalk to the mortar building beside him and ricocheted through the air. Black Whip crackled to life, and Izuku flicked his wrist and directed the whiplike energy to wrap around the stoplight pole. Momentum carried him around, swinging, and he kicked out and sent the villain flying back.

The tote flew from their grasp, and they smacked the pavement with a cry. Izuku released his hold on Black Whip and landed on his feet, pulling the quirk suppressing handcuffs from his belt as he jogged to the now crumpled form in the middle of the street.

Oof. He hoped they were alright...he definitely didn’t mean to kick quite so hard. Izuku stooped over, handcuffs dangling from his hands as he peered down at his quarry. Whoever they were, they weren’t very strong if this took them down as easily as it did. They hadn’t even used their quirk. Still, Izuku couldn’t help the twinge of guilt. “Are you alright?” he asked. The villain’s eyes flew open, and they squawked, scrambling to their feet. Izuku lurched forward, attempting to tackle them back down. “Wait, stop!”

A bright light burned at his eyes, and Izuku fell back with a yelp. Or. Tried to. And though he felt his throat constrict with an undignified squeak, Izuku couldn’t quite hear it. But his eyes stung, the oversensitivity of the bright light at the forefront of his focus as he clasped his face with his hands. Dammit.

There was a scuffle, and seconds later, Izuku blinked his eyes open again to see Burnin handcuffing the perp with a manic grin rivalling Bakugou slashing across her features. Izuku huffed, a wave of embarrassment rolling through him. Well. At least the villain was in custody.

“Are you alright?”

Izuku whipped his gaze up to his right, where a police officer peered down at him. He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. Wow, this was really embarrassing. What a rookie move. He opened his mouth to reaffirm that yes, he was fine, when nothing came out.

Nothing at all.

Izuku was having a bad day.

It turned out the villain’s quirk was called Silence; it could temporarily disable the voice of anyone it was directed at. And Izuku, being the unlucky person he was, got blasted with it hard. And now he couldn’t talk. At all. His debrief took a whole hour longer because of it, as it took a good twenty minutes for everyone to figure out something had even happened and that Izuku wasn’t being coy.

During his debrief, the police were kind enough to pull the villain’s file and explain the quirk to him, after he wrestled a pad of paper and a pen out of them and scribbled a demand for such. Apparently, the quirk lasted anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the strength of the blast. Since Izuku got blasted by the beam directly, they figured it would probably be a few days, moreso.

Izuku sighed. He was tired, and sad. This day sucked a lot, and he really wasn’t looking forward to explaining his rookie mistake to his classmates, who were sure to pick up on the issue immediately.

His classmates had definitely become like a family to him, and Izuku loved them dearly, but. They were exceptionally nosy, at the best of times. Izuku sighed again and shouldered his bag. Well, here went nothing. He pushed his way into Heights Alliance, the warmth and sounds of his home away from home washing over him.

“Get the fuck off of me, Pickachu!”

“But, I’m not even touching you!”

“Are fucking too!”

“Please refrain from yelling, we are trying to have a tutoring session!”

From the doorway, Izuku can see Iida chopping his arm towards the couches, glasses glinting in the low lighting. He hovered near the tables, where books and papers were scattered about. Yaoyorozu, Ashido, Hagakure, and Asui were all sitting amidst the study materials, some sighing and others snickering.

“Fuck you, I can yell all I damn want!” Bakugou snaps, leering over the couch. His usual sneer was stamped onto his features, as feral as ever. Loud pops rang out into the space, and sparks floated up from his palms.

“Dude, chill,” Kirishima said, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Izuku watched in odd fascination as Bakugou’s sneer froze, scrunching into something akin to shock, and then solidifying into a forced indifference that had Izuku’s brows raising. He grumbled and turned, dropping back into his seat beside Kirishima, who seemed somewhat bemused. Kirishima’s gaze met Izuku’s, then, and he beamed his sharp smile. “Midoriya, man, hey! We were wondering where you were!”

And just like that, the room’s attention was on him. Izuku bit his lip and waved. Dread coiled in his gut, sudden, and he nearly tripped as he made his way to Iida. He fumbled for the folded up paper in his pocket. Lord, this was embarrassing. He smiled, face warm, as he handed his baffled friend a creased paper with shaking hands.

“Midoriya, what is this?” Iida asked. He plucked the paper from Izuku slowly, hilt titling as he reached up to adjust his glasses. Izuku sucked in a breath and gestured to the paper. Iida frowned. “You are being rather cryptic.”

Izuku frowned. He wasn’t trying to be! It was sort of hard when his voice just wouldn’t work. A huff bubbled past his lips, and Izuku pointed at the paper again. He’d taken the time to write his embarrassing predicament out, and it was not a fun thing to write down; Izuku felt like an idiot still, hours later. So, the sooner Iida could read the paper, the sooner he could go to his room and collapse on his bed and forget today ever even happened.

Iida just blinked at him, brows furrowed in the way they do when Iida was perplexed by something one of their classmates did or said, and he looked down at the paper clasped delicately in his fingertips. “Do you need help with something?”

Izuku resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Iida, please. Izuku loved his friend, dearly, but Iida could just be so painfully dense. He shook his head, and pointed at the paper again. And again, when Iida’s brows just furrowed more. Please just read the paper! Izuku wanted to say, but his voice was down for the count.

“I think he wants you to read the paper,” Yaoyorozu said, her curt voice puzzled. Izuku wanted to die with gratitude. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. He nodded frantically at Iida, who was still staring at him with a level of concern that was almost smothering.

