#the thought of a little mug shouldn't make me as happy as it does

[politelymenacing]

Finally booked a job today (thank fuuuuuck) after the last one got cancelled, so I treated myself to a new mug.

That's right. This is going to be me in a couple of days.

[livingemkayde]

warning signs

boston!joel miller x f!reader | 3.8k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, oral m! and f!receiving, fingering, joel is emotionally distant because the world has gone to shit, violence (reader gets hit once by a FEDRA soldier), mentions of blood and wounds, angst!!!, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything. 

↳ a/n: WADDUP PARTY PEOPLE!!! were back again with another post outbreak!joel miller one shot, horrible canva graphic done by yours truly, and a quiet obsession with this idea while i had covid.

so....this is a little different from my regular scheduled programming. i wanted to explore a different kind of writing style and i am really happy with how this came out. it made writing fun. thank you for all of your comments, reblogs, asks, etc. they truly do mean the world. IM JUST A GIRL WRITING HER HEART OUT SO THANK YOU.

↳ this one is dedicated to my long lost lover and biggest supporter, @joelsversion i love you bestie.

↳ follow @livingemkaydenotifs if you would like to be notified about more fics like this. as always, i love you so, so much.

↳ if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist

He deserves it all.  You know that for certain.  And they were all right about him, dangerous.  But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’.  You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves.  If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all. 

“He’s not a good man.” 

“You don’t know that,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I know what he’s done. He’s — dangerous.”

“But does that make him a bad man?” 

“It certainly doesn’t make him a good one.”

___

“Good morning,” you say, zipping up the front of your jacket, doubling the extra layer of warmth. It’s freezing today, and you’ve managed to fit both of your long sleeves under your coat. 

You smile at him, like always. Almost practiced, almost rehearsed. And he always gives you a gruff nod, and says—

“Mornin’.” 

“Cold out,” you acknowledge, following in stride, a stair behind him. Your boots slap down onto the wood but it only creaks under the weight of his body. He slumps down the steps, one big, heavy foot in front of the other. You notice how he waits for you to go first when you both round the corner. 

He just grunts in response. He’s not rude, or mean. It’s just how he is. It’s what you’ve gotten used to. But there’s something different in his tone this time. The etches marked in his face right between his eyebrows are stronger and his lip quivers on the right side, shaking with an uncertainty that changes his entire face into something you’re not quite sure you’ve ever seen before. A face like he’s worried about something. 

You both get to the bottom of the stairs, nearing the entrance to the building. This is the part where he goes his way and you go yours. You follow the sun’s path, towards your daily jobs, he goes towards the ration line, towards other Areas. It’s just how it is. 

Until it isn’t. 

You know him.

Well, that’s not to say much—everyone knows him. But you’ve had the lucky chance of actually meeting him. Not really knowing him. But you know who he is and the deep, dark, drawl of his voice. 

If someone were to say, ‘Hey, you know Joel Miller, right?’ 

You’d honestly probably say no. 

But that’s just because truly knowing Joel Miller comes with its consequences. 

But you do know he always wears his green flannel when it’s a little chilly out. You know his mug broke and that he needed to borrow one of yours a couple days ago. And you can hear every time he opens his door. Whether he’s inviting someone in, or seeing someone out is a different story. A story you don’t care to find out. 

And maybe that’s enough to know him—or so you thought. 

You see him.

Everyday. 

Same time. 

Same place. 

Whoever previously stayed in your apartment left an open unit for you to settle into when you first arrived in Boston three months ago. They’re probably dead now. You try not to think of that fact too often. You kept to yourself mostly. Almost a ‘speak when spoken to’ situation. You felt like you were back in Sunday school. 

But then, when you had settled into your new routine, you saw him. Same time, same place, everyday. 

You know Joel Miller leaves his apartment at 8:02 am. You figured it’s because he tells himself to be out the door by 8:00 am but doesn’t actually start leaving until the hour hand hits—just like you. You know that he prefers to take the back stairs, just like you. And you also know that he heads straight for the ration lines when the fresh air finally hits.

You like to watch him as he walks away, stalking in another direction, almost into a different world.

He barely speaks to you. Maybe less than two words per sighting. You’re not really looking for a thought provoking conversation, but a conversation might be nice.

Though, you can’t really focus on much besides how handsome you think he is. You even saw him smile once. His face turned kind of boyish. You had said something about needing coffee, desperately, and he actually smiled. 

It almost felt like something normal. 

Maybe in some sick and backwards way you thought you two were friends. But, in retrospect, that might’ve been silly. Because in reality, you can’t stop thinking about him. You wake up, having replaced your need for coffee by the thought of seeing him. 

What’s he going to wear today? 

Is he gonna look at you?

What’s he going to say? Something practiced? Something new?

You always hope for the latter. 

You like how he scares people. How he can cut the radio comm line and the most anyone would dare say is garbled into a low and nonthreatening, there’s a line here. How he seems to put on a front, but in those fleeting minutes when you both walk in tandem down the back stairs, he doesn’t put it on. Not for you—not in front of you. You tried not to let that get to your head. But Joel Miller mixed with polite small talk, and good mornings, and you can’t help but feel special. So that stupid naive part of you thought that you knew him. You heard stories of him, sure. But decidedly, you don’t really know him. Not like that. 

Because just as you give him a small smile and turn to walk off in the opposite direction, he grabs your arm. 

It’s not hard or threatening. He’s surprisingly soft, almost gentle. His hand is so starkly warm—a living furnace. He pulls you back to the stairwell, you get so flustered that you trip over yourself, but he holds you up. He looks down at you, and he’s still got that worried look on his face masked by something eerily calm. 

The hand on your bicep doesn’t move—even when you relax your arm. You wouldn’t dare speak. His presence sewed your mouth shut, one look and you’re a ghost. He looks you up and down, his eyes catching at your chest, your lips, your heated cheeks. Almost like it’s the first time he’s really seen you.  

You highly doubt that though. 

Did he notice when a firefly left your apartment in the dead of night?

Did he care that you ventured into the world of pleasure over good judgment? 

You think he does. 

“You need to be careful,” he drawls, finite, stern. 

You let your eyes go big, your mouth parts. It’s the most this man has ever said to you, let alone touch you. You’ve never been this close to him. The air is so cold your breath puffs out in clouds. Your heels dig into the molding of the wall. 

“Around Area 3,” he clarifies when you remain silent. 

You can feel his hand push into the layers covering your arm. It seeps something sickly down to your bones. Even through the thickness of it, his hand is warm, and his grip is inviting. 

He has big eyes. It’s really the only thing you can think about. You can only see Joel Miller’s big puppy dog eyes staring down at you. They’re black, pitch-dark. Maybe in the light they might be brown. You wonder if you'll ever see them look at you in any other way. You silently hope you will. 

His grip tightens a fraction of an inch, pushing you back into the wall a little. Almost like he’s saying — do you hear me?

“Why?” you manage to squeak out. 

“Just—” he huffs, maybe sighs, “—don’t get too close. It’s dangerous.”

It almost seems like he’s waiting for you to respond. To confirm that you hear him and that you understand. Acknowledge that you’ll at least try to be safe. Though you both know safety around these parts are few and far between. 

And maybe you should be careful, because the most dangerous thing right now is that Joel Miller’s got you pinned to the wall. Where no one can see either of you. Or hear the darkened drawl whispering off his scruff into a white cloud. But you’re not really scared, and you silently think you should be. 

Dangerous—everyone had said to you when you first got here. He’s fucking dangerous. But how can dangerous be spelled out into something kind? How can dangerous look like he doesn’t ever want to let you go?

“Okay,” you say, breathless. He releases your arm, it leaves its mark burned into you. He backs away from you with his eyes studying yours. You don’t move, and he nods towards the exit.

____

Joel was right. About Area 3. 

A day later, you’re walking to the ration lines and you can hear the trucks rolling through. You pick up your speed, put your head down, and try to walk a little faster. 

“Miss?” 

Shit. 

You’re almost there. Just a couple more blocks. 

“Miss, you can’t be out here,” it calls out again. You don’t recognize the voice—you keep walking. 

“Hey!” he says, pulling at your arm. You fight away, but he hits you across the face and you fall, clutching your cheek with a cold palm. The sting is dulled, your vision wobbles a little and you begin to taste something metallically and familiar looming against the inside of your cheek. 

“You fuckin’ deaf?” the soldier says, picking you up roughly by an arm. He’s not warm. Or soft. Or surprisingly gentle. 

“Fuck off,” you bite back, standing, pushing out of his grip, and shaking your jacket of the dust. It flutters off you like soot while you stumble back onto the curb. 

“I said—go—” the soldier grabs at his gun slung lazily over his shoulder, “—home.”

“I need to get to the lines,” you say, making a move towards your original direction. He grabs you again, and your head hits the brick wall behind you with a thunk. 

“We’re under curfew,” he growls. The safety of his rifle notched under a gloved finger unlatches with a click. The front of the barrel comes up to kiss your forehead. “Last chance.”

You hear your name get called from down the street and freeze, silently cursing to yourself. A fast approaching voice accompanies your beating heart. It snakes around your lungs and gives you a good squeeze. 

“I got her, Davis,” Joel says, pushing the soldier’s body away from you, wedging himself, etched with a stern look, between you and Davis. The gun now sits soundly against Joel’s chest. The part of your forehead that kissed the metal aches. 

“Get outta here, Miller,” he warns, shaking his head, like Joel should know better, like Joel should be smarter, like Joel shouldn't be risking everything for you. But he doesn’t move. He pushes the soldier back with a stern palm on the front of his bullet proof vest. Davis stumbles a little, backing away, his feet falling off the curb and onto the dirty street.  

“I got her.”

A tense couple beats. You pick at the skin of your pointer finger, running your nail over the ridge of your knuckles. You can hear more trucks barreling down the streets as you wait. Your lungs haven’t been reprieved of their tightness yet.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Davis shakes his head, pushing away from Joel’s hand. You watch silently over his shoulder. 

“‘M not.” 

“Go home,” Davis warns under his breath, looking around the street for any signs of life, “don’t— fucking come out until morning.”

“Yeah,” Joel breathes out, “alright.”

“I mean it,” he says, “and keep her locked in,” he points a warning finger over Joel's shoulder at you. “They see you, it's on sight.”

“We're good,” Joel says, shielding your body from Davis, like your own bullet proof vest. Armor. A personal chest plate and helmet and knee pads combined into one man. Maybe that’s what should feel dangerous—that you feel so safe between Joel Miller and a brick wall where all you can do is watch in earnest. 

“And I want double — next time,” Davis adds, latching the safety of his gun back on and straightening out his vest. 

“Just get outta here,” Joel says, backing away towards the apartment. You follow him. The soldier goes the opposite direction. 

___

Your hands are shaking. 

They’re shaking as you close the door, and forget to lock it. They’re fucking shaking when you slip out of your jacket and unsheath the knife from your waistband. 

You can see your right hand, coming up as if an instinct to touch your cheek, the redness on your fingertips are the only indication you need. You try to rub the pads of your fingers together to erase the evidence of damage. But it doesn’t disappear. It never does. 

“Shit,” you mumble. Your fucking cheek hurts. 

He’s so quiet. He doesn’t even knock, just slips into your apartment. You only hear him shut the door with a click and you spin around, grabbing at the knife left strewn on the table. Your hands fumble on the handle. 

“What’re you…”

Joel gestures to something in his hand, then towards the fast forming bruise on your cheekbone. You drop the knife on the table. 

“Ice,” he says in that southern drawl that pulls on that place between your thighs. 

You suddenly don’t care about the cut on your cheek, or the blood or the bruises. He takes in your apartment, noting each and every thing that makes you so starkly different from him. How you put up curtains, a table cloth you found in some antique shop before arriving in Boston, canned food that you’ve been saving. 

“You didn’t have to—” you say, nodding towards the window, towards outside. Then towards your cheek, the black and blue littered there. 

You didn’t have to do any of it.

“You okay?” is all he says in reply. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” 

“I —” he shakes his head, “—I’m sorry.”

“You warned me,” you huff out through a lazy kind of laugh. He doesn’t even smile. But you want him to. You want to see the way it transformed his face. The things you would do to see his lips pull and maybe, just maybe, you’d give anything to hear him laugh. 

“Still,” he mumbles, finally looking at your eyes instead of your cheek. 

He’s not a good man.

You think to yourself that he is. 

“You’re dripping,” you say, nodding towards his hand clutching onto the ice leaving behind a small puddle seeping through his knuckles. The drops fall in tune with a second hand ticking away against the face of a clock. 

He looks down, but doesn’t say anything, just stalks towards you, tentatively. Like you’re a scared, jumpy cat he’s trying to approach. You sit back against the table and dig your nails into the wood. 

“I should’ve…” he whispers, nearing your legs outstretched towards him, “should’ve killed him,” his eyes flick to your cheek, “for what he did.”

You shake your head at his words. You silently think to yourself maybe that’s the only thing he knows for certain—the only thing he knows how to do. To get his hands dirty for someone he cares about, so that the blood won’t ever come off his soiled palms. Like your fingertips, like the bed of your nails.

He huffs a long sigh, you look into his eyes for anything but wind up empty handed. 

The ice bites into your open palms. He rustles with it before placing the little pack into your fingers, his, all encompassing and brushing over yours and turning them ice cold and burning hot at the same time. He’s close, and he keeps staring at your lips when he’s not occupied with your cheek.

Dangerous smells like pine and musk and dangerous has got you wrapped around his finger. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

He shakes his head, “Don’t.” 

Don’t say his name, not like that. And don’t make those breathy sounds and certainly don’t look at him like that. Because it’s been way too long for him and you’re too good and he is too fucking bad. 

So you don’t say anything. But you pull him closer against your body, wedged between something scary and something soft and sweet, tipping on the edge. One foot on either side of the thin line. 

He just sighs, pushes out a heavy breath, trying to contain himself. Like he can’t believe this is really happening, despite everyone’s better judgment. Despite his own. 

“I—” his voice quivers, he almost shakes his head, but it just pulls you two closer together. 

“You don’t want to?” you whimper, entranced by the way his breath punches on top of your nose. You think if you dragged your lips down his chest you would be able to feel his steady heartbeat. 

“‘S been a while,” he admits through ragged whispered breaths. 

“But do you…?” you question, placing your hands on his forearms, pulling him impossibly close until he’s slotted between your open legs. The ice is abandoned on the table to melt with your discernment. 

He nods and gives you a certain look—’course I do. His lip pulls a little, looking down suddenly towards your chest. Pleading with himself. 

A losing battle. 

Maybe he thinks he isn’t worthy. 

You pull him forward, kiss him, throw your arms around his shoulders and he picks you up off the table at that, finding your bedroom through the mess. 

You’re convinced that he is.

___

As it turns out, dangerous feels fucking amazing. It tastes like something oddly sweet. It definitely shouldn't feel as good as it does. It shouldn’t be sweet nothings, and grunting, pleading whispers wrapped around a heady background tune. 

“Joel,” you moan. This time he doesn’t stop you, “—fuck,” you whimper, tangling your face into the sheets, dragging his hands over your body. 

You kiss his neck, his pulse strums as strong as you thought it might be.

“Darlin’, I—” he grunts softly, “—are you sure—” 

“Yes,” you puff out, “yes, I — yes.”

You want to give him things. You want to be the softness for him to come back to in those early mornings and those late nights. You want it all, you want it with him. You want him to be gentle like you know he can—relax in the way he never does because he pleads with himself that he shouldn't.

He deserves it all. 

You know that for certain. 

And they were all right about him, dangerous. 

But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’. 

You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves. 

If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all. 

“Fuck—Oh my—god, Joel—” you whine and pull at the curls at the base of his neck. 

“Taste so good, angel,” he whispers against your cunt, quickening his pace, a man starved. 

You push out something sounding close to his name. He looks wrecked, you know you probably look worse. His fingers crook somewhere deep inside you, you garble out something coherent only to your mind. You’re sensitive, but he’s gentle. The firefly didn’t do this, you didn’t even ask him to. 

Your name is something broken on his lips, burying his tongue deep into your cunt, tasting you, lapping up your wetness smeared across the inside of your thighs. The ceiling might be spinning, but you’re too fucked out to care. For an out of practice man, Joel Miller seems to be an expert—like riding a bike. His mouth is warm and soft and gentle and he keeps going until you have to push his head away. 

He says those fucking words again, something desperate behind his pleading eyes. 

“‘S been a while.”

You don’t acknowledge them, just push him back, until he's sitting at the edge of the bed, running your hands across his chest. 

“Sweetheart…” he says, a feeble attempt to stop you. 

“Relax,” you laugh a little, running your hands down to his belt, the tell tale sound of the metal clinking makes you slither your way down to kneel, until your face—your mouth, is perfectly, lazily hung over the bulge in his pants. 

