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marvelobsessedteenager · 3 years

Text

All The Hurt - Chapter 2

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Peter was an ass, reader is a hurt and petty bitch, fluff to make up for the angst, curse words, lots of “coincidences”

Word Count: 4.1k

A/n: The amount of love I've gotten is absolutely incredible. Thank you guys for the support! Enjoy :3 -----------------------------------------

Flash had suggested driving both him and yourself to Liz’s house, and you agreed, simply because car rides with him were more fun. You got there earlier than anyone else, giving Flash time to set up his DJ equipment and speakers while you helped Liz and Betty set up the lights, food, and drinks.

Not an hour later and the house was full of people that you knew and didn’t know, but welcomed anyway. Everybody walking around was having a good time, drinking soda out of a red solo cup and dancing to Flash’s party music. You would be lying if you told yourself your eyes weren’t examining the dance floor for a particular bed of curls.

In your mind, you knew there was no way Peter knew Spider-Man. You saw it in the way he told everyone he did today at the gym. His left hand was wildly shaking — a clear telltale of nerves you’d figured out long ago.

Something else was bothering you, though, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

That bruise. You knew for a fact Peter wasn’t a fighter, mainly when it came to bullies - words or actions. He never retaliated, which is why people considered him an easy target. You wouldn’t put it past him to allow himself to get beaten up, but you would have known if that’d happened. Flash was definitely his number one bully, but he wouldn’t dare lay a finger on Peter, and neither would any of his friends, especially since they all knew your history with Peter.

They were all bark and no bite, which meant that there was another explanation for it, but for the love of God, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

And speak of the devil.

You smirked as you caught sight of him, worried thoughts vanishing as you weaved your way through the crowd to Flash, whispering in his ear about your discovery. He flashed you a wicked smile, turned down the music, and grabbed the mic.

“Penis Parker! What’s up?” Flash yelled into the mic, causing Peter to freeze and turn to look at Flash, who was pointing right at him.

“Hey, Y/n,” Flash pretended to search the crowd then turned to you, “Where do you think his pal Spider-Man is?” He placed the mic below your lips and waited for your preplanned answer.

“Hm, let me a guess.” You sweetly said, tapping your chin like you were thinking, “in Canada with his imaginary girlfriend?” You raised your eyebrows, eyes boring into Peter’s with fire burning behind your pupils, your brain ignoring your heart that was begging you to stop upsetting him as you caught the flash of hurt that crossed his features.

The crowd laughed and “ooh” ed as Flash played a “burn” sound effect, “That’s not Spider-Man,” He jutted his chin towards Ned, “that’s just Ned in a red shirt.”

You watched him walk away from the giggling crowd, fuming, and you bumped your fist with Flash's in victory. He turned up the music, and you made your way to the dance floor with your friends, as you swayed your hips to the loud tune. Your group sang loudly to the songs, and though it was deafening and off-tune, you never felt freer than when you screamed the lyrics with them.

At some point, your voice started sounding raspy, and your throat was begging you for some sort of liquid to heal the ache. You excused yourself from the group, walked to the kitchen and grabbed a solo cup, filling it with cool water and chugging it down.

But, of fucking course, someone had to ruin your night and your favorite white dress by bumping into you and spilling coke on your outfit. That someone was a girl with piercing blue eyes and brown hair — someone you didn't recognize. It was clear she didn’t go to Midtown considering she squeaked an apology and ran to her friends, who glanced back at you and immediately dashed out of the house.

Great.

You would ask Liz for another dress, but you weren’t exactly tight with her. You’d also ask your friends to take you home to change, but as you looked at them jumping around and bobbing their heads to the music, you figured they were having too much fun, and you didn’t want to ruin it.

You would normally call your driver, but you hadn’t had the chance to set up your new phone just yet.

Sighing, you grabbed your denim jacket you hid below the counter earlier, put it on, and began your journey home on foot. Your house was located about thirty minutes away from Liz’s, which wasn’t really a big deal for you.