“What paper?” Uraraka’s voice carried across the common room, and Izuku found himself turning to peer owlishly at his friend. She strode towards him, a protein bar in her grasp. That warm ochre gaze enveloped him like a heated blanket, and Iuzku felt the tension of the day ease out of him. Uraraka tended to have that effect on him. Why, Izuku didn’t really know, but he welcomed the feeling of relief and comfort that blanketed him just from her presence.

Uraraka looked from him to Iida, and down to the paper still in their friend’s grasp. She reached over and tugged it free, sticking her protein bar in her mouth as she worked to unfold the paper and gave it a read. And oh, god. Izuku couldn’t help but fiddle with his hands as he watched. Oh, how he wanted to throw himself off the roof. Shame burned him inside out, and Izuku felt hot all over. He gulped, watching Uraraka through his bangs. Her expression went from intrigue, to concern, and Uraraka ripped her bar from her mouth with a gasp. “Oh, gosh, really, Deku-kun?”

He winced and nodded.

“Gosh, Deku!” She’d dropped her protein bar and the paper, now, and was clasping her face, pinkies raised, eyes wide with worry. Their other classmates’ attention was now zeroed in on them, too, and Izuku shrunk under the scrutiny.

“What’s wrong?” Yaoyorozu asked. “Is he hurt? Do we need Recovery Girl?”

Uraraka shook her head and sighed. “No, he says that he got hit by a quirk while out patrolling for his internship. His voice is gone for the next few days.”

There was a beat, as everyone absorbed the information. Then, chaos ensued.

“Oh, gosh, that’s awful!”

“Midoriya, what happened? You weren’t hurt again, were you?”

“Ha! Damn nerd, how stupid can ya’ be?”

“Hush, Bakugou. Don’t forget about what happened last week.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Wait, what if his voice is gone forever!”

“‘Chako just said it’ll wear off in a few days, kero.”

“Guys, please!” Uraraka cried. The noise ceased, everyone’s gazes whipping to their exasperated friend. She rubbed at her temple, lips pursed in a frown. “Deku-kun has clearly had a stressful day. Can we just let it go? It’s getting late, anyway.”

“Of course, you’re right” Iida said. He turned his focus to Izuku, his sharp gaze scanning him over. “You are uninjured, though, yes?”

Izuku nodded. Yes, he was fine, missing voice aside. Just sore and incredibly tired. Not that he could say as much.

“Oh, here!” Yaoyorozu stood from her seat, leaning over and presenting a white board to him. “So you can at least communicate. I figure this will be easier than paper…”

He smiled at her.

“He says thank you, I think,” Uraraka said, smiling. Her gaze found his, and she lit up. “You know, I have some markers in my room. Let’s go grab them!” She nabbed his wrist and dragged him away from the chaos of the common room. Izuku gasped at the contact, face heating once again, albeit for slightly differing reasons, this time. He followed almost dumbly behind, clutching the white board to his chest, backpack thumping erratically against his back. His heart thumped erratically, too, and Izuku found his mind to be pleasantly blank.

Through the corridors and up the stairs they went. Uraraka seemed to not want to wait for an elevator, and Izuku was too distracted by warm fingers circling his wrist to object otherwise. Though, distantly, Izuku knew he couldn’t exactly object if he wanted to, save by ripping his arm free from her grasp. And for whatever reason, that idea did not appeal to him at all.

Uraraka let go of his arm once they reached her room, and she threw open her door and strode inside. Izuku found himself wavering, watching as she yanked open desk drawers and started rustling. Was it okay for him to step inside? Or was that rude? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t ask. So he lingered in the doorway, gaze zipping up down and all around, as Izuku didn’t know where to look.

She seemed to sense his hesitance, as her gaze jumped to him, and she said, “You can come inside, silly!”

Izuku gulped. Oh. Okay. He stepped inside her room, carefully shutting the door behind him. It clicked shut, the sound like a gong in Izuku’s ears. His body jolted, as if shocked by the sudden noise. He chewed his lip and turned, his gaze landing on Uraraka as she ruffled around. It took but a moment for her to find what she was looking for; she snatched it and popped upright with a cry. “Aha!” Uraraka whirled around, a bright smile lighting her features. She presented a handful of colored dry erase markers. Pink, green, orange, and blue. “Pick your favorite,” she said with a laugh. Her demeanor was infectious, and Izuku found his lips twitching up into a smile too. He reached over and gently plucked up the green marker, which had Uraraka letting out a giggle.

“Green’s your color, huh?”

He flushed, and shrugged, popping the cap off his marker.

Thank you, Uraraka-san.

Uraraka, for her part, flushed and waved him off. “No problem, Deku-kun.”

A silence filled between them. Then, “We um, still have some time before curfew. Would you maybe, wanna take a walk?” Uraraka’s gaze was anywhere but on him, and Izuku could have sworn her natural blush was darker than usual. He felt his heart stutter a bit in his chest- alone? With Uraraka? Lately, the thought had him feeling all fuzzy and weird inside. But hanging out with her was always so fun, so Izuku found himself nodding eagerly anyway.

Her smile was blinding. “Cool! Come on!” She snatched his hand in hers and led him back into the hall, her presence solid and comforting. No conversation flowed, but none needed to; being together was enough.

And Izuku was okay with that.

FIN

#izuocha #bnha #my hero academia #izuocha week 2020 #day three #silent night #my writing #adventures in writing

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