“You don’t—fuck—don’t have to,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair. You almost whimper, everything threatening to boil over when he cups your face, pushing his thumb tenderly into your uninjured cheek. 

“I want to,” you whimper. 

He almost looks pained. 

Your hands find the button and the zipper, and pull it down as you reach forward to kiss him. He moans into your mouth, already hard just from your featherlight touches. When you pull him out of his boxers, the hand on your cheek reaches around to grasp your jaw, angling your head to look up at him.  

He breaks the kiss, you wrap your hand around him experimentally. 

“Fuck—” he groans, and his eyes flutter shut. You try to move your lips down towards his length, but he keeps you there, looking at him. 

“‘M not gonna last,” he whispers. 

You whimper at the prospect. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper back.

It’s a shame. You realize. That it’s been a while for him. You want him to feel good. You want him to feel better. He doesn’t think he’s a good man. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. 

You know that he is. 

He removes his hand. 

You take him into your mouth. 

“F-fuck—” he groans, locking his hand back into your hair. You swirl your tongue over the head of his cock and he throws his head back, looking up at the ceiling for something to focus on. 

“Baby—I—” he pants, his fingers bury into your roots and lock onto your bed sheets beneath him. His desperate breath shoots right to your core. You’re no doubt dripping with need when he accidentally grinds his hips into your mouth.

“Shit—” he sits forward a little, taking your head between his two big palms, “‘M sorry, darlin’—” 

You cut him off, his words are swallowed with his own grit. You take him deeper, adding your hand to the parts you can’t quite reach. 

“Good?” you say, lapping at the underside of his cock before taking him in your mouth again. 

“Yeah,” he groans, “yeah, fuckin’—good.”

Your mouth fits tight around the base of his cock. He swallows back moans. His hands become desperate, like his panting breath and his fucked out expression. 

He spills into your throat, pushing his hips up into your mouth until you choke on him. He tastes like desperate gasps, stolen glances, good mornings, goodnights, and be carefuls. His eyes look lighter, like you thought they’d be in the sunlight. 

You pull yourself off of his cock, resting your head on his thigh, sitting back on your heels so you can look up at him. His fingers are still rooted in your hair. It’s silent for a few short moments. You can still taste him on your tongue. His hand runs across the top of your head, and down to your shoulders and settles to rest on the outside of your throat. 

And you laugh. 

And he smiles. 

___

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Okay but Odd Duck just being... adorable

"There you go, Sweetheart," Bruce said, putting a mug of tea down for you. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. Very Sore."

"No wonder," Bruce said, kissing the top of your head, "You had a long weekend."

You make a soft uncomfortable noise and laid your head down on the table, it was throbbing again and all you wanted to do was lay down.

"Hungry?"

"My stomach does not like food right now."

"Let's get you laid back down," Bruce said softly. He'd thought getting you moving a little would help but, clearly not. "I'll call Alfred and see if-"

"Why does my head hurt so bad?"

"Poor, sweetheart," he soothed, "can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?"

You hold your arms out, pouting and insistent and he smiled tenderly, stooping just slightly so you could put your arms around his neck. "Can walk," you grumble, "Don't want to."

"And you don't have to," he assured you. Clark had taken the bulk of the damage. And he was virtually indestructible, so. It evened out. Still. He didn't want to leave you alone. Not when you weren't feeling well. And clingy.

It shouldn't make him feel good but, it did. You wanted him. You were pouting and clinging on him. And you didn't like ANYONE to just touch you. Not without good reason.

"Do you have to go home?" you murmur, letting him situate you on his chest. Pinning you between him and the back of the sofa.

"Not for a little while," Bruce said. "Not until tomorrow."

"Is Dick-"

"Dick told me to take good care of you," Bruce said, kissing the top of your head carefully.

"He's a sweet kid."

"He has his moments," Bruce hummed, sliding his hands down your back carefully. It wasn't really a good position for a back rub. So he couldn't do much more than gentle pressure. Not really enough to do anything about the knots or the soreness. But at least he could touch you and he knew you liked the feel of his hands. "I've been thinking," he said.

"I understand if you don't want to stay toge-"

"No," he said quickly. "Not even close, Okay?"

"But I can't-"

"You did what you needed to do," Bruce said quietly. "You walked out alive. We thought you were going to die," he breathed. They'd all been braced to bring your body home. Not you. They thought they were going to have to give you a hero's burial instead of a few weeks of coddling.

"Bruce I know-"

"Let me get this out?" he asked softly.

You nod and smudge a kiss against his heart, reaching down to grab his hand and lace your fingers together.

"Your life is here. Your friends are here. Your job- but if you wanted to come live with me I- we'd all be happy to have you."

"I don't know-"

"You don't have to answer now," he murmured, "You probably shouldn't with a head injury."

"I don't have-"

"You absolutely do," Bruce said chuckling. "Take it from an expert."

[charlewiss-writes]

coffee for thought / pierre gasly

masterlist

day 11: dream (part of one-word november prompts!)

pairing: pierre gasly x reader

word count: 0.6k

summary: you've been avoiding him since your dream two nights ago. he isn't happy about it.

you had woken up pretty shaken after what you dreamed. and even now, two days later, you still couldn't quite face pierre, so you were avoiding him all-together: short replies, no facetimes, almost not congratulations after each race. you knew it was unfair to keep him in the dark, but you were scared that, somehow, the dream had messed up your friendship. you tried to convince yourself that it was just your brain messing with you. ever since you and your ex broke up, pierre had stepped up, being there for you to ensure that you were doing ok, even when he was busy with the long season ahead.

thankfully, he was away, so you didn't have to face him directly just yet. you thought you had a bit more time, but when your heard the knocks on the front door after the race weekend, you knew you were fucked.

"you've been avoiding me" he spoke, matter-of-factly while entering the apartment. you sighed, closing the door being him. 'clearly not well enough since you're here' you huffed. "what did I do wrong?" he said, while trying to look at your face that was covered with your palms. he got close to you and grabbing your wrists, took your hands off and you were now out of hiding. "nothing, pierre, just my silly little brain".

he furrowed his eyebrows. "what does that even mean? what happened?" his tone was increasingly worrying. you sighed and taking your hands off his grab, you caressed his arm. "p, I'm fine, I swear" and, again, trying to avoid his gaze, started to make your way to the kitchen. you didn't have to do anything in particular, just wanted to get out of his sight for a moment. still, he followed you there. "i don't believe you".

"fine, don't" you glared, and started to clean up the mug you used earlier to make tea. he continued. "if everything's fine, let's go get coffee then". you knew pierre and how persistent he was. he wouldn't leave you alone until you told him what was wrong. "you know how annoying you are?"

"yeah, and you still like me" you shivered at the thought of him knowing about why you've been avoiding him. and still, that silly little dream got you wondering. did you really like him like that or was it just part of the fantasy your brain had created? was this pierre the same one you dreamed of?

after getting in his car and him driving silently to your preferred coffee spot, you two ordered. now, back in his car, you knew he was waiting for you to finally tell him what happened. trying to make it as quick as possibly, you hurriedly said "i dreamed of you".

"wait, what?" pierre said, looking dumbfounded. quickly, he joked "was it hot?". immediately, you regretted your decision to tell him. "shouldn't have told you. please, take me back home" you said, now facing back towards the road and looking at the window, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

"no no, I want to know. tell me, please" he said, extending his arms so he could grab your hand and gently caressing your knuckles. "i don't know. we were, like, together... and you were being cute. that's it. silly little dream. it doesn't really matter" you blurted, still avoiding his gaze but now drawing circles in his hand, trying to keep your nerves at bay. this could ruin you whole friendship. "do you think of us being together?" pierre asked. when you took a little bit too long to answer for his liking, he squeezed your hand a bit. "i don't know, I guess?" you now looked at him, searching his face for some sign of where he was going with that question. he grinned. "i do too"

[secretagentsociety]

Writing ideas pt 4?3?idk

Sumary : a yandere roommate who's obsessed with your best friend,one day you find his shrine dedicated to her,promising to help him capture her heart you start helping him around,but the plan changes halfway

tw : yandere nonsense,little angst(if you squint enough) and comfort,fluff

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

When he first accepted your help he never thought it'd end up like this,he always thought you're a thron on his side afterall you're one of the closest person to his darling and he hated it but since you're helping him,he tolerates you

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So when does this feeling starts? Why is it now that he's standing here with his supposed 'darling' Infront of him confessing being a blushing mess,why isn't it making him happy?,why is it he find himself wishing in her stead was you instead ?

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"so did you accept her confession?"

"...."

"nah who am I kidding, you're like crazzzeee for her,ofcourse you d-"

"I didn't"

hearing that you almost dropped your mug your brows forrow in together as you sat right besides him putting an arm over his shoulder as means of comfort,subconsciously he leaned in closer taking a deep breath

"hey... something wrong?" You asked

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he tried,he really tried to like her back like he used to but nothing worked!,and he's frustrated in himself, he's supposed to worship her!love her with all his heart and only have her only!,for gods sake he's been obsessed with her for years!! So why?! Why?why?why?! can't he just embrace her like he did with you?!

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This is it... tonight's the night he will finally set everything back to it's rightful course,he stood at the end of your bed knife at hand just staring at you,his hand trembled a little his face showed disgust yet despite that his heart couldn't help but swell up in adoration this feeling....he know it oh so well and he hated it

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He stood there in the rain with an umbrella at hand Infront of him is his 'darling' she stared at him smiling, shouldn't he be happy with this? it's everything he wanted,like the tale his mother told him about on how she and his father confessed,they were drenched in the rain kissing each other like there's no tomorrow this is the exact perfect time for him to finally in your words 'woo her'

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You sighed staring outside of the window with a book at hand, it's a bit sad if you think about it,helping your crush get with your best friend,you cursed yourself right at this moment,tonight is the night as he said it where he will finally get his 'darling' to accept him,"well atleast the sunset was beautifu-"

"Y/N!!" you heard from outside

shocked you stopped mid sentence eyes widending as you stared outside the window

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The door slammed close behind you as you ran towards him drenched in the rain

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HER-"

"am I too late?!" he asked

"wha-?"

"I heard you say the thing!"

"what thing?!"

"sunset thing!"

"how?!!"

"i-its not important!am I?!"

"um no!I guess!"

you could barely hear his voice from the heavy rain,why were you standing here in his arm?why is he here?what happened?!

"Why are y-hmp!!"

!!

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He woke up in the morning staring at his favourite view,your peaceful sleeping face as you softly hugged him,god he could never get tired of the view

kiss.

"wake up"

"five more minutes" you groaned

Kiss.

"my sweet dew drop I know you're tired but you have to wake up"

you groaned rolling over to the other side only to see the face of your child,they stood at the edge of the bed "wake up" they whispered

groaning again you rolled back,only to be bothered by your husband "fine!fine!fine!" You said throwing your arms up "I'm up, I'm up"

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wow a full one shot with decisive ending?how cash money of me to do this

[arlecchno]

mission accomplished [ scaramouche x reader ]

twenty-two | the story of us

prev masterlist next

the aftermath of everything.

warnings: swearing, use of scara's real name, use of signora's real name, mentions of injuries, signora calls you sweetheart lol, just a bit of angst at the start, not exactly proofread

a/n: this is pretty much a filler chapter cuz it's just you trying to avoid scara lmao. title and overall chapter is heavily inspired by the story of us by taylor swift. happy reading!

grammatical errors may occur so please let me know if i've made any mistakes!

you feel like absolute shit.

yun jin eyed you worryingly from the kitchen as she prepared you a drink. walking to the living room with a mug in hand, she carefully placed it on the coffee table in front of you.

“you should have something to drink.”

you didn't reply, opting to only stare at the beverage instead. the hot mist of the steam was still floating around, and the strong aroma of the famous steeped liyuean tea waft through the room.

“do you think i'm a bad person?”

yun jin arched an eyebrow, placing herself next to you on the small couch. “what do you mean by that?” she asked, looking at you.

still staring at the mug, you speak up. “i always sacrifice myself for others, albeit a little too much, you could say.” you chuckled to yourself. “i thought that if i were the one who ended up hurt instead of others, it would be for a good cause. i never see myself fit being saved, because honestly, i don't deserve it.” you said as yun jin eyed your head along with your damp hair, wrapped up in a soaked gauze roll.

you looked out to the small window of yun jin's dorm, taking in the dull view of the still heavy rain. how long has it been? over an hour now? the rain still hasn't stopped.

“yet i made the person who i treasure the most hate me in just one night, just because i was too busy wanting to be the hero.” you turned your head towards yun jin, eyes puffy from the short breakdown you had earlier. “does that even make me a good person at all?”

yun jin sighed, grabbing ahold of your hands. your hands were as cold as ice, not surprising, she thought to herself. you showed up at her door still clad in your soaked dress from last night, and an unknown black blazer draped over your shoulders. you may be smart in yun jin's eyes, but archons, you couldn't even bring an umbrella along?

“there's nothing wrong with putting others first, luna. but you should also know that you deserve just as much help as others do, you know.” she said, hands smoothing along yours in reassurance. “is this about ivan?” she questioned, and you slowly nodded.

eyes tearing up again, you looked down to your lap. “we were doing so good, yun jin, so, so, good. but i just had to ruin everything, i'm so awful, archons, i shouldn't have stormed off on him.” you sniffled, tears falling down to yours and yun jin's hands.

you recalled back to the things you did with scaramouche before it all went wrong. the dance, the balcony, the night before, everything. looking at it now, you felt like that was all just a fever dream, because none of it could explain why you were breaking down over a heated fight with scaramouche.

how did things get so wrong?

you thought after the grad ball, you would've found leads and close up this case after getting enough evidence, and would continue on your life with a blooming relationship with scaramouche. but now, you're not sure if you could even go on with this case given your situation.

it was your fault, really. if it wasn't for your actions, you would've saved both you and scaramouche, with no one hurt. but you just had to be the saviour and risk your life, only to end up sabotaging your own relationship with him.

it was entirely your fault, even from the start.

maybe you should've never agreed on working undercover for this case.

“i really am a horrible person, huh?” you chuckled, averting your gaze back to yun jin. she had a sympathetic expression plastered on her face, feeling sorry for what you're going through right now.

yun jin engulfed you in a hug, hands rubbing your back. “don't say that, luna. you're just having a hard time. don't beat yourself up for it.” she said, pulling you closer.

you stayed still for a second, in yun jin's arms, before finally breaking down fully, drowning your tears on yun jin's shirt.

the rain was still pouring heavily, with bolts of lightning shattering across the sky, just like how everything was shattering your heart into millions of pieces right now.

“what in the world happened to you?”

signora stared at you through her computer screen, referring to your very obvious bandaged head.

you looked away, avoiding her sharp gaze. even though it was merely a video call, you can't help but get scared of her. from the tone of her voice, you could already tell that she's worried as hell.

huffing, you replied. “it's a long story.”

“that's not your room.” signora pointed out, looking at the background. “it isn't scaramouche's either.”

“i'm at yun jin's.”

“and why are your eyes red and puffy? did you just finish crying?”

you groaned, grabbing a pillow to bury your face in it. “you ask so many questions.” you complained, voice slightly muffled.

“of course i'm gonna be throwing out a lot of questions, i'm a cop.” she tried joking around, though stopped when you don't respond.

signora sighed, looking at your slouched form with your face deeply buried in a pillow, body slightly shaking.

she's never been like this, she thought. even during stressful days at the precint, or during finals back in uni, you were never one to show such vulnerable emotions to someone, let alone to her, your closest friend.

it must be that bad.

“are you okay?” she finally asked, voice soft, contrary to what it was a moment ago.

chuckling, you perked your head up from the pillow, tears already threatening to fall. signora's face turned even more worried at the sight.

“no. i feel like absolute shit.”

signora didn't reply, looking at you in worry through the screen, waiting for you to continue.

“i had a fight with him.”

the blonde-haired woman raised a brow. “don't you guys always do that?”

you heave out a huff. “this was different.” you muttered, looking down on your laptop keyboard. “we were getting along really damn well for the past week, but everything fell apart when last night happened.”

“i did remember that gremlin texting me that you got in the hospital, which was the main reason why i called you.” signora shrugged. “but i didn't expect for the story to be this complicated. you're gonna have to tell me all about it, y/n.” she said, hands making gestures.

sighing, you averted your attention back to her. “fine. i'll tell you.”

after what felt like forever, you finally finished telling signora about what had happened, from the past few weeks, all the way to yesterday's fight. even though the information were rather a bit too much for one to listen, signora was still able to catch up quickly on the story, humming at your sentences in acknowledgement.

“well, that's about it.” you finished, voice cracking.

“do you like him?”