About fifteen minutes of strolling in silence and kicking any rock that caught your eye, you passed by a playground that looked familiar. It was the very same playground you and Peter would play in when you were children. You’d take turns pushing each other on the swing, and when you were old enough to do it yourself, you would both compete to see who’d go higher and who could jump off the swing the farthest. It always resulted in an injury, but you two always laughed it off, especially when Jane would run over worriedly with a first-aid kit.

As you went into your early teenage years, you’d meet at the playground alone and climb to the top of the dome climber with different (and disgusting) flavored milkshakes, exchanging it with each other every now and again, and watch the river flow peacefully.

The same river in which Iron-Man is flying out of with Spider-Man in his arms.

Wait, what?

You snapped out of your reverie and did a double take before you quickly dove into one of the many bushes, the quick rate of your heartbeat becoming a distraction from the fresh cut on your exposed neck from the sharp branches.

You could see everything that was happening in front of you, but not necessarily hear everything. Your wide eyes curiously peeked over the bushes, watching as Iron-Man placed Spider-Man on the dome. And maybe it was your hearing, but you swore you knew the high pitched voice that was exaggeratedly saying something.

You saw Spider-Man tug his mask off and wring it out, which made the back of his head incredibly visible. Brown hair. Or maybe black. It was too dark to see the difference. You debated moving a little closer to hear the conversation.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t right. Spider-Man was entitled to protect his identity. But you could keep a secret. Besides, maybe this could be the moment you’d thank him for saving you. You doubted he’d remember what he did, but you’d never forget.

So, you crept a little closer to make out the words, despite your gut telling you you shouldn’t.

“What were you thinking?” Iron-Man asked in a way that made you believe Spider-Man was in trouble.

“The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons, I gotta take him down!”

Wait. That sounds like-

“Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing.” Iron-Man said, waving his arm around.

“The Avengers?”

“No, no, no, just a little below their…pay grade.”

“Anyway, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to come all the way out here, I-I had that. I was fine.”

But that was all you could hear. Because as the conversation went on, the gears in your head begun turning, the dots seemed to connect faster than you could comprehend.

The strange bruise on his jaw after it was shown on the news that a certain superhero fought robbers at the bank across Delmar’s. Him running out of school once it was over. The fact that he left school for two weeks and mysteriously came back. Him ‘allegedly’ saying your name when he saved you. All the times he ditched you in the past were the same times Spider-Man was on the news for a heroic saving. You remembered because you’d send the news to Peter. The “Stark Internship” excuse wasn’t real.

But this was.

Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

Peter Parker saved your life.

The amount of information was loud. So, so, loud. You couldn’t hear the bickering that went on. A rush of emotions went through you. The first was rage. Is this it? Is this is his reason for letting you go? He couldn’t have just been honest and told you? You bet he told Ned. But he couldn’t tell you, could he?

But just as quickly as it came, your anger left you, instead being replaced with worry. You hated to admit it, but you were worried about him. How could he go out there every day and put his life on the line like that? What about his wounds and injuries? Did he suffer through those alone? Or did May help him heal?

Does May even know? Does anybody know?

Lastly, panic, and that was the strongest of them all. Holy shit, you thought, I just found out that my ex best friend and former crush is a superhero. He shoots webs out of his hands or something and sticks to walls and saves strangers and fights criminals and-

And Iron-Man is flying away.

And Spider-Man is walking in your direction.

I need to go.

As soon as you turned around, still crouched but ready to fucking bolt, you accidentally stepped on something hard, and you had to bite your tongue to keep your hissing inside. Once the pain slightly subsided, you looked downwards and moved your head closer to the object. A loud purring sound was emitting from it, and if there was anything in this world that screamed danger, it was this.

You were careful to pick it up and examine it. In the middle of this..machine was a bright purple stone and it was fucking glowing. You looked around you and caught Spider-Man muttering something to himself right before an obnoxious ringing made its way into your ears, prompting you to cringe and put your hands over them as you crouched.