“what?” you asked, dumbfounded.

signora brought up her hand to look at her nails. “the way you talk about him makes it seem like you have feelings for him.”

widening your eyes, you stared at your friend in disbelief. “wha– no!” you denied almost immediately. you wiped the tears in your eyes with your sleeve, and continued on rambling on how you have absolutely no feelings for the ravenette.

you went on for a couple of minutes, looking elsewhere to avoid signora peering at your flustered state. but when she never replied to any of your retorts, you snapped your head back to your laptop screen, just to see signora smiling mischievously at you.

you pursed your lips in a thin line. what is she smiling about?

oh.

oh. this woman.

“you're just trying to distract me from being sad now are you?” you deadpanned, and signora's smile grew even wider.

she let out a laugh. “ah, y/n, what a great detective you are, always catching onto stuff in a heartbeat.”

narrowing your eyes at her, you frowned. “not cool, rosalyne.” you said, crossing your arms. “you always do this.”

“i just don't want you to be sad, sweetheart. surely you two could work this out, no? the balladeer may seem like a bit of a douche, but i doubt he'd be this big of a jerk.” the blonde-haired woman raised her two hands and made gestures as to how big she was referring to, making it a point.

you chuckled. “sure.”

“have you went back to your dorm after the fight?” signora questioned after a moment of silence.

“yeah, kuni would've been in class this morning so i went back to get my stuff.”

signora raised a brow. “kuni? is that a new weird nickname you have for him?”

your eyes widened for the second time, and you quickly fumbled for a reply. “uh–n-no! no, it's um, nothing. just a uh– inside joke, yeah.”

no way in hell would you ever reveal scaramouche's real name to her, even if she was your closest friend. it's not like you wanted to be the only one who knew, but scaramouche had trusted you, and only you, for him to reveal a sliver of his background.

there's no way you would ever go behind his back to expose such a thing.

signora eyed you suspiciously, but didn't question further. clearing up her throat, she speaks up. “are you really going to be okay? if there's anything i could help then i'd be–”

“no.” you cut her off, cracking up a small smile. “it's okay, rosalyne. this'll be over in no time.” you reassured.

oh how you were so wrong.

the past two weeks have been hell for you.

you've never thought how hard it would be to avoid scaramouche in campus, and given how you only have one class together, you thought it would've been rather easy to not bump into him.

but you were proven wrong. so many times.

the first day without him was the hardest. you both had criminology that day, and you were stupid to think brushing him off would be that easy.

sure, yun jin was in criminology too, but it didn't mean it wasn't easy to not spot the ravenette in a lecture hall full of students with that obnoxious hair of his. you sat with yun jin quite far from your usual seat, which was a few rows back.

the bandage on your head was long gone now. after your last trip to the doctor's, he's informed you that you were free to take it off, which you immediately did right after your got home, cursing about how the thing's been such a hassle for you.

scaramouche still sat at the same place, not even sparing a glance at you, seemingly like he doesn't even know you at all.

but you couldn't take your eyes off his purple head, staring at the way he focused in class, the way he takes notes, everything. there wasn't even any reason for him to be acting like a student when you two were just working undercover, yet he blended in with everyone, listening intently on what the lecturer was talking about.

you, however, could not be subtle at all. yun jin had to keep pinching at you every time you glanced towards scaramouche's seat, which was every single second. it was impossible for you to focus in class when he's just sitting a few rows in front of you, you were practically itching to get over there and apologize for that night.

but you didn't, and would never do that, not even over your dead body. you could never let your pride down and just waltzed right back into his life, not after everything.

so you held your head high, pretending like all of this could be avoided.

you're convinced that the universe hates you.

“you've gotta be fucking kidding me.” you mumbled under your breath, watching as the bell to the campus cafe chimed, the guy you were trying to avoid for weeks from walking in.

out of all times he could've been here, you thought to yourself. this is gonna kill you.

you were just sitting in the campus cafe with your laptop on the table, trying to continue on the case, but he just had to come here. it was inevitable, no matter how hard you try. scaramouche would always appear in the corner of your eye, wherever you are. oh how you want to dig yourself into a big hole and just bury yourself in it.

covering half of your face with your hand, you turned your head to the window in hopes of scaramouche not noticing you.

maybe you should leave this place, and go somewhere else to focus back on your work. if scaramouche was here, there was no way in hell you'd be able to continue on working.

slowly turning your head back to the busy counter, you watched as scaramouche ordered his drink, with him solely focusing on the menu.

this should be it, you think. this was the perfect opportunity to escape!

you closed your laptop and quickly packed your stuff in your bag on the empty seat beside you. taking a deep breath, you grabbed your bag and drink, heading for the door.

you had your eyes plastered to the floor and head hanging low as you quickly head for the exit, hoping that scaramouche wouldn't turn his head back and notice you.

what you didn't realize was scaramouche trying to find a seat while waiting for his drink, and he was heading towards your direction, as you were heading towards his.

luck really wasn't at your side at all.

next thing you knew, you bumped into scaramouche harshly, the impact making your drink spill. luckily for the ravenette, your drink didn't land a single drop on him. unfortunately for you, your drink spilled all over your clothes.

“shit!” you whisper-shouted, caressing your head that bumped into a stranger's chest. slowly widening your eyes, you snapped your head up, wanting to apologise to the random person you just head-bumped, just to see that scaramouche was the one in front of you, eyes as wide as yours.

oh archons, this is awkward.

“y/n?” scaramouche mumbled in shock. his eyes darted towards your clothes that were now stained from your spilled drink, making him tug you closer by the arm.

he stared at your shirt for a couple of seconds before looking up at you, bringing up a hand to hastily check your face and head for any injuries.

his breath was fanning your face, and heat quickly rushed up to your cheeks from the close distance. you haven't been this close to scaramouche ever since the grad ball, which was around two weeks ago.

his touch felt foreign, but also something that you've longed for.

“are you okay? you didn't hurt yourself, did you? was the drink hot? did you get any burns?”

blinking for a couple of times, you brushed off those thoughts out of your head. this is not the time to be thinking about the past, y/n.

you grabbed his shoulders to push him away slightly, just enough to give you two an appropriate space. “it– it's fine! i'm fine.” you turned your head sideways, avoiding his gaze.

scaramouche furrowed his brows, not used to the idea of you pushing him away, when you've always been the one to pull him close.

“i uh– i actuallly need to get going.” you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head. brushing past him, you headed for the door, the bell making a sound as you opened it.

“wait–” turning back, scaramouche tried chasing after you, but stopped when you already left the cafe.

the ravenette frowned, retracting his hand back to his side. were you still mad at him? he asked himself. he pursed his lips into a thin line. maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh on you.

the few weeks without you has been hard for him. before, he'd always come home to your presence, whether it be you watching tv, eating at the kitchen island, or you doing work on the couch. but now, he comes home to an empty dorm, with only silence engulfing the place at all times.

scaramouche hates to admit it, but he missed you. more than anything.

“order for ivan!” a barista called out to him, making him turn his head to the counter. his drink was ready to be picked up, with the fake name of his written on the cup.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he headed for the counter. grabbing his drink, he left the campus cafe, the chilly wind automatically nipping his skin.

scaramouche took a sip of his drink, the hot beverage hitting his throat just nicely. he sighed once again, looking to his surroundings to see if you were anywhere in sight, which unfortunately, you weren't. goodness, how fast were you even walking? were you that willing to avoid him?

shaking the thoughts out of his head, scaramouche watched as the wind blows through the trees. he shouldn't be dwelling on such trivial matters. he doesn't need to see you right now. none of this bothers him. he's doing fine.

oh how he wished any of those words were true.

“you know, you can just go to him if you want to make up so bad.” yun jin remarked, watching as you stare at scaramouche's back.

one hand resting on your chin, you turned your head towards your friend. “hm? did'ya say somethin'?”

“you're unbelievable.” yun jin glared at you, flicking your forehead, which earned a whine from you. the young woman paid no mind as she continued on complaining. “you should go up to him and reconcile. i doubt he'd reject you.”

rubbing the spot she flicked at, you groaned. “no way. he's the one who should come to me and apologize. i'm not gonna just give up and let him win this argument.”

“is this really just about winning your petty fights?”

“...what do you mean?” you asked confusedly, giving her a perplexed look.

“i feel like there's more to it than just that reason.” yun jin crossed her arms. “otherwise you wouldn't be avoiding him for this long.”

you huffed, turning away from her dramatically. “it's only been two and a half weeks. i can go much longer without him.”

“doesn't seem like it to me.”

snapping your head back to her, you arched a brow. “what?” you questioned.

“don't think i've never noticed how your gaze on him lingers longer and longer in each class, how you keep stabbing and staring at your meals, and how you always save a seat at every single place we've been to, because his place was always a spot next to you.” yun jin pointed out, every single fact being shot right to your head like a missile.

not waiting on your response, she continued further. “there's even an empty seat next to you right now!” she pointed her finger at the unoccupied seat to prove her statement.

“that's just coincidence!” you fought.

she rolled her eyes at you, causing you to frown even more. “stop being in denial, luna.”

“'m not in denial.”

“then go and sit next to him right now.”

“wha– no!” you quickly turned down, bringing up both of your arms to make an 'x' sign.

you love your friend dearly, but archons is she annoying the hell out of you right now. you wished she could just keep her mouth shut, even if everything she's said were true. partially.

but then again, you're not gonna just tell her that.

yun jin narrowed her eyes at you for a moment, before sighing. she turned her head back to her laptop, which was opened to the topic you were gonna learn in criminology today. “viktor told me a couple of things about how ivan's been acting these days.”

you accidentally slammed your hands harshly on the table, which earned a lot of stares from other students in the lecture hall, scaramouche included. rubbing your neck sheepishly, you slouched on your seat in embarrassment, avoiding the stares you were receiving. yun jin merely chuckled at your actions.

“what did viktor tell you?” you asked almost immediately, figure still slouching. “did he mention something about me?”

yun jin smirked, finding it amusing how you were so eager to know about what's been going on with scaramouche, when you were the one who kept denying about the fact that you missed him.

catching onto her act, you pouted. “i'm only asking because you were the one who talked about it first.”

“sure, you are.”

“just– just get to the point!”

yun jin laughed, but obliged to your demand. “well, in terms of emotions, ivan is now pretty much emotionless. which is not surprising considering how he wasn't that much of an emotional person anyways. he's like a brick or something.” the black-haired woman said, eyeing the lecture hall doors to see if the professor has arrived.

seeing that he hasn't, yun jin continued. “viktor also told me that ivan's been hanging out at the campus library as of late. no idea why though, he's already gotten the dorms all to himself, he doesn't need to go to the library to get away from roommates anymore.”

“yun jin.” you cleared your throat after she finished her sentence, placing your hands on her shoulder as you turned her to your direction. “i love you, but that's just how ivan is. he's an emotionless prick who likes to do whatever he pleases. i've known that for over five years now.”

“...five? i thought you guys met at your old college?” yun jin asked confusedly, making you widened your eyes at your slip up. “five years ago would be when we're around seventeen. did you meet him back in highschool?”

releasing your hands from her, you scratched your temple awkwardly. “well– i uh, i guess so?”

“what do you even mean by that?”

“we– i um, met him in highschool, yeah, but we didn't really get to know each other until college.” you quickly fumbled for a lie, causing yun jin to eye you suspiciously. “stop looking at me like that!” you complained, avoiding her gaze.

yun jin stared at you for a couple of seconds, and you sweat, silently hoping she doesn't catch on your made up story. who would even believe that a 26 year old was making up a lie that they were 4 years younger?

the young woman huffed, about to say something before the professor suddenly barged through the doors.

you sighed in relief. maybe you were lucky after all.

or not.

“what do you mean you can't come with me to the library?! you promised to accompany me!”

the black-haired woman sighed, busying herself with her hair. “sorry, luna. viktor made a last minute decision to meet me, said he needs to talk about something.” she turned her head to your direction by the door.

groaning, you pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “viktor has the same assignment as me! can't you two just have your little date at the library?”

“i'm afraid not, y'know that viktor has always been a last minute person.”

“please?” you pleaded.

“no.”

“pretty please?”

yun jin rolled her eyes, heading to the fridge to get a drink. “that's not gonna work on me, luna, i'm not like your dear boyfriend.” she muttered. “why do you even want me to accompany you so bad? you like going places alone.” she asked, gulping down a cup of water whilst waiting for you to answer.

“first things first, he is not my boyfriend.” you denied rather quickly. “and secondly, you said he always goes to the library now, what if he's gonna be there?!”

“i doubt the library is going to be full, you'll be fine. just sit somewhere else if you see him or something.”

you eyed her sceptically. “i'll kill you if you're wrong.”

looks like she's gonna heave her last breath after all.

you have no idea why, or how, a library this humongous would be filled to the brim, students filling up the place like an ant's nest.

it was painfully unbelievable how much of bad luck you have for the past few weeks (you like to think otherwise), and it'd be the death of you if these things were gonna keep on happening. there was no way you'd be able to finish up this case in time.

peering over the many tables, you attempt on finding an empty seat with your arms full of books, which in your case, seemed to be impossible. you walked around the whole library, in hopes of finding a spot to do your work at, but to no avail.

grumbling, you silently cursed to the students that came to the library today. really, out of all days this library would be full, it just had to be the day you need to get your work done.

after what felt like forever, you finally found yourself a nice and empty seat a few feet away from you, even if the long table was full with other students. you'd accept any kinds of spot at this point, as long as you get to sit and do your work comfortably.

smiling, you walked up happily to the table like a baby duck following its mother, until you stopped halfway when you caught glimpse of the very familiar bundle of violet hair, your smile faltering almost immediately.

no.

this cannot be happening.

absolutely not.

“this has got to be the worst fucking month of my life.” you mumbled under your breath, the thought of your incident actually being the worst month for you suddenly thrown out the window.

this is seriously killing you.

slowly backing away, you turned around and walked over to the nearest bookshelf, hiding behind it.

what in the world are you gonna do now?

you slightly peeked your head to the side of the bookshelf, just enough to see scaramouche doing his work on the table, a few seats away from the empty chair you've been eyeing on. holding onto your books tightly, you quickly think of a plan.

should you just go back?

no, you want to finish up this assignment as soon as possible, you don't want to be late in submitting your work. just because you weren't exactly a student here doesn't mean that you can slack off on work, that's quite literally the only priority you have in life.

should you just look up the topics on the internet?

no, the internet is not the most reliable source, and you'd much rather gather up and use books, they're much more informative and useful. there's no way you'd fully rely on the web. and to add, you already have the books here in your arms anyways, it'd be a hassle to put them all back after everything.

should you just sit there?

it probably won't be that bad, right?

clenching your jaw, you finally decided that, fuck it, you're going there, whether you like it or not. ignoring him won't be that hard, you've basically been doing the same thing for the past two weeks, surely this'd be nothing.

you finally worked up the courage to walk back there and snatch the empty seat, just in time before anyone else could claim it. sighing in relief, you placed the heavy books down on the table and got ready to work as you pulled out your laptop.

after setting up your small work space, you cracked your fingers and did a bit of stretching, the thought of scaramouche being present barely bothering you anymore.

it's fine, just a couple of hours and you'd be out of here, there was no need for you to pay attention to that annoyingly purple headed guy.

speaking of which, maybe taking a teeny tiny peek at him won't hurt...

taking one of the borrowed books, you opened it up to a random page and act it as a shield for you to ogle your eyes at him, slightly peeking your head out to the side of the book to look at what he's doing.

scaramouche was busy working up something on his laptop, occasionally looking at a notebook to his left. you let out a huff at his annoyingly and frustratingly attractive face. why does he have to look this good in such a boring library?

the ravenette raked a hand through his hair, slightly knocking his glasses out of the way. you furrowed your brows, questioning yourself. when has he ever gone to public with his glasses on? you thought to yourself. that's fairly new, you think as you duck your head back down, just enough to hide behind your book.

pondering on the thought, you hadn't realised that, the guy you were thinking of, snapped his head right to your direction, and when you finally looked back at him to take a more closer look, he was already staring at you with a blank expression.

you widened your eyes, quickly hiding your head back behind the book you're holding upwards with heat running up your cheeks. what the hell?! why is he looking at me?! you fought with the demons in your head, cursing yourself over and over for your actions.

maybe this was a bad idea after all, because once you peeked back to his seat, he was still looking at you, with that stupidly forsaken nonchalant look of his.

fuck, you think to yourself.

at this point, you just wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, bringing you the very core of earth, in hopes of avoiding being in a sticky situation like this.

you two held eye contact for a moment, seemingly like time has stopped, everyone and everything stopping in a motion except for you and scaramouche.

it was funny, you thought. you only ever see these kind of things happening in tv shows and movies, yet the same exact thing is happening to you right now, which is fairly weird. is your life just some sort of entertainment?

the one to break the continuous eye contact was scaramouche, as he suddenly turned away to pack up his stuff, slamming his laptop down and shoving it in his bag. you continued staring at him with a confused expression, as you watch him standing up and leaving.

scratching your head, you thought to yourself at what you could've done for him to leave all of the sudden. did you have something on your face? you silently pondered, rubbing your face to see if there was anything there.

after a few seconds of no answer, you shrugged, and continued on doing your work like nothing happened.

maybe he just needed to take a shit.

how scaramouche wished you knew how crazy you're making him right now, suddenly leaving him with a rapidly beating heart, sweaty palms, and flushed cheeks. he thinks you're utterly insane, because he has no idea why the most subtle things you do is making him feel like this, his chest tightening up every time you were in his presence.

scaramouche shook his head as he left the library, slinging his bag properly onto his shoulder.

maybe he should ask childe about this, if he was even available that is. that shithead, he thinks, he always has to go missing at these times.

maybe pierro? or pulcinella, he guessed, the guy's one of the only few people he could actually tolerate, unlike dottore.

he sighed, cursing to himself over and over again for the whole walk back to his dorm.

you're fucking crazy. absolutely batshit insane for making him feel this way.

did you really think i was gonna make them reconcile this early

taglist; @beriiov @hopesandlegacy @cloudsandrenoswife @salamiwrites @thenightsflower @bleedingwhiteroses222 @lisiastak021 @yuuki4646 @lez-zuha @ryhie @sleepy-waffle @yoursockstinks @shizunxie @kunikame @kunikuzushiit @anonwhocried @vqqrii @luminesuprrmacy @calxb-do @sixscara @xooya @mobiussdarling @mafukissu @antri13 @ireallylikehamsters @hejtorii @moatsnow @sinnersbyfear

(unfortunately i am unable to tag those that are in bold, i'm sorry!)

want to be added to the taglist?

[adleryoung]

"My Lord," Petunia piped up. "No one will dispute that the depraved charlatan Reverend O'Hoppity needs to be 'taken down,' as you so aptly put it, but how exactly do you plan to do this?"

"Simple," I explained. "We spread the word and make his disgusting predilections public knowledge."

"Will the public listen?" Gretchen asked. "Do we have any physical evidence to show them?"

"Do we need any?" I retorted. "If the mob was so easily persuaded to go through with this preposterous witch trial, it shouldn't take much to make them believe this. Especially since this is actually true."

"I beg your pardon, my Lord," Chloe interjected, "but I think you place too much value on truth. The credibility of an accusation has less to do with what's being alleged and more to do with who is saying it. No one took Didelphis's claims seriously until the Parson got involved."

"Hmmm," I murmured as I tried to comprehend the intricacies of lowfolk interaction. How did they ever get anything done when it was impossible to trust each other? "The evidence will need to be irrefutable, and we'll have to produce it with a dramatic reveal. Ixie, I assume there is evidence?"

"We saw him in the act," the Ixie reported with a shudder. "Oh how the sight of it will forever haunt me! He storeth his supplies and a journal of horrendous shadowy exploits in his home, but we spied him performing his private puppet show in the back of the church."

"WHAT??" Rebecca blurted. "Sacrilege! That pompous, lying, heretical hypocrite was acting out his depraved fantasies on holy ground??"

"Calm yourself," I exclaimed. "We'll get him. He will have to face Fuma's justice in the end."

"Can I go gut him now?" Burnside asked eagerly. "After learnin' this, I reckon you gotta let me."

I shushed Burnside as another Ixie flew up and saluted.

"Our mission has been successful," she reported. "We found several bottles of booze and doused the unconscious rabbits according to thy orders."

"Excellent!" I chuckled.

"We also took care to make it look like the rabbits were responsible for stealing the booze."

"Good thinking!" I nodded.

"And we arranged all the rabbits in compromising positions that will certainly not be socially acceptable in Bunkirk."

"Uh, okay," I blinked.

"And we put one of them in a dress."

"Why?"

"It seemed like a good idea," she shrugged. "Twas not easy to do, but surely it will make them all look bad in the eyes of the search party that findeth them."

Another Ixie flitted up and gave a salute. They were being so professional! I suppressed a grin and ordered the new arrival to give her report.

"Ash Marten is ready to speak, but he is not happy," she stated succinctly.

I picked up the original Mumble-Mug and pulled the string taut. "Hello?"

"My liege," Ash greeted me sarcastically. "You know, I can certainly empathize with your desire to be the primary driving force behind your own rise to power, but the first thing I saw when I got back from my mission - setting up contacts and training story tellers, if you recall - the first thing I saw was an angry mob clamoring for a witch trial, under circumstances that clearly betray your involvement. This does not inspire confidence."

"The child Didelphis is actually the old crone Didelphis transmogrified," I explained.

"That much is obvious," Ash retorted. "What puzzles me is why she was reportedly living with Oonagh."

"She sassed me at the coven meeting," I elaborated. "I thought it would be a fitting (as well as funny) punishment to turn her into a child and have her adopted by her arch enemy."

"If you ever make it onto the throne," Ash remarked after a pause, "I believe you may be an extremely interesting Emperor. Be sure to write down your thought processes. Future historians will want to study them."

"You think so?" I quipped, trying to stay cool but actually feeling a little flattered.

"I have a lot to do here," Ash sighed. "There isn't time for chit-chat. I assume you have an interest in the outcome of the trial."

"I need for Oonagh to be exonerated, and Didelphis spared too, if possible."

"That's a tall order," he muttered. "I might be able to get the accused acquitted, since she is in fact innocent … but this mob wants blood."

"We have an ace in the hole," I whispered. "The main accuser, Reverend O'Hoppity of Bunkirk, is a secret devotee of … shadow puppetry."

I expected Ash to gasp, but instead it was I who gasped when he said, "I know."

"You know?"

"Who do you think introduced the Parson to that disreputable hobby?"

I stood there, dumbfounded, and after an uncomfortably long silence, Ash continued.

"This is what's called 'leverage' in my line of work. If you can corrupt a prominent citizen, then you have power over him."

"And now we expose him to win the trial!" I exclaimed.

"We do nothing of the sort," Ash scolded. "O'Hoppity is a valuable resource I've spent years cultivating, and I'll not throw him away on something as trivial as this. No, we use our knowledge and the threat of exposure to manipulate him, and we do it in a way that ensures he will continue to be useful to us in the future."

"That's blackmail!" I declared.

"Good, you're learning some of the terminology," Ash chuckled.

[buckysxgal]

You're Being Mean

Summary: Sanji confesses to the Reader, they should be happy but why are they suddenly resentful.

Word Count: 627

Genre: Angst. Hurt / Comfort.

Characters: Sanji, Reader (GN), Nami (mentioned), Zoro, Franky & Robin.

Warnings: No happy ending.

A/N: Franky and Reader have a sibling bond. He calls them 'little one' since Franky is huge. Also, this is my very first time writing for One Piece, I've been hyper-fixated on it for months, I'm currently on Dressrosa Arc!

This is based on Little Women and a bunch of Angsty ZoSan TikTok's I saw today..

Sorry if this sucks.

Silence broke across the deck as I stared at Sanji, standing in front of me with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. I peeked over his shoulder to see Zoro with his hand covering his eyes, as if he couldn't bare to witness what was happening. I focused my eyes back on Sanji, his eyes staring at me full of hope. A knot began to form in my throat as I shook my head.

"No Sanji." Sanji flinched slightly, as if my answer had slapped him.

"What?" Now he was confused.

"You’re being mean." I stuttered back to him. I saw a flash of green out of the corner of my eyes, making his way to the cockpit to escape this awkward situation.

"What? How am I being mean?" He said with a slight chuckle, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He began walking closer to me, putting his hand out as if to caress my face.

"Stop it!" I shouted. He flinched again dropping his hand back to his side.

"Stop it! I have been second to Nami in your eyes and I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her. I won't do it." I turned my back to him, sniffling. I could see Robin standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, eyes wide and hand covering her mouth. She looked at me with sympathy, she knew what I felt for him and what me saying this must've done to me. I faced Sanji once more.

"I won't…" I started quietly, shaking my head. "I won't. Not when I've spent the last few years loving you." Sanji opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off with a hand up in the air. I walked past him, lightly brushing his shoulder on my way to Franky's workshop. The door was shut, a signal that he was busy but he never minded when me or Robin interrupted him. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"One second." Franky's voice called from inside the room. A few seconds later the door opened.

"Hey little one. What brings you her-" he stopped mid sentence, seeing the tears streaming down my face.

"Hey, hey what happened?" I shook my head flinging myself into his arms. He cradled me against his chest and brought me inside the workshop, closing the door behind us. I cried for a few minutes in his arms before I heard another knock on the door. I could hear Robin's voice calling out to us. The door opened and closed again and footsteps made their way to the couch me and Franky were on. She took a seat on the other side of me and place a hand on my arm, handing me a mug.

"It's Hot Chocolate." She spoke softly. I nodded and took a sip.

"What happened little one?" Franky asked from my other side. I took a deep breath.

"Sanji confessed to me." I muttered. Franky looked down at me.

"Well that’s super, shouldn't you be happy? I thought you liked him?" Franky said, very clearly confused at my crying.

"I refuse to be second to Nami. He hasn't given me an ounce of attention like he does to her in all the time that I've known him. I refuse to be the person he settles with just because he can't have Nami." Franky wrapped his arm back around me as I started crying again. Robin brushing my hair back. With her other hand she grabbed the mug of Hot Chocolate out of my hands and placed it on the table in front of the couch.

"I'm sorry darling." Robin said, running her hand over my back soothingly.

[film-in-my-soul]

I have request for Gaon to Yohan “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

(I love that this is Ga-on to Yo-han, since I feel like it's usually the other way around for things like this. Got a little carried away with my "let these boys have their happy ending and be soft vibes" though.

Also please someone request Beyond Evil stuff from me plz TT^TT)

"You messed up."

Ga-on is lying face down on a bed that he used to call his but hasn't slept in for months now. That is, until most recently. For the last five days to be exact.

He groans low in agreement and then jerks when the end of a crutch jabs him hard in the shin. Reluctantly Ga-on rolls to his back and makes room for Elijah to sit down next to him.

After a moment passes Ga-on sighs.

"I know..." He rubs his tired eyes before going to stare up at the ceiling. "But it's been almost a week now, and I've apologized more times than I can count." There are only so many apology breakfasts he can make and olive branches he can extend.

He shouldn't even have to apologize in the first place!

It wasn't his fault that he'd gotten stabbed while staying late at the office.

Working well past business hours Ga-on had needed coffee and there was a good enough place close to the judicial building. So, late into the evening, he made for a caffeine break and a stretch of the legs. How was he supposed to know that someone was going to be in the process of getting mugged right as he was passing through? Ga-on hadn't even thought about the potential consequences of interfering, he'd just reacted and ended up on the other end of a pocketknife to his side.

The rest of the night had been a blur after that. There was an ambulance and too bright lights and when Ga-on woke up next his mouth was dry and Yo-han was next to his hospital bed, arms folded, glaring down at him. The only sign that the older man was even worried was, regardless of being dressed in his work suit, his hair had been loose.

It looked like he'd just gotten home and was in the process of getting comfortable when he'd been informed Ga-on was hurt.

When they'd gotten home, laden with antibiotics and painkillers, Ga-on had been banished to his old room like a leper to their sickbed and for three days he'd been given the cold shoulder. Then Ga-on had only made it worse, letting himself fall into the trap of an argument he couldn't win and getting angry about it.

Words had been exchanged and doors had been slammed.

Still, he makes food, apologizes, stays from underfoot, and does all the things he knows Yo-han finds cute or at least moderately endearing about him. Nothing seems to be working. When the Chief wants to be petty and obstinate, he is better than any other.

Now, instead of clipped replies and sharp glowers, the older man has gone radio silence. The only reason Ga-on knows he hasn't been dumped and left to suffer a broken heart is his medications. They’re being left on his bedside table with a new water bottle every morning before Mrs. Ji is even set to arrive and if the culprit were Elijah, he would have heard her crutches or wheelchair.

"You're both hopeless," Elijah is, of course, correct and Ga-on makes a sound echoing the sentiment.

"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears.” He turns on to his side to face her. “At this point I'd take a yelling match." Anything to get Yo-han's eyes back on him.

It might be a bit twisted, but Ga-on is no longer in the habit of lying to himself, not after everything and he's desperate for the attention that Yo-han has always provided, one way or another.

Elijah is silent next to him before she clicks her fingers in small triumph, an idea lighting up her face.

"I might have something we can try."

Ga-on doesn't know if he likes the tone she says it in, one so much like her uncles when he's scheming that it's scary, but he figures beggars can't be choosers and lets her lay out the basics.

It's ridiculous enough that Ga-on just knows it'll work.

The plan goes into effect that Saturday. Yo-han, as he has been for the last week, is nowhere to be seen when Ga-on wakes up, but his pills are there, and his water is fresh. He'll be gone for at least the next few hours and with that in mind Ga-on gets dressed and heads for Elijah's room. It's nearing 10a.m and she's already done up herself, notebooks on her lap.

Just as he wheels the girl into the kitchen Butler announces there's someone at the door.

Right on time.

Moon Sung-ho is a fresh-faced college student, his appearance is well kept and he has dimples when he smiles. He's a good kid and Ga-on would feel slightly bad for employing him in the plan Elijah has conquered up if not for the fact he'd seemed more than excited to participate. Apparently, Elijah had met him in some online chat room for a class they were both working through and a friendship had been born. It was just their luck that the young man was a theater student and had needed some spending money for a weekend out with his boyfriend.

The three of them get settled in, Ga-on cooking an early lunch while Elijah and Sung-ho consult their textbooks, comparing notes and trading remarks back and forth easily. Ga-on is thankful that the girl has finally been able to spread her wings a bit more, making friends at least a little closer to her own age. He likes to think he’d had some hand in that, easing Yo-han into the idea of letting her socialize more openly.

When the front door opens without an announcement from Butler this time, or Mrs. Ji, who is somewhere in the manor, Ga-on knows that it’s now or never to enact the plan. He hears sneakers in the hall close to the kitchen and makes a gesture towards Elijah who laughs loudly as though one of the two men had told a joke. It's perfect, just what they need to get Yo-han curious enough to investigate.

Ga-on smiles at her and then Sung-ho seems to realize it's go-time as well and his demeanor, what had been relatively neutral before, shifts immediately. The young man’s shoulders relax, and his eyes widen, going doe-ish and believably enamored, as Ga-on passes a plate of food to him.

It would be alarming to Ga-on if he couldn't feel a heated stare on the side of his head already, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Thank you, Hyung," the title makes Ga-on's face heat and Sung-ho says it so earnestly too, even when he'd been calling Ga-on by his name a few minutes before. "Elijah says you're cooking is the best; I've been really excited to try it." His smile is bright and Ga-on can't help giving one in return. He laughs a little under his breath at the flattery, embarrassed. Staged or not it's nice to hear. The members of the Kang household often let their silences between bickering speak as praise.

"I'm not sure about that, but I hope it's good enough," Ga-on is honest with his words and he goes to move back, to grab his and Elijah's plates, pretending he can't feel the pressure of Yo-han's eyes tracking him. He doesn't make it far though because Sung-ho's expression goes concerned and he reaches forward, gently taking Ga-on's hand in his surprisingly larger one.

"Don't say that Hyung!" The touch is startling, far too familiar between the two of them (being the relative strangers they are,) that Ga-on freezes. Sung-ho's worried expression melts away into something soft, besotted, and it's just as blush-inducing as he almost mindlessly traces his thumb over the back of Ga-on's hand. "I'm sure it'll be perfect since you made it, an-"

Sung-ho doesn't get to finish whatever he was saying, that or Ga-on just doesn’t catch it as his arm, the one connected to the hand Sung-ho is holding, is pulled back and therefore, so is he.

Ga-on's head whips around, his back flush against Yo-han's chest and his elbow locked by the grip the older man has on him. He isn't looking at Ga-on. Instead, Yo-han is staring down at Sung-ho, who at least has the self-preservation instinct to shrink in on himself and look apologetic, mouth slightly agape.

"Yo-han-" Ga-on himself is cut off this time as Yo-han's eyes turn to him. He shivers under the intensity and wishes, not for the first time, that his initial reaction was fear instead of desire. He doesn't get to try again because Yo-han is throwing one last withering glare at the two teenagers before he's stalking off, dragging Ga-on along.

Ga-on is pulled unceremoniously into Yo-han's study and deposited with his back against a bookshelf before Yo-han begins a furious pacing two feet in front of him like he's working through how to best scold Ga-on this time.

After a minute or so Yo-han finally seems to gather up his words, turning toward Ga-on with a finger pointed, accusatory.

"What-?!"

“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

Ga-on can't help himself, it's the first time in days that Yo-han has looked at him with anything other than passive disinterest and he wants to move past the underhanded tactics used to break through that and get right to actually talking.