It’s the same annoying fucking ringtone as Peter’s.

You waited for him to move a little farther, and when he did, you peeked from behind the bush. He had just closed the phone and continued his walk. You didn’t know if this thing was a bomb or something explosive, so throwing it in his direction was already ruled out. Besides, he was already beyond throw distance. You knew the safest way to get it to him.

You knew what to do. You hated that you did, but you had to do it.

Maybe hearing him talk to you would confirm or deny your hypothesis. Anybody could have brown hair, a high-pitched voice and the same ringtone as your ex-best friend and be a superhero that saved you two weeks ago.

You took a deep breath to calm your hammering heart from ripping through your ribcage and escaping. “I hate my life,” you mumbled as you rose and followed him with your heart still beating out of your chest, almost sure it was louder than your barely audible footsteps.

Don’t trip, don’t trip.

When you got close to him, close enough to tap him on the shoulder, he quickly turned around and got into a fighting position with his fists ready to punch. You were so shocked that you dropped the object and backed away with your hands up, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy. ”

Upon seeing a citizen (that he knew too well) he dropped his stance, “S-uh..sorry. I-I thought you..uh..” He cleared his throat, “Sorry, ma’am. How can I help you?” He said, very clearly thickening his voice and awkwardly placing his hands on his hips.

But you knew that sound anywhere.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. It is him.

You attempted to swallow the lump in your throat as you felt it clogging your ability to breathe.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/n.” You mentally smacked yourself. He already knows you, dumbass.

Should you tell him he knows you, though? Should you tell him you know him? No, what? You vehemently shook your head.

“A-anyway I, um, found this-” You picked up the object and turned it around in your hands, “-on my way home and I think it’ll help you? I don’t know, it’s definitely not man-made, I suppose. I’m not exactly an expert but I thought you’d be and you just so happened to be in my neighborhood and I am, too, and this thing is glowing and-”

His spider..eye..thingies were as wide as saucers, and it was only now that you noticed you were rambling. Your cheeks flushed, and you immediately cursed at your body for betraying you.

This is worse than tripping.

“Sorry,” you looked down at your shoes, "I babble when I’m-“ Nope. Not letting him know you’re nervous. Not that he doesn’t already know. You found yourself regretting telling him all your triggers and quirks in the past, because right now, you couldn’t tell whether he could figure you out or not.

He probably could, though.

This night just kept getting worse. Pack it up already.

You cleared your throat and straightened your shoulders in the most confident way you could, “Here,” you outstretched your arm to him, waiting for him to grab the foreign object, but all he did was stare, and stare, and stare. You didn't really know where to look, and you didn't know if he was gazing at you or not, but before you could say anything, he snapped out of whatever he was in and took a hold of the object. You tried not to think about his masked fingers that grazed yours.

“Thanks, uh, Y/n.” He said, not as intrigued by the object as you thought he’d be. Instead, he seemed to be looking at you. Or behind you. You still couldn't tell. You were too caught up in the way he said your name. It felt strangely familiar, and comforted you for a moment. It made you feel safe and wanted. Loved.

Before the memories reminded you of what he’d done.

“Sure,” you nodded, slowly backing away, “um, see you...around.”

“Yeah.”

As you turned on your heel to continue your trip home, he pipped up, “Oh, um, would- do you want me to walk you home? It’s really dark out here.”

You entertained the thought in your head for a second. "What could possibly happen if he walked you home, besides guaranteeing you safety?” Your heart spoke.

"Oh, I don’t know, you could accidentally blurt out that you know him, and then things will get even more awkward than they already are.” Your brain fought back, stubborn as ever.

Yeah, you’re definitely just going to pass up his offer.

“I’m, uh, I’m good. Need a little time to myself.” You nervously chuckled, wrapping your arms around yourself, “Thanks, though, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah.” He repeated, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he watched you walk away from him.