He watches the wheels turn in the other’s head, connecting the dots, eyebrows raising as he comes to the realization he's been played. Yo-han's expression flickers between impressed and enraged before it just shutters off. Before he can stomp away to mope any more Ga-on launches forward, catching Yo-han around the middle as he's turned completely away.

"Don't!" Ga-on's voice is on the verge of desperation as he clutches the sweat-damp jogging shirt clinging to Yo-han's chest. "Please just... just talk to me. I'm sorry alright, about getting hurt, and fighting, and now this, but I'm not learning a lesson if I don't know why I'm being punished Yo-han." Ga-on tucks his face between the older man's shoulders and takes a deep breath. They haven't been this close for days and even if he's just getting himself into more trouble it's worth it for this alone.

They've moved past physical violence when they clash but Ga-on thinks that the constant back and forth, ignore, argue, rinse, repeat, is almost worse.

When Yo-han's hands pull Ga-on's arm away there's a terrifying moment Ga-on thinks he'll just walk away, leaving the air heavy between them. He doesn't.

Yo-han turns with a sigh and pinches Ga-on's chin between his thumb and forefinger to raise his eyes up so that their gazes meet. He doesn't look satisfied, but at the very least he appears more willing to indulge Ga-on this time.

Yo-han is probably as sick of the distance as he is.

"I'm not happy with you." Ga-on tries to make sure the passing thought of "no shit" doesn't show on his face. Yo-han’s second sigh confirms it hasn’t worked. "I'm not happy but... but I haven't exactly been fair either." It's not technically an apology, the words themselves, but it's one of the closest Ga-on’s ever gotten from the other man. It's an admission of fault at the very least.

Yo-han releases his chin and leans forward until their foreheads are touching. Ga-on lets his eyes slip closed and breathes together with him. It's a moment of peace neither have been able to indulge in during this prolonged period of conflict.

"I was scared Ga-on." It's said so softly that if they weren't so close Ga-on is sure he wouldn’t have heard it. There's a brush of fingers against his side where stitches are still helping him mend. "Needlessly throwing yourself into dangerous situations… What if it had been worse? What then? If I'd lost you?" There are many rebuttals held back by Ga-on's sealed lips.

"How was it needless if someone else might have been hurt?"

"How is ignoring me meant to let me know that?"

"Why can't you just communicate like a normal human for once?"

None of those are important and they would all be pointless in the grand scheme of this pending resolution, so they don’t leave his mouth.

Ga-on is like that now, after being with Yo-han for this long. He no longer lets himself get snagged on every single small thing a problem throws at him. Sometimes the broader strokes are the more important ones to pay attention to.

So, rather than letting things drag out, he reaches up and cups Yo-han's cheeks. When Ga-on opens his eyes, his lover is staring back, softer around the edges, clearly tired now that all that emotional weight is off his back.

"I am sorry Hyung." It feels better, the word coming out his mouth instead of being directed at him.

When Yo-han kisses him it's passionate but surprisingly gentle, slow but deep enough that Ga-on feels himself bend back from the intensity of it, only to be kept standing by Yo-han's arm snaked around his waist. When they pull apart they're both panting softly. Ga-on's smile is small but almost immediately it’s wiped away when Yo-han leans in close to whisper in his ear.

“If you think you're off the hook for that little mutiny in the kitchen, however, you are sorely mistaken."

Somehow, Ga-on thinks whatever punishment is doled out for this offense, it will probably be one he's much more inclined to struggle through.

Beyond Evil/The Devil Judge/The Guest Dialogue Prompts Open

Beyond Evil/The Devil Judge/The Guest AU Prompts Open

[ghostbustermelanieking]

jonmartin for 13? :)

i have absolutely no restraint and cannot write anything short im so sorry. this is a mag 102 au where martin finds out jon was kidnapped sooner. warning for discussion of this kidnapping as depicted in the episode, and the aftermath of recovering from this. also here on ao3.

13. things you said at the kitchen table

In the end, it's Melanie who tells Martin Jon's been kidnapped. Catches him in the break room, irritated and banging around the mugs, and she drops it into a sentence like it's something casual to be communicated. Oh yeah, Jon's back. Guess he's been kidnapped or something, and something sharp presses into Martin's chest, something like urgency. He's pushed his way out of his chair and halfway towards the door in a blind sort of franticness before Melanie catches him by the arm. "He's fine, you know," she says. "He looks… I mean, he doesn't look good, but he…"

"A month, " says Martin, feeling sick. "A month, he's been gone, and we… we didn't…"

"We didn't know, " Melanie says annoyedly, but there's a tiny pinprick of guilt in her voice, too. "He… he wasn't here before. You know that."

Right, Martin thinks, because you're probably the person he talked to most before he disappeared, and then he immediately feels guilty. Jon's been kidnapped, and he's… he's just… "Where is he?" he says, softer this time. (The bite's still in his voice, a little bit. He isn't sure who to be furious at, but it's hard not to be under the circumstances.) "Has… has he left?"

"Uh… no, I don't think so," says Melanie. "He… he said he was going to go lie down."

Martin knows, immediately, where he is, and he tries not to wince at it; he remembers sleeping there every night, scared out of his mind on that little cot, he doesn't know how Jon stands it. "I'm going to go check on him," he says. "I… he shouldn't… I'm going to go check."

Melanie lets go of his arm. "I think Elias knew," she says darkly. "Jon said it and he didn't even bat an eye. He knew, and he didn't tell us."

Something twists in Martin, something that he pushes aside—doesn't matter, not yet, all that matters right now is making sure Jon is all right. He nods a little, at Melanie, and then he pushes out of the break room and down towards the office. Tim is out for the day (not surprising), and Basira is reading at her desk; she doesn't look up when Martin comes through. Martin goes to the storage room where the cot is, where he knows it still is, and raps his knuckles quietly on the door frame before opening the door. 

Jon jumps, when Martin enters, in a way that instantly makes Martin shrink back with guilt. He's huddled on the cot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he looks awful. Thinner, hair shaggier than when Martin saw him last. He looks exhausted, leaning towards the wall like he needs it to hold him up, and his arms are wrapped around himself in a protective sort of way. "... Martin?" he says, voice thin, and Martin honestly can't tell if he's happy to see him or not. 

"... Hi," Martin says, honestly not sure what to say. (What do you say in a situation like this?)  He chews at his lower lip, reaching for what to say— Are you all right doesn't seem appropriate, when Jon is so clearly not, but it's what he comes up with, his voice shaking a little when he asks it. 

Jon laughs, bitter, and uncoils his arms from around himself, relaxing a little. "Honestly? Honestly, not really, Martin. I… it's been…" He lifts a hand to press against his forehead; his sleeves fall down and Martin winces, immediately, at the red marks on his wrist, where he must've been restrained. "It's… it's, uh, really good to see you, Martin," he adds, softly. 

Martin presses a hand to his mouth, just for a minute; he's torn, he doesn't want Jon to see him upset, not when he's… "Melanie… told me," he tries. "What you… and I didn't… Jon, I'm so sorry. We had no idea, I… I swear, if we'd known, we would've…" 

Jon sits up a little straighter, something flashing in his eyes. "Hey… hey, no, Martin, it's… i-it wasn't your fault, it's all right, it's… t-there was no way to find me, and I hadn't really been… around before then, and it…" He breaks off his words, clutching a little harder at the blanket. "... Elias didn't deem it worth telling anyone," he adds, with a wry laugh. 

Martin takes a few steps closer, trying his damndest not to fall apart (at the fact that Jon looks like this, that Jon's been gone a month, that Jon is somehow trying to comfort him when he's…). "You aren't… d-did they hurt you?" he asks, uncertain who they even are. 

Jon flinches a little, looks down at his feet. "No, n-not… not really. I… not, um…" He laughs a little again, a hollow sound. "I'm just so tired. "

Martin stops, a few feet away; he thinks about touching Jon, some sign of comfort, a hand on his shoulder or—but no, that wouldn't be—he can't do that, not when Jon's just been kidnapped, it's probably the last thing he wants, to be abruptly touched. He does what he can do, instead; he says, "Jon, d-do you have anywhere… er, there's a… there's a reason you're staying here, isn't there? Wh-what about your friend you were staying with, could you go back there?"

Jon immediately, vehemently shakes his head. "I-I can't go back. Not if, n-not after… th-they came there before, they found me there, and if I go back… I-I told Georgie I'd leave. I can't bring her into this. I can't. If they came back…" 

"Okay," says Martin. "Okay, that's…" He crouches a little, feeling awkward as he does it, but he can't shake this feeling of—of looming over Jon. "Y-you can't stay here, Jon. This cot is horrible, i-it's… it's not a place for recovery, it's…"

"I'm going to find a place," Jon says softly. "I just… I need to sleep. First." 

"You shouldn't stay here, though," says Martin, "not after… you need a bed, a real bed, Jon. I…" He stops, halfway considers for a second. Starts again, because what else is he going to do? "C-come stay with me."

Jon looks up, shocked, but he doesn't immediately protest, so Martin continues: "Sleep on a real bed, recover, j-just until you're… I mean, my bed isn't great, but it's better than a cot, especially after…" He stops. He doesn't know what to say. "Just… you deserve something better than that, right now," he tries. 

Jon shakes his head, just a little. "Martin, I can't. I… i-if they came for me again, then you would…"

"I don't care," Martin says, firmer this time. (If Jon doesn't want to come back with him, fine, but he won't let that be the reason.)

"Martin, i-if anything were to happen, i-if you got caught in the crosshairs, I'd…"

"Really, Jon, I don't care. I'm not going to let them take you again, so you can put that thought out of your mind." Martin adjusts his position—it's uncomfortable, squatting like this, but making sure Jon feels safe is more important. (If it's even helping at all.) "You said you didn't want to put your friend in danger because she's out of this, right? Well—I'm in this. Pretty far into it, at this point, there's no getting out of it. So it doesn't matter. Okay?"

Jon worries at the edge of the blanket with his overlong nails. "... I… wouldn't want to impose…"

"You're not, Jon. I'm offering." Jon's still quiet. Martin shifts back into a standing position, because it really is uncomfortable, going slow; he adds, "It's the least I can do. Please."

Jon's hands are shaking. Martin can see it, now, and it's hard to watch; he's pushed a lot of fury back, just watching Jon now, still without any idea what's happened. "A—all right," Jon says quietly, finally, and his voice is thick, like he might cry. "Okay. Thank you. Thank you, Martin." And Martin feels a flood of relief at this, that Jon might be, at least, somewhat safe in his flat. 

---

They take a cab home. The Tube seems like it would be a lot. Jon really is exhausted, huddled up in an old coat despite the warm weather, leaning against the window in the back of the car. Martin shows him the bath and the bedroom, when they get home, says, "Let me know if you need anything," and leaves him alone. It feels like the right thing to do.

Martin stays in the living room. The anger begins to rise to the surface, then, coming out in bursts of nervous pacing and muttering (quietly, of course; he's had lots of practice with that, with Mum). He's furious at whoever took Jon (he isn't sure who, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's connected to the Unknowing), more furious at Elias for not telling them. He's going to say something this time, he thinks—march up there and give Elias a piece of his mind, or, or draft a furious email—and Martin has to stop there because it's all starting to sound ridiculous. He's going to say something now? He didn't say something when they found out Sasha died, when Elias told them that they were all trapped, but he's going to say something now? It sounds ridiculous, it does, and what would saying something do? Jon's back now, more or less safe, and there's nothing he can do now—no charging, triumphant rescues, nothing like that, all he can do is offer Jon his bathroom, somewhere safe to sleep. Shouting at Elias won't do a thing. 

(Martin wants to do something. He should've said something for Sasha, and he thinks he'll regret that forever, but if he couldn't then… well, he wants to have the courage to say something for Jon. But he doesn't. For some horrible reason, he can't.)

Jon sleeps for over fifteen hours, all afternoon and into the night. Martin sleeps on the couch. (He goes into the room to get the extra blanket and a change of clothes, and for a moment, he worries he'll wake Jon, but he must be quiet enough. Jon doesn't wake; he makes a strained sound in his sleep and turns over, curling in protectively on himself, but he doesn't wake up. Martin wants to go over there, kneel by the bed and hold Jon's hand, climb into bed and hold Jon and make sure he isn't hurt again. He doesn't. He doesn't have that with Jon, and now isn't the time, he can't scare Jon, make him uncomfortable, he has to leave Jon alone.) Jon's still asleep when Martin wakes hours later, tangled in his blanket on the couch, restless and on alert. He stares at the front door, tensing like he expects someone to come in (someone coming back for Jon), but nothing does. The apartment stays quiet. 

Martin gets up to make tea. It's still early, still dark outside, but he can't go back to sleep, he can't relax. He puts on the kettle and sits at the table, opens a packet of biscuits to munch on absently. Something to do. Something to do besides sit and think. 

The door creaks, abruptly, and Martin's head shoots up to see Jon, leaving the bedroom, looking dwarfed in one of Martin's rumpled jumpers. He looks at Martin with a tired sort of tentativeness and says, "Hi," softly.

"Hi, Jon," says Martin, his own voice too soft. "How… how did you sleep?"

Jon rubs at his throat, an absent sort of motion, and pads across the floor to the table. "I… well, actually. Very well. Best… best sleep I've had in a month." 

Martin's heart breaks a little, and he pretends it doesn't. Jon motions to the empty chair beside him and says,  "Do you mind if I…"

"No, no, of course not," says Martin quickly. "... D'you want some tea?"

A funny look passes over Jon's face as he sits and he says, "Yes. Yes, I… tea sounds amazing, Martin."

Martin gets up to get out another mug, to get out the milk and sugar. "I can make you something to eat, too," he says, and immediately feels horrible for not suggesting it earlier. (He doesn't want to speculate about when Jon's last eaten.) " Christ, why didn't I… I'm so sorry, Jon, you must be starving. I should've…"

"Don't, Martin, it's… I-I'm fine," says Jon. "Honestly, I… I-I can eat in a little bit, I'm not really hungry."

Martin bites his lower lip too hard and grimaces at the sudden burst of pain. "Okay," he murmurs. "Just… let me know when you're ready."

"I will," says Jon. 

There's silence for a few moments aside from Martin puttering around the tiny kitchen. It feels strangely domestic in a way that Martin isn't used to; he hasn't lived with anyone since Mum. He and Jon have shared meals before—they did it often, before Jon went on the run because they'd thought he was a murderer—and Martin's made him tea a dozen times, but it's never like… this. Quiet and natural, like they've done it a dozen times. Jon's staring down at the table, tracing a pattern cut into the top with an absent finger; he's shivering, in his chair, and Martin makes a mental note to turn on the heat. And then the kettle goes off, a sharp sound in the silent room, and Jon's jumping, jolting nearly out of his chair with huge, panicked eyes. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Martin says in a rush, reaching to yank the kettle off the eye. "Sorry—I-I forgot it was there."

"I-i-it's all right," Jon says. He's tensed against the table, his palms pressed to the top, like he's waiting for a bomb to go off, but he looks at Martin and he says, "Just a… little on edge, b-but really, it's fine."

Martin's chest aches as he fixes the tea. All of him aches, a guilt he can't really put his finger on—he didn't notice Jon was gone, he couldn't go after him, and now he can't even get to the kettle quick enough to keep from scaring Jon out of his wits. He doesn't say anything, though, besides another murmured, "Sorry," as he passes Jon the mug, and sits back down beside him. 

Jon holds onto the mug with both hands, like he expects to be pulled away, inhales a bit before taking a drink. "I've… missed your tea, Martin," he says quietly, stiltedly, like it's difficult to say. "All this time." 

Martin blinks in genuine surprise at that—all this time, and he's wondered before if Jon was just tolerating the daily cups. "You're joking," he says with disbelief. 

"I'm not," says Jon—and it's stunningly familiar, that tone of voice. He smiles a little down into the mug. "Haven't had a decent cup since February—Georgie's a coffee drinker."

"The audacity, " Martin snorts, theatrically, some small attempt to keep Jon smiling like that. 

"Yes, well—that's what I told her," says Jon, still with that halfway smile. He looks up at Martin abruptly, and something shifts on his face, almost—almost guilt of his own, which makes no sense. He says, "Martin, I've… I've taken your bed, haven't I? You… you should've said something."

"No, I shouldn't have, and I won't," says Martin firmly. "I didn't bring you here to sleep on the couch, Jon, for god's sake. The bed is yours."

"Sleeping on a couch won't kill me, Martin—"

"And it won't kill me either. You're not talking me out of this, Jon."

"A couch would be an improvement over that cot— anything would be. I shouldn't have…" That same look passes over Jon's face: that something resembling guilt. "I should never have made you stay there," he nearly whispers. "For months on that cot, after what you'd…"

"Jon, don't," Martin says, and he reaches out suddenly, to cover Jon's hand where it lays on the table. Jon looks up at that, as if he's startled, and Martin yanks his hand back, but he doesn't bring it too far; he leaves it there, hovering just above Jon's. " Don't ," he says. "I-it was a long time ago, and it was… I didn't mind staying there, I wasn't… you gave me a way out, and I-I appreciated that. I still do, Jon. So don't, please. Don't beat yourself up over that."