Like he’d done to you.

The rest of the fifteen minutes passed by faster than you anticipated, but maybe it was because you were too preoccupied considering you just confirmed your ex-best friend was a fucking superhero with fucking superpowers. As the confirmation made its way into your brain, you noticed that the signs were right beneath your nose, but you weren’t observant enough to figure it out. They started before he left you.

How did it start to begin with? Has he always had these powers?

Wait, no. Because Spider-Man wasn’t always around. And even if he really did have them for a long time, why leave you now? It must’ve been recent, you concluded.

But how? How does one go from an ordinary, lanky teenager to a robust superhero who can stop a speeding bus with his bare hands?

As one question was answered, another one took its place. The list just kept going and going, without a clear sign of it stopping.

In all honesty, you thought the videos that popped up on your YouTube recommended page of a web-slinging human were staged. In your defense, he seemed quite small to be a hero, and it wouldn’t be the first time some kid tried to fool the world with “a new superhero". You remember sending it to Peter and asking him if he thought it was real.

He never answered.

You hadn’t realized you were standing on your porch, staring at the overly large mahogany door in front of you. You sighed and took out your keys, placing them in the lock and twisting it.

You were lucky today was the beginning of the weekend. You wouldn’t be able to face him after seeing what you just saw. You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know what to do. Should you let him know that you know?

Should you let anyone know that you know?

That was the worst part about this whole thing. You had no one to turn to. No one to talk to about this, and there definitely wouldn’t be a wikiHow page on how to deal with something like this.

So, you ruled it out. One of the choices was obviously keeping the secret to yourself and not telling Peter you knew his identity. It would keep things from getting too awkward to handle and would keep him safe.

The other choice, the really horrible one, was to let everyone know. A part of you was still mad at what he’d done. You mean, he didn’t even try to apologize as he should’ve. That evil part of you, the hurt part, wanted revenge — wanted you to ruin Peter like he did you.

You knew people would believe you if you told them. You knew they’d find their ways to figure out if it’s true or not. But for some reason, you were hesitant. Yes, Peter ruined your life. Yes, Peter broke you in ways you believed were beyond mendable.

But Peter was also the boy who gave you his last Iron-Man bandaid when you scraped your elbow the first time you met. He’s the boy who pushed your bully and got punched in the face for it when you were ten. He’s the boy who saved your life the other day - the boy who saves dozens of strangers every week.

It was clear which option was better.

Keeping his secret didn’t mean you forgave him, though.

After everything, you didn’t know if you allowed yourself to forgive him. Part of you wanted you to, pleaded you to for the sake of moving on, but the more stubborn part of you remembered the pain you went through; the nights you spent crying yourself to sleep, the newfound insecurities of not being enough for anybody, the fear that others will leave you behind like he did.

Hell, you had a locked note in your notes app that contained a long speech about how you felt — about how he made you feel. The one you were to send him — but ended up deleting.

You groaned and rubbed your head, feeling an oncoming headache from the questions. You stayed in your house that weekend, trapped with a racing mind and no answers to slow it down.

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

You started noticing Peter act differently towards you when your freshman year of high school was close to ending. It started off with him rescheduling long-awaited plans and then showing up late, but you didn’t mind. He had told you he scored an internship at Stark Industries, and you swore you’d never felt prouder in your entire life.

He informed you that he could be called in at any given moment, which was his reason for leaving in the middle of your hangouts. You understood, and so, you encouraged him to do so.

But then, as time went by, you noticed a change. Instead of postponing the plans, he’d cancel them all together and wouldn’t make up for them. And sometimes, in the rare occasion in which he did postpone them, he’d stand you up, keeping you awake until you were on the brink of sleep.

He apologized multiple times for doing so, blaming it on the time the internship took for him, and you let it go, even when it became a pattern to leave you stranded.

You were okay with it.

Until it became too much.