"I should've offered you better," says Jon, something like disgust in his tone. "I should've… there are so many things I should've done better."

Well—he isn't wrong, Martin thinks, but—but there's a dozen things they both should've done better, and now isn't the time to discuss them all, so Martin just says, "Don't," again. "Please. You don't have to… it's okay. It is. " And after a moment, Jon nods. He hasn't moved his hand away, but Martin feels odd, leaving his hovering there, so he just pulls it back.

They drink tea in silence for a few minutes. It's a pleasant silence, one that, under different circumstances, Martin might allow himself to hope for every day. It's several long moments before Jon speaks again, his voice rasping and small—he says, "It was the Circus. That took me. T-the one we've been looking for, planning the ritual. They'd… they planned it, they were watching me and they came."

Martin tries not to flinch, tries to ignore what feels like his insides grinding themselves together. Jon keeps talking after a moment; he says, "They… they wanted my skin. For the ritual. They… kept me for that, so they could… skin me. They were waiting for that."

Martin can't stop the words this time, when they push their way out; he says, "Oh, Christ, " like air being pushed out of him, like a sucker punch. He says, "Jon…" and his voice breaks, too, and something inside of him rips when Jon looks back at him, when he looks as if he might cry. 

"Um, Martin," he says, and he inclines his head tentatively towards Martin. "Do you mind… um, if I…"

His arms go out to the side a bit, and it's then that Martin realizes what Jon's asking for. He nods, immediately, and opens his arms, and Jon leans forward and into him so quickly that Martin wonders if he was waiting. 

Martin folds his arms around Jon gently, tentatively (one hand cupping the back of his head); he wants to cling, wants to hold Jon tight enough that nothing else would be able to take him, but he's afraid to hold on too tight. Jon, though, clings hard, his grip tight, his fingers digging desperately into the back of Martin's shirt. So Martin tightens his grip, and leans his head against Jon's, and lets Jon expel shaky breaths into his shoulder. He rubs tiny circles into Jon's back, murmurs, It's okay, it's okay now, and desperately wills it to be true. 

Minutes or hours later—it is impossible to be sure—Jon whispers, "Thank you," into Martin's shirt. He whispers it with a sort of finalty, but he makes no move to pull back. So Martin keeps holding him. 

"Jon… I'm so sorry," he says softly. "I'm so sorry. I… i-if I'd known. I swear, I would've come for you if I'd known." 

Jon takes another shuddering breath and looks up at him. His eyes are wet. There's something in his expression Martin can't quite place… reassurance, maybe. Or trust. "I know," he says. "Martin, I-I know you would've. I know." 

They sit there for a while longer, just like that, holding onto each other at Martin's kitchen table. 

[barelyalivebutnotdead]

Chaos

[The bat-brothers: Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian sitting at the dining table in the Wayne Manor. They all sit in chairs lines up, facing the Fanon version of themselves: 'Perceptions']

Tim: (reluctantly) So, these guys are our 'perceptions'?

Dick: (nodding, slightly uncomfortable) Yeah, Zatanna said she will drop by once she has figured out to fix this without collapsing the multiverse in on itself.

Tim: (gulps and points at Fanon!Tim sitting directly opposite to him) Why do I- I mean, why does he look like that?

[Cut to Fanon!Tim with sunken cheekbones, pale skin, skinny frame and dark, chapped lips. He looks undernourished and his eyes are laden with dark circles from sleep deprivation. He looks like a zombie.]

: readmore:

Tim: (whispering to his brothers to not offend the Fanon versions) He looks like a zombie...

Dick: (speechless)

Damian: (Smirks) That's the vibe you emit, Drake. Face the truth.

Jason: (also speechless, raised eyebrows, regrets life and death decisions that led up to this moment.)

Dick: (has the most optimistic 'wtf' look on his face looking at Fanon!Dick)

[Cut to Fanon!Dick sitting on the chair with a huge, 440-watt smile. He looks like the himbo version of a dog wagging his tail.]

Dick: (in both wonder and bemusement) I swear I can see rainbows and sunshine in his eyes...

[Dick internally wonders where Fanon!Dick got the childlike innocence from, considering his sanity has been crumbling for a long, long time now]

[THUMP!]

[Cut to Fanon!Tim faceplanting on the table. Jason looks like he regrets coming back to life. Tim is unsure what to do. Damian's eye is twitching from being around the Fanon imbeciles. Dick is this close to giving up on everything.]

Fanon!Jason: Oh no, baby bird! (Worriedly goes to Fanon!Tim and lifts his head)

[Fanon!Damian sits with hands folded and a scowl, in Fanon!Dick's lap, who hold him very dearly]

Jason: What the fuck?

Tim: What the fuck?

[Fanon!Jason lifts Fanon!Tim's head to reveal a... Less than pleasant face]

Fanon!Tim: (in a very scratchy, weak voice) Coff- coughs -fee! (and then THUMPS on the table head-first, again.)

[Fanon!Jason catches ahold of Fanon!Dick by the collar and gets into his face]

Fanon!Jason: You weren't a good brother to me and now you can't even take care of my Timmy?!

[He huffs and leaps for the kitchen to make coffee.]

[Dick facepalms, he cannot see this. Jason flinches in fear of Alfred's swear jar each time he hears Fanon!Jason swear from the kitchen. Tim buried his face into his hands and slumps against the table, he wishes to disappear and never face reality again. Damian is already reaching for his sword.]

Fanon!Damian: (scoffs) Let the imbecile die. A pathetic soul like his deserves a pathetic death like this.

Damian: (he stands on the table wielding the sword to Fanon!Damian's throat, eyes raging green) What the hell did you just say?!

Fanon!Dick and Canon!Dick: Shut up, Damian! (Who said that to which Damian, I'll let you decide)

[Dick and Tim pull Damian back from killing the Fanon!Damian, fearing that killing them would cause something to go wrong in the multiverse]

[Fanon!Jason returns from the kitchen with a tray in which he decorated a large mug of coffee, a flower vase and a bowl of hot soup.]

Dick: (In astonishment and disbelief) Jason?

[Fanon!Jason doesn't answer him. He goes and sits by Fanon!Tim and sets down the mug of coffee. Then, with cooing words, feeds Fanon!Tim the soup, gently.]

Jason: Where's my crowbar.

Dick: (Lets out he most tired sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, others are unsure whether he is frustrated over Jason's crowbar or the Fanons.)

Tim: (Turns to Damian with an earnest, pained expression) Damian, kill me before this is embedded into my memory forever.

Damian: (takes a breath and turns to Tim, his voice polite, soft and genuine. Vicarious pain and embarassment flashing in his eyes) I hate this too, Drake. Believe me, I really do. But since this hurts you more than it hurts me, (In the same soft, genuine, polite voice but evilly dramatic tone) suffer.

[Dick looks at Fanon!Dick, somehow glowing with childlike happiness.]

Dick: I wonder how he is so happy?

Alfred: Sirs? It is time for Dinner.

[The boys all get up and help in setting the table. Chaos ensues]

Jason: I'll get the plates. Tim? Get the caserols.

[A very 'undead' Tim walks in, dragging his feet and hunching over with slumped shoulders.]

Fanon!Tim: (Groans) Coffeee!

[Despite having met death, Jason backs away from Fanon!Tim for the fear of God knows what. He watches in a moment of sheer patience Jason didn't know he had as Fanon!Tim streches for the coffee jar on the top shelf, knocks it off as he collapses and proceeds to shove the raw coffee grounds into his mouth. Jason slowly backs away from him.]

Jason: (to Tim, visibly shaken up) I'm not going near that Tim, you shouldn't either.

Tim: (Putting down the caseroles a little lazily) Is that what my 'perception' is? A zombie looking Edward Cullen who survives on coffee and (shudders, refering to when Fanon!Jason fed Fanon!Tim soup.) That.

Jason: I'm going to get Zatanna to erase my memory of this event.

Tim: Yeah, call me too.

[Fanon!Damian sits atop of Fanon!Dick's shoulders, carrying a bunch of spoons while Fanon!Dick walks with glasses in his hands, laughing with Damian while he growls in return]

Dick: (thinks, Should I try to be as happy as him? Then looks down to see Damian watching in stoic horror as Fanon!Damian begins acting like a baby.)

Dick: (Opens his mouth to express his thoughts)

Damian: (Looks up at Dick and squints into a mini-bat-glare before Dick has the chance to say something) Grayson, I know what you are thinking. If you ever try to manhandle me like a baby, you will lose an organ.

Fanon!Tim: (Walks by shoving a handful of coffee grounds into his mouth) I hope it's a spleen. We'll have something in common to talk about then.

[Both Damian and Dick are thorougly spooked.]

Fanon!Jason: (Quivering out of anger at Fanon!Tim's broken, sad, lonely tone) Your fault, Dick!

[Dick gulps wondering if the Fanon!UniverseJason ever got out of the pit madness.]

Jason: (In a tone more broken, hopeless and sad tone than Fanon!Tim's) Why...

[Everyone sits for dinner. Alfred serves]

[Fanon!Dick suddenly gets up, walks up to Fanon!Damian and hugs him. Fanon!Damian responds with a bite. The he goes and hugs Fanon!Jason, he responds by shoving Fanon!Dick away, grumbling about how cruel he was to Tim. Finally, he goes to Fanon!Tim and gives him a hug. He is too busy chugging more coffee to respond.)

[Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are exasperated, to put it simply.]

[Dick slumps onto the table. Jason finally pulls out his crowbar. Tim crumbles upon himself. Damian closes his eyes in an attemp to not lose whatever is left of his sanity.]

Dick, Jason and Damin: (in unison) I wish I had stayed dead than waching this.

Tim: (feels more nightmares of Jason coming to his nights.)

Author's note: Okay, I admit, this may not be as funny as I meant it to be but... I can suck, you know? Besides, this may be terrible but in a universe with the CW's PowerPuff Girls script, it cannot objectively be the worst. And yes, I categorize this as a shitpost.

Sorry for creating this, but I had fun.

[tamakissimp]

headcanon- secret santa

summary: they’re their crush’s secret Santa

characters: Izuku, Shoto, Iida, Shinso, Dabi

warnings: cursing

request: @awkwardteengirl505​ hey hun! sorry to be a pain but can you do a secret Santa part 2 please? with the rest of the gang like izu, sho,dabi ect. also hope your having a fabulous day :D

a/n: thank you! I hope you have a good day too! and yes, I was already kinda planning on doing these headcanons for more characters so thank you for requesting!🥰

𝕚𝕫𝕦𝕜𝕦

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟞𝟡𝟡

Izuku bits his tongue to keep his giggles down. He didn't even need to fully read your name, he could recognize your handwriting anywhere. Heat flushes through his cheeks as his mind goes wild with ideas for potential gifts.

"Who'd you get 'Zuki?" you suddenly ask. His heart skips a beat at the nickname. He quickly stuffs the piece of paper into his pocket and looks in your eyes. A mistake, on his part, since he immediately looks down to the ground after.

"No one!" he says a little too quickly. You hold your hands up in the air and take a step away from him. Izuku curses at himself for his response. "I mean, i-it's a secret! A t-total secret s-so I can't t-tell you.".

You nod at his words before flashing him a smile. "Okay, okay. Then I'm not telling you either,' you say as you shoot him a wink. You turn away from him when Ochako taps on your shoulder. She happily shows you her note before you show her yours.

Izuku stars at your interaction with your mutual friend. A small smile tugs on his lips as he sees how happy you get. You whisper in Ochaka's ear so that none of the others can hear you. God, he needs to make this gift perfect.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Izuku unwraps his gift with shaky fingers. He carefully pulls the black ribbon off the box before moving into the green wrapping paper. Out from under the paper, a box appears. Simple doodles decorate the sides. He recognizes some of them. They're the same doodles you always draw on your notes.

The drawings range from hearts to flowers to little face. A blush washes through his cheeks. He quickly lifts the lid of the box. A sweater lays waiting for him. He quickly grabs it out the box. He runs the soft material between his fingers.

Izuku looks up at you. A goofy smile is plastered on your lips. Yep, that makes it official. This sweater is the only thing he is going to wear for the next week.

"T-Thank you so much!" he says as he gives you a little bow. You nudge his side while shaking your head.

"Stop with those formalities," you say before pulling him in for a hug. Izuku remains frozen as you hug him. He memorizes the feeling of your body presses against his. He bites his tongue to stop a whine from spilling out as you pull away.

"Now, I think it's your turn if I'm correct," Shoto says. You nod at the half-and-half boy as you reach towards the gift bag with your name on it. It's small, smaller than the others.

Izuku's body runs cold as he watches you unpack his gift. Insecurity clouds his brain. Compared to your gift, his is trash. Maybe he shouldn't have taken Iida's advice.

A gasp leaves your lift as you read over the words written on the slip of paper stuffed in the gift bag. "A...date?" you ask before looking over at Izuku. His cheeks as he looks over at his 'gift'.

Coupon good for one date

Fuck. He should have thought of something else. Why would you want to go on a date with him? Facing rejection in front of his friends will be the worse thing to ever happen to him-

"I thought you'd never ask," you say. Wait, what? Izuku's head whips up to look at you. That same goofy smile from earlier is displayed on his lips. His heart fills up with the heat.

"Really-" he says. You cut him off but moving forwards, cupping his face and planting your lips on his. Izuku stiffens for a second before melting into the kiss. It's brief, but it's all he could ever wish for.

You pull away only to be welcomed from various comments and wolf whistles from your friends.

"I thought you two would never confess," Shoto says. You finally look away from Izuku to stare at the 'coupon' once again. Izuku laughs a little as Iida gives him a couple of reassuring pats on his back. O God, is he thankful that he's your secret Santa.

𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕠

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟞𝟜𝟘

Christmas is new to him. His parents were to busy abusing raising their kids to bother with holidays. All he knew about Christmas comes from the few Hallmark movies he saw. So when Izuku told him that the whole, so-called, Deku-squad were going to do secret Santa it took a lot of explaining. You took the role of guiding Shoto through it.

"Just, grab a note," you say as you point to the bowl sitting in front is Shoto. He nods before reaching into the bowl and grabbing a note. He looks at you again. "Open it up! See who you got.".

Shoto folds the note open. His eyes widen as he sees your name scribbled on the note. He quickly folds it closed again. "And?" you ask. "Why'd you get?".

"It's a secret, isn't it?" Shoto says. You laugh at him. You expected Iida to stick to the rules, not Shoto.

"That's true," you say. "It's a bummer though. I got Izuku.".

Shoto nods at that. Some part of him is disappointed that you aren't his secret Santa. He would even dare to say that he's jealous of Izuku. Though he pushes those thoughts back down quickly. He has no reason to be jealous, right?

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

'Y-Y/n, it's your t-turn!" Izuku says. You smile at him and grab the bag with your name on it. Izuku's attention is immediately turned back on the various amounts of Allmight merchandise you got him.

You look over your group of friends before looking back at the gift bag. You quickly grab every gift out of the bag. From the looks, if it, your secret Santa went above the budget. Way above the budget.

A simple chain necklace, a new Christmas sweater, a gift card for your favourite store. You quickly realized who your secret Santa was. Only one person had enough money to pull this off. You were certain when you pulled a new phone case out of the gift bag. It has a photo of you and Shoto printed on the back off it.

Once all the gifts are stalled out around you, you turn to your friend. "Shoto, you shouldn't have," you say before pulling him in a for a hug.

Shoto awkwardly wraps his arms around your shoulders. A smile tugs on his lips as he feels you nuzzle into his neck. You pull away again to glance at the gifts.

"I can't accept all of these," you say. Shoto quickly shakes his head.

"From my understanding, secret Santa's were supposed to give each other gifts, correct?" Shoto asks. You nod at his words. "Then please, do accept them.".

You sigh. You could see that there was a meaning behind every gift. A shirt that Shoto already owned, so that you match now. A teddy bear, that is similar to one he once won for you at a fare. A box of chocolates from the brand you both enjoy.

You nod before mentioning towards Iida to grab his gift. He happily reaches towards the pile laying in front of you all.

"I'll accept them if..." you say. "If you let me pay you back. Let me take you out for food tonight.".

Shoto's cheeks flush at the idea of you two going to a restaurant. Could this be? Maybe...

"Are you asking me out on a date?" he asks. A nervous smile spreads over your lips.

"If I am, would you say yes?" you ask. Shoto nods. You happily smile before giving his arm a light squeeze. Shoto's eyes widen at the action but he can't deny the butterflies swarming up because of it.

"Then consider it a date!" you say. Shoto nods before looking away from you and towards Iida, who's now unpacking his gifts. God, never had he guessed that Christmas could be this much fun.

𝕚𝕚𝕕𝕒

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟞𝟝𝟙

Secret Santa was just another opportunity for Iida to prove that he was a class president. He made it his personal mission to get his secret Santa the best gifts money could get.

He is busy hyping himself up as he reaches into the bowl to grab a note. He unfolds it. Y/n. Fuck. Ass. Shit. Fucking fuck. Panic washes through his body.

"Iida!" you say. The panic that was building up in him melts the moment he hears your voice. He turns towards you with a smile on his lips. You run over to him with a goofy smile on your lips.

Once you reach him, you tap him a couple of times on his arm. "Do you want to go gift shopping with me? Please?" you ask. He can't say no to you. Not when you give him those big, puppy-dog eyes paired with that goofy grin.

Iida quickly nods. "Yes! Of course," he says. "I'll take you shopping. That's what a good friend does!".

"Great! How about tomorrow at four?" you ask. Iida nods. You smile at him one last time before running off to talk to god knows who. Iida remains in his spot, relishing the warmth flowing through his heart. He is thankful that his mind is still clouded by a loving fog. If not, he would be freaking out on how he's going to hide that fact that he's your secret Santa.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Iida's normally calm composure is now failing on him. To him, it feels like you're unpacking your gift at an agonizingly slow pace. While in reality, you're tearing through the baby blue wrapping paper at rapid speed.

His fists clench and unclench as he tries to keep his nerves at bay. When you have finally thorn away all the wrapping paper, a smile spreads over your lips.

You proudly hold your gift in your hands. A little basket filled with snacks, a new mug and a book from your favourite author. Along with a letter situated in a pretty green envelope.

"This is so sweet!" you say. With that, Iida's body relaxes. A cocky smile spreads over his lips. "Who's my secret Santa?".

With that, Iida lifts his hand. You carefully place the basket on the ground beside you before crawling over to Iida and pulling him into a hug. "Thank you," you whisper into his shoulder.

Iida's smile grows at your hug. His nerves are on fire and his senses are tingling. His happily wraps his arms around you. You pull away from him - way too quickly for Iida - and look him in the eyes.

"What's in the envelope?" you asks. Iida's cheeks grow red at the question.

"Um-N-Nothing!" he quickly says. "Just open it when you're by yourself, okay?". You nod at him before crawling back to your original space, wondering what could be in that envelope.

✨bonus✨

You clutch the small basket to your chest as you take quick steps towards your dorm. You pull the door open and rapidly throw it shut behind you. You gently place the basket onto your bed before gabbing the envelope out of it.

The light green colour suprised you. Blue would have suited Iida better but it's pretty none the less. You quickly open it before snatching the letter out of it. You gently fold it open before reading it.

You're way too excited to read the whole thing. You opt for scanning the text quickly instead. I trust you. Well, that's good. Trust is essential in friendship. I hope you won't treat me differently. Wait, what? I like you.

Oh, crap. Meet me tonight at my dorm have feelings for me as well. If not, we'll pretend I never confessed.

You throw the letter down onto your bed and run over to Iida's dorm. If Aizawa would have seen how fast you ran, he would have been proud.

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕠

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟟𝟘𝟠

To say that he was surprised when you invited him for secret Santa, was an understatement. Most of the school feared him, though you never did. You opened him with wide arms and showed him what it's like to be treated like a normal person.

Shinso ignores the hateful glares thrown his way. The only thing he's paying attention to is the way you pull him towards the bowl that Kirishima is holding.

"Y/n!" the redhead says. You greet him as well. "Oh, you brought Shinso.". For a moment, a prepares himself for another hateful comment thrown his way. "You're in general studies, right?". Oh, that wasn't so bad.

Shinso nods at Kirishima. A smile spreads over the redhead's lips. "Cool! I heard that your quirk is super manly!"

Shinso looks over at you with confused eyes. "Hell yeah," you say before reaching into the bowl and grabbing a note. "Hitoshi's quirk is badass.".

A smile spreads over Shinso's lips before grabs a note as well. "You're unbreakable, right?" he asks. Kirishima proudly smiles at him while humming in agreement. "That's...cool,".

"And manly," you add. Kirishima chuckles at you before excusing himself to continue handing out notes. You turn back towards Shinso.

"Let's see who we got!" you say. Shinso nods before folding his note open. Y/n. Thank fucking god. He would have died is he had someone else, let alone a big-mouthed little shit like Bakugou.

He looks over to you. The moment you've read the name on the note, you quickly close it again. A bright smile falls on your lips as stupid giggles follow suit.

"Did you get me?" Shinso asks. He means it teasingly but you take it seriously. Your eyes grow wide.

"How did you know?" you ask. Shinso chuckles to himself before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading the two of you towards the couch standing in the common room.

"Only I could make you giggle like a fucking idiot," he adds. You shake your head as you snuggle into his hold. Fuck, was he glad he pulled your note.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

The whole afternoon has gone by surprisingly well. So far, Bakugou has only blown two holes in the whole, Denki has only short-circuited ones and Iida has only given five lectures. No one has said anything hurtful to Shinso. The 1-A class have started to warm up to the general studies student. Shinso would even dare to say that he was having a good time. Though, sipping hot chocolate while laughing his ass off with you could make any activity 'good'.

"Come on, idiot. You're next," Bakugou groans out. He has his arms folded over his chest, doing his best to put on a 'tough guy' facade. Though, his attempts fail since the pastel orange cap that Kirishima gifted him is still planted firmly on his head. The knitted yarn along with the fluffy pomp-pomp sitting on top of it makes Bakugou look more like an angry toddler than a threat.

With a smile, you grab your gift bag. You look over at Shinso before opening the bag up. He's lazily leaning against the couch while taking slow sips of his hot chocolate.

The jet-black gift bag reveals a white scarf. Sloopy stitches and small holes quickly give away the fact that it's homemade. The creamy white colour reminds you of only one person.

You look over to Shinso to see him already smirk at you. You quickly wrap the scarf around your neck. The soft wool feels amazing against your skin.

"Did you make this, 'Toshi?" you ask. Shinso slowly nods. You run your fingers over the fabric again. "Thank you. Really, thank you.".

Shinso's heart flutters at the sight of you. Your excitement travels over to him and he can't stop a goofy smile from pulling on his lips.

"Shitty hair, you're next!" Bakugou calls as he points at Shinso.

He shakes his head as he grabs his own gift bag. "My hair is not shitty, it's cool," he says before grabbing his gift out of the bag.

"Meh, it's actually kinda shitty," you interject while rubbing the scarf against your cheek. Shinso shakes his head at you. God, you're a dork. But you're his dork.

𝕕𝕒𝕓𝕚

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟜𝟛𝟟

The only reason he agreed to do this was to stop Toga from bugging him. That and the chance that he could get to be your secret Santa. Or better yet, get you to be his.

While flirting was normally his forte, all his skills when out the window when it came to you. He stumbles of his words and his hands start shaking. He feels like a highschool boy all over again. Maybe he could use this as a way to get you to go out with him.

"Bacon bits, come on and pick one," Shigaraki calls. Dabi grumbles at the nickname.

"Not my name, crusty," he says before sticking his hand into Mr Compress' hat. Please be Y/n. Just this once, let the universe work in his favour. He pulls the note out of the hat. He folds it open. Y/n.

Dabi thanks any god that might be up there. For once, luck is on his side. Dabi's eyes shoot over to you. You're talking with a giddy Toga. She's hanging on your arm and discussing potential gifts with you.

You look over at him. He winks at you and you quickly look back at Toga, too flustered to look at Dabi again. He chuckles to himself before walking over a dark corner of the bar try to look 'cool' and 'mysterious'. No one can know that he's secretly thinking if a romantic present to give you.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

"Y/n-chan! Open your gift!" Toga whines out. You shake your head at her as you carefully tear the wrapping paper away. It's clearly cheap. Knowing your friends, most likely stolen, though you don't mind. You smile as you see your gift.

A small teddy bear with dark purple patches to match Dabi's scars. You quickly look over at him. "So you can cuddle it. I know you want the real thing," he says while gesturing to his body. "But this is the closest you'll get.".

You smile brightly at him as you wrap your arms around the plushy. Dabi's heart does summersaults at the sight of you, though he does his best to hide that.

"So I'll never get to snuggle with you?" you ask with a fake pout. Dabi rolls his eyes at you.

"If you wanted to get into my bed you could have just said so, baby," he says. You look away from him again as you mention for Toga to open her gift.

Dabi smirks as he continues to watch you cradle the plushie. Some part of him grows envious of the inanimate object. Maybe, he'll offer to cuddle you tonight. Maybe.

[buckeyegirl419]

REUNITED

Pedro and f! character

Pedro and f! character, Mikaela, were once lovers and split up several months ago due to their careers keeping them apart. His acting career was skyrocketing and her free-lance photography had landed her a position with National Geographic.

WARNINGS:Some angst, fluff, alcohol consumption and can't think of anything else at the moment....

It was getting late and Mikaela knew the roads were getting treacherous. As she finished loading up the last of her groceries, her cellphone buzzed with a text from the local radio station. It read that the local sheriff's department had put out a level two snow emergency. She decided to finish her errands and get home as quickly as possible.

As Mikaela pulled out onto the main road, she saw several cars sliding all over. "Idiots", she muttered to herself. As she got further down the road, she noticed a car stuck in the snow. As she got closer, she chuckled, "Why would anyone drive a Mercedes on these roads?" Knowing that the tow-trucks were going to be busy, she stopped to help. As Mikaela got out of her Silverado and approached, the driver rolled down their window and a familiar voice asked,"Could you give me a hand?"

"Pedro, what are you doing here?", Mikaela asked. Unable to believe her eyes, or her ears, she approached quickly as he exited the car. Not believing his own eyes or ears, he walked towards her. "I was on my way to Cedar Creek Resort to meet some friends.," he responded before asking,"What are you doing here?" Mikaela responded with a grin,"I live nearby and was on my way home from picking up some groceries. Why don't you come with me, because the weather is only getting worse." After a moment, he agrees and she helped him load his bags into her truck. Before they leave, she calls a friend's tow service and gives him the location of Pedro's car plus where he's supposed to bring it, which was her place.

As they start down the road, they start catching up with one another's lives. He tells her about his latest film project and she tells him about her latest assignment for National Geographic. As Mikaela turns down the lane that leads to her cabin. Pedro takes in the beautiful scenery as they approach her cabin. When they stop and get out, the cool, fresh scent of the pines welcomes them both. He follows her with a two of the bags of groceries as she opens the front door. After they finish bringing in the rest of the groceries and his luggage, they both remove their coats and get comfortable. "This is really a nice place you have here. How long have you lived here?," he asks as she adds wood to the fireplace. "I've been here for couple of months. It's peaceful and the locals are nice.", Mikaela replied as she stirs the ashes. Pedro moves to help her, but she had it finished. "Would you like a cup of coffee or maybe hot chocolate?," she offers as he follows her to the kitchen. "Hot chocolate would be wonderful." As she makes two mugs of hot chocolate, Mikaela starts her oven for biscuits to go with the beef stew that's simmering in the crock-pot. A little while later, the biscuits are done and they sit down for dinner. "Do you mind pouring us a glass of wine while I dish up the stew?," Mikaela asks and he gladly does this for her. As they dine and chat, the snow starts coming down heavier. Her cellphone dings and she answers it. The tow driver has Pedro's Mercedes and is on his way. "Well, your car is on it's way. You're welcome to stay here until it's safe.", Mikaela says to Pedro as he takes a sip of wine.

They sit on the sofa, enjoying their wine and the snowfall in the woods surrounding her home. Finally, Pedro breaks the silence. "Why did you really leave? I thought you were happy in New York.," he asks as they sipped their wine. "Why did I find your ex in our bed?," she asked as she got up to walk over to the large window. "I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened. It was a stupid mistake that I regret to his day.", he says with a touch of sadness. Mikaela turns to him and sets her glass on the end table. "Even though you hurt me, I still love you.," she admits. "I love you, too, Mikaela and I always will. Can we try again?", Pedro asks as he puts his glass down and walks towards her. They look at one another and he takes her hands on his. "I miss dancing with you, babe.", Pedro says with a warm smile. She missed that too. "Let me put on something nice.", Mikaela searches through her playlist and finds some soft jazz. It was perfect and it felt good to dance with this beautiful man once again. Finally, Pedro cups her face in his hand and brushes his lips against hers. She wraps her arms around his waist and returns the kiss. Finally, he picks her up and asks her where the bedroom is.

[morally-gray-prospector]

You say you’re a selfish man at heart but--

*she takes the mug with a smile and enjoys the last of it, then holds up the book, tapping it against the mug*

—you’ve got a funny way of showing it, Admiral. I’m going to benefit from all this selfishness.

“What tickles my literary fancy.” I do like stories about human nature? But…I guess I tend to lean toward stories of hope and yearning...and the potential for attaining something the characters want or need rather than those that lead to ruin. Even if it isn't a happy ending... although it shouldn't be a surprise that I prefer them.

*stretches her legs out in the small space, her feet running under the cot, knocking an ankle lightly against his for punctuation as she leans back and looks up at him*

Don’t give me that look. Everyone reads to escape a little. Pettiness and greed and backstabbing come around often enough. A little hope never did anyone any harm.

*she contemplates him as she speaks, the scar, the tattooed mark on his rough hands, this place he where sleeps alone with his books and his thoughts. she supposes he's the kind of man that doesn't turn away from much and has a large capacity of fascination for how people work and has a lot of time to think about it. no wonder he is a fascinating conversation partner.*

But you don’t seem to shy away from the dark stuff. That’s wise. More realistic. More embracing of life in general. More emotional real estate that way. Do you prefer that kind of stuff?

*doesn't know what to say to that. He does think of himself as a selfish man, has perfected the art of looking out for himself over the years. Giving her the last sip of coffee doesn't make him feel any less selfish. How can it, when he gets company and that smile in return? He doesn't want to voice those thoughts, however, afraid that it will make him seem too calculating*

*so instead he latches on to what she says next, when she explains to him what she does enjoy in a good book. A bit of an optimist, even in her literary taste. He should have been able to guess that. He watches her and, for the hundredth time, he wonders what she's doing here and hopes that this job won't knock the optimism out of her. He feels the knock to his ankle and holds his hands up in surrender*

Retract those talons, Little Dove, I'm not giving you any kind of look. Merely listening. If anything a little envious on your view of hope.

*smiles kindly and nudges her back with his boot*

I find her to be a fickle mistress, but you seem to have found a way to make her stay. Perhaps your mind is a more pleasant place to dwell than mine? But maybe I'll learn...

*looks down and scrapes his nail over a small speck of dirt on the cover of the book he's holding*

I'm not sure if I would say that I prefer it. But I find that the dark stuff, as you call it, has a tendency to catch up with you regardless. Better to face it head on than have it creep up at you from behind and catch you off guard.

*shrugs and looks over at her again*

I prefer things that feel real, whether it be books, movies, partners...

*is interrupted by a beeping sound from the control panel. He looks up and out through the window, where the moon is now taking up most of the view. He looks to her and smiles*

Time to prepare for landing

[jafndaegur]

Noise of Rain | Chapter Three

Without Forgiveness, Rather than Rusted by Falsehood

Sesskag

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

A holy arrow split the moment away, surging forward in a torrent of electric blue power.

Sesshomaru’s sword lashed out, too fast to see, and yet it was not he that felled the arrow. Kagome's eyes glowed haunting and bright crimson, a cruel and pained smile on her face. The holy arrow hovered mid-air, grasped by the inky tendrils of dark energy.

"Oho? Glad to know Kikyo is using her newfound humanity the same as she always had." She glared and the arrow flipped around, hurtling back to the earth.

Below they could hear Inuyasha shouting—Sesshomaru could see his brother dive and deflect the arrow intended to attack the priestess. His brow furrowed. Plenty of resentful energy spurred the returned projectile, but none of that dazzling bright pink purification Kagome kept unfiltered.

"Think it's high time I say hi?" Her voice fluttered through the air innocently. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He didn't answer her. Refused to answer her. Maybe once long ago, he would have given her his thoughts, maybe. But that'd been because she was different. Not a creature that sought unlimited power like this—unlimited, unclean power—but someone who would make a change her own way, through hard work and her own practice. Pointing out at the darkness, even when she traverses it.

Not this.

She descended slowly, almost ethereal, her outer layer billowing, her yukata delicate and graceful. And yet the splatters of Naraku's blood marring the green and grey cloth said otherwise.

Her shoes are dirtied—

"Kagome!" Inuyasha rushed to meet her, his feet trudging through the battlefield sludge.

Kagome landed gracefully, a few slow strides before she made it to her stumbling hanyou. The others followed close behind him, while Sesshomaru took up vigil behind her.

She reached out and embraced the hanyou in a surprisingly gentle hug. He held onto her, no words needed, only a trembling grasp.