During lunch, you could never find him, which ended up with you eating alone. During the only class you shared with him, he’d zone out while you were talking and completely ignore you. You’d normally come out of your last period ready to see him standing by your locker to begin your journey home, but he stopped being there, and you would walk home alone.

Texts and calls went unnoticed, and you felt the barrier he had placed between the two of you grow higher and higher as the time passed by.

What bothered you is that it was just with you. He acted completely normal around Ned. You often saw them chatting and laughing while you watched from afar, heart breaking into two as you wondered where you went wrong. You inspected every text message you sent and every conversation you had, often staying up late re-reading it until you reached the top. You just didn’t understand what happened.

One day, you approached him after school, running after him as he bolted through the school’s gates into the outside.

“Hey!” You called as you caught up to him and grabbed his arm, which flexed beneath your grip. You sighed and slightly loosened your grasp, “Can, um, can we talk?”

Peter visibly gulped, hesitantly nodding as his eyes bounced around your figure, never looking at you.

“Peter.” You ran a hand through your hair, carefully choosing your next words as to approach this topic cautiously, “What’s going on with you? You..you’ve been acting weird and distant. D-did do something?”

“I’m not acting weird,” Peter said, almost offendedly, quick to defend himself.

“Peter we haven’t hung out in weeks because you’ve been canceling them.” You retaliated.

“I told you, I-it’s the internship.”

You frowned, heart clenching at the tiredness that seeped into his voice, “I know.” You gave him a small smile, hoping for one in return, “I’m your best friend. I’m always here for you, you know.”

“I-“ He sharply inhaled, scratching the back of his head with his shaking left hand. “I don’t want you to be.”

Your smile instantly dropped, feeling a painful nudge in your stomach, “What?”

“I don’t..this isn’t working, Y/n. We can’t be friends anymore. I’m done.” He said. And so easily, too.

I’m done, he’d said.

Your heart stopped for a moment, taken aback by his bluntness and the harshness that came with his words, “What? Why? N-no.” You denied, "You’re just gonna leave? You can’t do that, I..What did I do?”

“Nothing. It’s just..it’s just better this way.” Peter visibly gulped, looking around the streets like he wasn’t standing there, breaking your fragile heart into pieces while you were trying your hardest to not fall apart right in front of him.

Dignity was still a thing. But so was your friendship.

“I can’t fix this if you won’t let me, Pete.” You pleaded, hoping he’d admit that something was wrong - that it wasn’t you that he was pushing away, that there was a reason for him doing so. You could fix this. You could.

“There’s nothing to fix. I don’t want to be friends, that’s it.” He shrugged, shuffling backward, getting ready to make a run from it.

“No,” you stopped him, grabbing his hand softly, despite the tears that already ran down your face, “There has to be a reason! Y-you can’t just leave like that! Give me a reason! WHAT DID I DO?!”

When he didn’t respond, you gave his loose hand a squeeze and wiped your tears with your sleeve, already feeling stupid for the amount of vulnerability you were displaying, especially when you weren’t getting any sort of reaction out of him besides coldness.

“Peter. Peter, please, just l-let me fix this.” You said, voice cracking, "You’re all I have left. Please don’t do this.”

You were begging. You knew you were, but you couldn’t let him leave without putting up a fight. You were a step away from begging on your knees, but you didn’t. You were able to stop yourself from doing so, but you still believed you could get through whatever this is - you were so sure of it.

But you never did.

And you swore he had ripped your heart from your chest, stepped on it, and nonchalantly walked away, leaving you to deal with the pain of the heartbreak on the sidewalk.

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#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel

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toxicjayhoe · 3 years

Text

Maximum Decibels

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader (Some description of OC)

Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia)

Concerts

Song fic

Explicit Sexual Content

Some Plot ish?

Alcohol

One night stand

Word count : 3000

Songs in this fic : You'll be fine by Palaye Royale I don't feel quite right by Palaye Royale

If he hadn’t been wearing earplugs, he was sure the noise blaring from the low-quality speakers to his right would have blown out his ear drums. Thankfully, Shinso wasn’t an amateur. He lived for his Friday and Saturday nights out.

Music was a big part of his life, just like most people, he assumed. He wasn’t much of the type of person to go out to big venues and rather preferred to go to see and support local bands that played in small, overcrowded bars.

He had never liked crowds, but they seemed easier to manage emotionally in seedy local venues. Physically, not so much.

Another black clothed mosh pitter was dramatically thrown from the pit and headed his way. It was common courtesy to just push them back in.

As with any show, it was impossible to escape the movements of others, shoulders and elbows bumping him as they swayed to the music or a hand on the back as they made their way to the front of the stage, hoping for a better view.

Shinso didn’t care about the view. He just wanted to stand there, lean against the wall behind him, and let the music wash over him, let it drown out all of his worries and anxieties.

The opener for the night said their thanks as they finished the last song of their set. The crowd hollered and screamed their appreciation before the horde scurried off like cockroaches towards either the bar, the bathroom or outside for a smoke.

A sigh left his lips as his shoulders relaxed before stretching his arms over his head, walking over to sit on the edge on the stage as the next band began setting up their gear.

Purple eyes scanned the darkly lit room, pausing on the small groups that remained on the lower floor, analyzing but not judging.

Everyone looked similar. Dark clothes, bright hair. He wasn’t much different. He stared at his old, dirty black boots. His favorite pair. Despite their age, the steel toes were still in perfect shape. He didn’t trust anything more than these boots.

His black jeans were ripped at the knees and, if they hadn’t been tucked into his boots, you could see the tears at the cuffs. His brow furrowed at the thought. He should probably get a new decent pair to replace them. He probably wouldn’t.

There were a few familiar faces, of course. He was here every weekend, and he wasn’t the only one. He didn’t talk to any of them, really. They had a silent understanding, nodding their greetings and nothing more.

Just the way he liked it.

The lights dimmed, announcing the start of the next band. He pushed himself up and walked back over to his wall as everyone started to pour back in.

He closed his eyes, intently listening to the melodies and beats. He wasn’t one to dance, but he lost himself to the music that day, allowing his head to bob to the rhythm.

Fridays were reserved for new bands to make their debut, while Saturdays were a mix of newcomers and the local classics.

He enjoyed getting acquainted with new sounds, but there was just something about recognizing a song with just the first few notes that made life worth living.

Tonight happened to be one of those nights. The bands started earlier and finished later. It was the one night of the week that he would come home exhausted and actually be able to get a full night's worth of sleep.

Saturdays were also the one night he would grab a few drinks of whiskey to accompany the thrum of vibrations coursing through his entire body. The alcohol just seemed to elevate the sensations while also allowing him to relax and enjoy his night more thoroughly.

Earplugs in and glass in hand, he leaned against his usual wall. Everyone was dressed much the same as usual and he was no exception. The only difference? He’d opted on a simple white t-shirt.

He found himself pushing his hair back as he scanned the faces in the crowd, his eyes lidded and his own expression passive. As usual.

A loud laugh caught his attention and his gaze darted to the offender. A flash of red hair, glasses and a crooked grin as the woman continued to laugh at whatever her friends were talking about.

It wasn’t a face he recognized, but it was one that he would remember. He tore his eyes away when he felt the familiar static in the air as the band began their sound check.

The second band had just finished their set and Shinso headed to the bar with the rest of the crowd for another glass of whiskey. He put it on his tab. He’d pay at the end of the night.

He took in his surroundings, much like he always did as he leaned on the bar while he waited for his drink. The place was much busier than usual, which made sense considering the line up. Some of his favorite locals were playing and he felt considerably lucky to experience them all play the same night.

In fact, the last band of the night had become fairly well known over the last few years and they were on tour in their hometown. He smiled at the thought. He remembered their first show.