Yet the scathing and cold voice still cut through the air. "Get away from her Inuyasha. That thing is not the Kagome you know."

Kikyo's tone perusal was scant of emotion, save her usual mocking righteousness.

Kagome's chin tilted up and she took a step back while Inuyasha whirled around to protest.

"I shouldn't have to explain myself," the priestess hummed. "But even your monk and demon slayer can sense the demonic aura coming from her."

Sango said nothing, her gaze cast to the ground.

Miroku on the other hand fumbled with his words a bit before mentioning an amendment. "It's not evil per say. Just dark."

Sesshomaru’s golden gaze narrowed. So—without her notice—the little miko had scared all of her little friends.

Kagome rested her hand on the fife tucked into her thin obi. "It isn't evil, believe it or not."

"If you let me purify you, I'd be more inclined to believe you," Kikyo bit out.

"Damn, Kikyo—it's just Kagome, what's gotten into you?" Inuyasha's brow was furrowed, and he was clearly disgruntled.

"Were you not just undead?" Sesshomaru ran his fingers through his hair. "It seems you hardly have room to speak."

Inuyasha drew in a sharp breath.

Kikyo smiled half-heartedly and drew another arrow. "And now look at my reincarnation. Fitting she took my place."

"Kikyo, what the hell are you trying to start?" Inuyasha moved to appease her.

She refused and released the arrow.

Sesshomaru was quick — and yet again something else was quicker. The ringing clang of metal struck the air and warbled, and in a blink, the fight was over.

A small boy with pulled back hair and angered eyes withdrew his scythe.

"Kohaku!" Sango shouted, pushing past the belligerent miko and mostly-confused hanyo.

"Sister," the young demon slayer offered a weak smile. "I'm happy to see you again."

No time was wasted in the barreling hug. Sango pulled her little brother close, and this time, he returned her embrace.

"How is this possible?" She looked from him, cupping his face and gazing at Kagome and back to him. "The Shikon was destroyed."

"I revived him in a sense," Kagome offered. "He's not fully alive. But he's not fully dead. We bumped into each other a month or so back. And I pulled the shard from him. Once he was dead, I brought him back."

Sesshomaru’s brow twitched. A miko wouldn't, and shouldn't, have a power as such.

"Kagome…" Inuyasha's voice offered everyone's hesitance and discomfort.

"Explain," Kikyo bit out.

Kagome crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "But of course. There's a tea house not far from here. Our little group will make for quite some clientele, but I think what I have to say will be ill suited if we stay on the battlefield."

That much it seemed, everyone could agree on.

-‐-

Kagome despite her earlier sardonic tone, seemed on friendly basis with the teashop owner. He welcomed her with a bright smile and familiar call of her name. He waved their little group over to a nice secluded spot, away from regular patrons enough to not be egregious, but close enough to feel included with the surprisingly light atmosphere.

"The regular?" The owner asked.

She waved him off with a friendly laugh. "An extra pot and a plate of bean buns."

He nodded and scooted away.

"I helped him start this place," she pulled the fife from her obi and twirled it lazily. "This entire area was under Naraku's influence three months ago. He's from the mainland and wanted to bring a little taste of home. Once this place was cleaned out of miasma and...other obstacles—I've deceived these memories in my mind over and over again to remember just quite what they were—we built this place."

"You built this place?" Shippo echoed with a little bit of awe.

The fife waved back and forth with a sheepish giggle. "Well I decorated the place."

Inuyasha huffed.

Miroku and Sango chuckled lightly.

Even Sesshomaru, who really did seem out of place with their little pack, rolled his eyes.

The only one not bemused was Kikyo. "So you did not help with any construction."

Kagome grinned and lifted her brow, the look almost sultry. "I wouldn't be much help there, I don't have nearly enough strength for heavy lifting. But the feral undead in my control handled it just fine."

Kikyo's brow twitched and Inuyasha's amusement turned pale.

"Oh I'm sorry. Undead strikes a nerve I see," Kagone continued. "Corpse. I think that's what I would call them. They don't think much."

She pointed her flute at Sango and her brother. "Kohaku is my only and greatest exception. A feral corpse who thinks and acts almost entirely for himself."

Kohaku looked down at the table and wrinkled his nose a little.

"Corpse?" Sango's whisper was half broken, staggered.

Decorated with lies, Kagome winced. "Zombie may be better. Not really alive, not really dead. An odd mix in between."

The teashop owner brought their order and swept settings over the table quickly. He seemed to sense the tense mood and left. In the stiff silence, Kikyo graciously poured everyone a cup of tea save for Kagome, Shippo, and Sesshomaru.

Sesshomaru didn't even bat an eye, and the little fox demon busied himself with forking bean buns to care.

Lounging back, Kagome draped her arm over her knee.  

Inuyasha pushed his teacup in her direction, his ears flattened apologetically against his head.

It made her heart twinge, she'd missed her best friend.

"What right do you have playing with their lives?" Kikyo hummed, staring over the rim of her mug. "It is both the unorthodox and unethical path."

"I wish I could've seen you complain about that earlier," Kagome tapped the fife against her brow. "Tell me again, how long have you been a living human by now?"

The two mikos then engaged in another quiet round of glaring.

"The flute Kagome," Miroku piped up, trying to keep the conversation going. "What does it do?"

"This?" Kagome offered her instrument to him. "It's just an ordinary fife. However I use it to channel the resentful energy, that's what summons and brings the feral corpses to life. I named it Kangaimuryo. Like it?"

Miroku took it in a ginger hold before his eyes widened and he observed it more carefully. "There's no evil aura. There's an aura, but it's not impure."

"It's an ordinary object." Kagome took it back once he'd finished his inspection. "Although it's sturdy and can hold its own in a fight. Kohaku and I have discovered more than once that it's decent at blocking a blade."

The young demon slayer gave a reassuring nod. "Lady Kagome has been steering away smaller yokai from the Burial Mounds for months now. She uses it to both channel resentful energy and deflect physical attacks. She's skilled."

There was silence. A lingering hesitance blared the looming question that no one wanted to ask. Well, almost no one.

"Why don't you just purify them?" Kikyo rested her chin on her hand, relaxing forward. "Such a simple task for a miko."

An exasperated sigh caused Kagome's bangs to puff up before she stood and wiped off the front of her yukata. "Kohaku, will you return later?"

"Kagome…" Sango was the first to vocally protest.

Kagome smiled gently at first before sending a cruel imitation to Kikyo. "I love myself far too much to waste my reiki on small fries."

Her voice hitched just a bit. "This is easier."

"Oy Kagome!" Inuyasha stood, the table screeching as he pushed it  forward.

Sesshomaru rolled his eyes.

"I'll see you guys around," she told him gently before waving. "I have some things to settle back home."

"Home?" Came the hanyou's echo. But there was no response.

Kagome strode out of the tea house long enough to appear proud. Once out of eyesight she slouched and panted, her hand resting on her chest. The demonic energy had risen painfully with each biting nag from she-who-should-probably-not-be-named—it lashed and made restraint difficult. It had taken everything for Kagome not to react negatively.

Leaving was her best response.

"It is not easy."

The deep tenor surprised her and she twisted to see Sesshomaru standing nonchalantly beside her. A lazy flick of his eyes told her he feigned boredom. But if it was his mask, why was he interested in seeing her.

She walked forward, straightening herself out and walking evenly. "Not like it's a walk in a park."

He kept pace, even steps with no trouble maintaining stride. "And yet you walk."

Kagome hummed, well wasn't he talkative today. "You were at the Burial Mounds today. I have talismans there to let me know when anyone arrives there. So why did you go?"

"Hn."

Maybe not.

"You ever get tired of living in someone's shadow?"

The daiyoukai's brow twitched.

"Yeah, figured that's a yes." Kagome exhaled, resting her hand on the fife tucked neatly against her side. "What happened…helped with that. I'm not in her shadow anymore."

Sesshomaru’s gaze met hers.

"And that's what I'll tell myself is for the best. With the jewel gone, there's no need for me to walk the widely paved road anymore."

She didn't say why. She doubted he cared. But speaking to him and admitting she would keep on the demonic path, lightened her heart—as if Sesshomaru’s troubled silence offered acceptance.

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Paint Job

A/N: Here we go again :)

>>>>——————————>

"Oh my god, is this symbol painted on your bike?"

"Of all things, that's what you pick up on?!" The vigilante yelled back in an exasperated yet distracted tone, evidently frustrated as he released his sleeping hold on the final thug.

"I wouldn't have if it wasn't so bad - it's all over the headlight. You do this with your helmet on or something?" You wittily responded, standing from your crouching position in front of his motorcycle.

"I don't have to explain myself to you now run along and stay out of trouble!" Red Hood waved you off, at this point simply wanting to get on with the rest of his night.

"Ooooh, look whose getting defensive - how 'bout you bring it to my shop, (L/n) Autos, tomorrow night once I'm closed and I'll give it a custom paint job free of charge, think of it as a..." Your hands rested on your hips as you drifted off toward the end of your statement apparently in thought. The way your brows furrowed was quite cute actually.

"A thanks for saving your life?" The vigilante cockily finished for you once getting on his bike, but you shook your head and sassily shot him down.

"Ew, no. An upgrade, I mean wow."

"Rude, so ungrateful nowadays." The tone was unbelievably sarcastic and you knew he was rolling his eyes under the helmet but you couldn't care less, only folding your arms and responding with a dead tone.

"Uh Huh, I'll see you tomorrow 11pm. Got it?" You called after him, the male speeding off into the night - maybe Mrs C keeping you late had its meanings. God that mysterious woman...

.

In honesty you didn't think he'd show up, or if he'd even heard you after he'd raced off. Maybe you should've thanked him for preventing those assholes from robbing you instead of insulting his ride yet you stayed up after closing just in case.

A diligent knock brought you back to reality, the sound of clanging metal echoing through your workshop as you heaved open the massive entrance door. There stood your knight in leather armour, helmet still covering his identity as he leaned against the wall.

"That offer still open?"

"For that atrocity, hell yes." You internally winced at your inability to be kind to your saviour but breathed a sigh of relief when he laughed and handed you his keys.

"How long do you want it?"

"Hmm, give me a week."

"Whatever you want doll." And with that he was gone, off grappling across Gothams skyline with nothing but effortless beauty.

.

It had been a taxing week without his baby, but hopefully you didn't disappoint - Jason creaked open the door to your unique workshop, immediately noticing his newly designed motorcycle and it took his breath away.

"Woah..."

He walked around it admiringly, fingers delicately tracing your beautiful handiwork as he went, still unable to comprehend that this masterpiece was once his bike before coming to a stop at the station a metre or two away and inspecting your handwritten checklist.

Red Hoods ‘Thank You’:

• Matte Black = nice finish

• Red line detailing throughout cuz the guy likes red apparently.

• Detachable symbol, nicely painted

• Fixed engine -> more efficient

• Customised weaponry

• Taunt Hood about upgrades

A content laugh escaped him at the mocking words, you truly hadn't changed since he'd been gone and it only made him miss you more - where were you anyway??? He'd carefully scanned the area, finding your sleeping form curled up on the couch and shaking his head he made his way over, stopping in front of you with an amused expression only faltering when he took in your appearance. A red hoodie draped your figure - his hoodie, the sleeves reached the joints of your fingers and it was now stained with motor oil over the time you'd worked in it but honestly you rocked it better than he ever did. He’d given it to you when you were walking through Gothams back alleys together, yourself smugly complaining about the dropping temperatures before Jason had mercilessly thrown it at you rather than admit he cared about your wellbeing as his closest friend. It didn’t stop you from taunting him about his feelings though.

It was apparent you'd attempted to wait up for him so you could check off the last thing on your list but had failed to do so, it was rather late and you'd clearly worked hard on his ride that day. Jason knew he shouldn't wake you, and he couldn't handle making conversation knowing you wore what was once his, that you hadn't forgotten him. Instead he covered you with the fluffy blanket folded over the arm and left $500 on the table beside the takeout bag marked with 'C's Diner', memories of that place came flooding back and he'd silently decided to take Roy there that week. Muttering a thanks before leaving, Red Hood took his bike and left little evidence of ever being there at all.

.

The scent of the 60’s themed diner was always pleasant, it was a common occurrence for you to stop by after working late. It reminded you of Jason, and the elderly owner remembered you two well considering the liveliness you both once brought and honestly that charming woman was basically a parental figure in your life. Although she always has a suspiciously omniscience aura about her - Nanny McPhee incarnate as you and your lost friend had joked when you were children.

Unbeknownst to you, Jason remembered this place too though he regularly avoided it until tonight and ensured to drag Roy along with him out of convenience. The pair sat in a booth discussing Jason's bike upgrades when a mug of hot cocoa was set in front of Jason much to his confusion.

"Excuse me, I'm pretty sure I didn't order this."

"Ah, it's on the house. Mrs Cayce’s orders." The (h/c) waitress who Jason knew wasn't an employee proudly winked, saluting the elderly owner who waved over to him.

"Hey uh... do I know you at all? Just you seem familiar and Mrs Cayce clearly does..."

"Nope, don't think so, I would've remembered a beauty like you." The ravenette shrugged, you nodded walking back over the counter to converse with the owner once more.

Roy gave his partner a questioning glance, the sudden realisation and content smile briefly crossing Jason's features had him worried.

"Damn... Mrs C remembers me, I was hoping she'd forget. A friend and I used to come in here on the regular before the whole death thing, sometimes even help out and we would always order this."

"I didn't know Jaybird, sorry... But for the record this is the best diner we've been to in a while and I get if you don't wanna talk about it - but woah who was the waitress, d’ya think she’s single?" His partner questioned, gaze lazily drifting over to your laughing form.

"That was the miracle responsible for my bike, but (Y/n) doesn't work he-"

"Really?! EXCUSE ME?" Roy abruptly cut his best friend off, ensuring his wave caught your attention - eyes practically sparkling after hearing that information.

"What the fuck was that?! Don't, it's more conplicat-" Jason grabbed Roys offending arm, pinning it down to the table with his hushed warning.

"Despite me bringing over the drink earlier, I'm not actually a waitress here so you might wanna call -"

"(Y/n)! They're nice boys who probably wanted to talk to a beautiful lady, would you be polite for once in your life?" Mrs Cayce's words caused you to wince, your 'motherly scolding' spurring a frustrated sigh but in the end the judgments always brought you not necessarily what you wanted but what you needed.

"... How can I help you sir?" It was incredibly forced, as was the brief uninterested smile you gave them and the low but polite tone.

"I'm Roy and this is Jason. I was wondering if you could take a look at my ride if that's okay? The Red Hoods' or whoever’s is pretty sweet and he gave all credit to you." Admittedly, they noticed the positive change in demeanour at the mention of mechanics as Roy continued his request.

"Seriously?! He did?! Yes, 100 times yes! I’d lo- wait... Jason... as in Jason Jason? I do know you, don't I?" You were on the verge of squealing before that name registered, how the face matched your memories of your long lost friend and almost immediately your attention focused solely on the ravenette in front of you.

"..."

His silence wasn't considered useful, although his signature guilty expression gave it away, the awkwardly sheepish smirk he always wore when he knew you were right, his facial features were more mature and he was more handsome than you remembered - though you'd wished he'd never died in the first place. In fact you didn't even give a second thought to how he was sitting before you, instead trusting in the happiness he always blessed you with when in his presence.

"Fuck you nerd." Instantly you'd excitedly tackled him to the booth cushion regardless of your contrasting vocabulary, his arm wrapped around your waist whilst the other grabbed the back of the booth for stability since you'd almost pinned him to the seat.

"Rude much?" He abruptly commented, a playful undertone to his voice.

"Give me a break, you're supposed to be dead! I don’t know how or why but it's me Jason, we've always told each other everything..."

"I know, I didn't want to put you through anymore pain."

"You were a pain that I enjoyed having dumbass." Your tone was soft, more meaningful than he'd expected and it encouraged him to tell you everything.

"(Y/n) I-"

"Save the explanation for later, let me just enjoy your company for now and then I gotta show you my place! I managed to get my own mechanic shop and I fixed up Red Hoods bike - the Red Hood! God I have so much to tell you!" Despite knowing the excited tone you held was technically for him, he had no intentions of telling you who he was just yet, after all he was more than content to have you in his life again rather than longing for more of your time when saving your dumb ass under his alias.

That was the only reason he'd come to your garage that night, to enjoy your familiar company a little longer, if it were anyone else he wouldn't have bothered but for you? He'd still do anything for you.

"Me too doll, for a start this is Roy Harper..."

.

The owner Mrs Cayce carefully studied the scene, towel drying off your favourite mug as she continued to watch with a small smirk on her features and mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Why, it's about time you finally brought those two together isn't it Universe? Better late than never I suppose - but don’t you start any love triangle business ya hear?"