His cup was placed by his arm and he nodded at the bartender in thanks. People had already begun to pile back in and he quickened his pace to stand in his usual spot. It was the perfect spot. Close enough to the stage that he wasn’t blinded by the mob jumping and far enough that he wasn’t completely trapped between sweaty bodies.

The familiar buzz of the mics being tested filled the room. Sipping the amber liquid, a small smile painted Shinso’s lips.

He was in for a wild night, he could tell with how rowdy the crowd was, shouting as soon the drummer began beating against the kick drum. Shinso tapped his foot to the rhythm.

As soon as he finished his third whiskey, his eyes caught a flash of yellow in the pit. Shinso dragged his gaze higher, from the hem of the patterned skirt and over a band shirt, red hair bouncing with the force of the woman’s movements.

Shinso stared as she sang with the band, her nose scrunched up and eyes closed, body swaying to the chaotic rhythm. Her every expression was exactly how he felt while listening to music, only he kept it in his heart instead of showing on his sleeve.

The brightness in her eyes when she opened them rivaled that of the sun’s.

He tore his gaze away and pressed his back into the wall.

And if he stole quick glances her way for the remainder of the song, he convinced himself it was just part of his routine; constantly scanning his surroundings. Analyzing and never judging.

Shinso never understood how bars had so few bathrooms. While the line for the boy’s bathroom was nowhere near as long as the girl’s, it still annoyed him.

Honestly, it should be illegal to have people waiting so long for a basic need.

Just as he’d made it to the front of the line, he caught sight of the pretty little redhead exiting the bathroom with her small group of friends. She was covering her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laugh, her arm linked with her multicolor-haired friend in the leather jacket.

He hadn’t noticed it was his turn for the bathroom until the guy behind him cleared his throat.

For some reason, Shinso had drinken far more than what he was used to. He was feeling rather good and very relaxed, a gentle smile plastered on his face, his eyes even more lidded than his norm.

His fingers tapped to the beat against his leg, eyes concentrated on whatever band they were on now. He couldn’t remember. He’d even left the comfort of his wall to get a better look at the stage. He only regretted it a little as more people bumped into him, a few almost knocking him over.

Shinso couldn’t remember the last time he felt this at ease in a crowd. Most likely never, if his memory served him right.

A more rough and up beat song was currently playing and the crowd was going absolutely wild, more and more people joining the center of the floor to jump and dance and push against the pit.

He changed his stance to have a bit more stability. He was glad he did, his arms instinctively reaching out as a small body collided with his, making him stagger.

Gazing down at the person in his arms, his breath caught in his throat as he hauled her up quickly.

She was even prettier up close.

The grin he received in thanks made his heart flutter, her hand squeezing his arm before she darted off into the pit again, disappearing from sight.

Shinso felt his legs moving of their own accord, towards the pit in an attempt to follow her.

I see it in those eyes

His eyes searched frantically in the horde, sweaty bodies pressing into him, moving him into one direction to the next. Shinso felt like he was in the ocean, the waves dragging him back and forth with a strength he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

You're so damn hypnotized

The lights from above the stage danced across them, illuminating the crowd long enough for him to catch a glimpse of red hair.

You wanted to pretend the voice you hear is not in your head

She was facing one of her friends, the tallest one of the three, the two of them grinning as they screamed the lyrics at each other, jumping in time with the crowd.

You wanted to escape, but you're not that innocent

Shinso couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that she seemed to know all the lyrics by heart, knew exactly when the pauses were and when the band would pick it up again.

Just stay for the show, don't turn around

His heart hammered in his chest.

I'm looking for you out there

He was unmoving, barely registering the bodies colliding with his, eyes still trained onto the group of friends as they bobbed their heads to the beat.

I’m looking for truth inside your stare

She had her back turned to him, but her friend with the dark hair did not. Their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away, quickly connecting the dots.

I’m looking for you outside

He could see her moving her lips, no longer singing the song before she motioned towards him. Ginger hair bounced as the redhead snapped her head his way.

'Cause I mean it, no, I mean it, you'll be fine!

The lights passed over the crowd again, allowing them to both see each other clearly. Recognition crossed her features.

I'm looking for you this way

She whispered something to her friends, and they both gave her exasperated looks, hands up in the air in a confused manner. Like they were arguing.

But you don't hear a word I say

Her eyes met his and he didn’t shy away from the intense gaze. It only pulled him forward.

I'm looking for you this time

Shinso saw as the two friends looked at each other, nodding before shoving the redhead towards him. He caught her in his arms again.

'Cause I mean it, yeah, I mean it, you'll be fine!

She was smiling up at him, heat rising on her cheeks at an alarming rate. He could no longer hear the music, just a faint buzz as everything else faded out.

Shinso had grabbed her by the wrist and gently dragged her to his spot at the wall. He could still hear the music but didn’t pay it much mind. He could still feel the vibrations coursing under his skin.

But nothing compared to the way his heart hammered in his chest, his purple eyes peering into hers. They were like sunbursts surrounded by chocolate brown.

His gaze traced down her face, connecting her freckles with his eyes, pausing when he reached an opal adorned nostril piercing, to the matching septum before he reached her cute pink lips.

His tongue darted out, wetting his own lips. Her eyes followed the movement.

Shinso shifted closer, practically towering over her as she watched him through her lashes. He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so bold. Perhaps it was still the alcohol running through his veins.

Maybe it was whatever connection they seemed to have urging him on.

A new song came on, her eyes lighting up but never leaving his. He watched as she mouthed the words, sending electricity up his spine, heat coiling inside him.

I don't feel quite right

The curl of her lips.

There's something in the air tonight

The suggestion in the way she stared up at him.

Must be the way she's looking at me

Shinso mouthed them along with her.

Is there something wrong

She took a step forward.

Is there something wrong with me

Her hands on the center of his chest, his own arms circling around her waist.

I don't feel quite right

Their lips collided.

Nothing like this had ever happened to Shinso. He never believed he could go through with anything like this.

In fact, the thought had never really crossed his mind.

He fumbled with his keys when they reached his door, the concert completely forgotten.

It was a blur of deep kisses and hands roaming the other’s body with soft but insistent touches.

Pushing her red hair from her shoulder, Shinso dipped his head to her neck, all lips and tongue against salty skin.

Delicate fingers threaded through his hair, gripping tightly when his fingers slipped under her plaid skirt and up the back of her soft thighs, tracing the edges of her panties.

His hands tightened before he heaved her up, her teeth on his bottom lip and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

A soft gasp escaped her when he dropped her onto his bed.

Shinso didn’t move, just stared down at her with lidded eyes. She looked perfect, hair messy, lips swollen, legs spread apart for him like an invitation.

He gladly accepted, crawling between thick thighs, hands on her knees. He spread her wider.

Agile fingers unbuttoned his pants, pushing them lower on his hips before he took over, discarding them somewhere on the floor.

When his cock collided with her heat, they both moaned, hips grinding into each other.

Any doubt he’d had about his current situation flew out the window as he pressed his fingers to her clothed clit.

Her panties were soaked through.

Slowly, he rubbed her little bundle of nerves with two fingers, a third sneaking under the material to feel just how wet she was.

Shinso released a breath he didn’t know he was even holding, hand sliding completely under the fabric and pressing two fingers into her heat.

A different kind of music filled the room. Breathy moans, small whimpers and the wet sound of his fingers inside her. Shinso’s thumb danced rhythmically at her clit, keeping the pressure gentle yet persistent.

His free hand pushed up her shirt roughly just above her bra, exposing her to his hungry eyes.

Cupping one of her breasts firmly, he squeezed into the soft flesh over and over, loving how she filled his large hand perfectly.

Shinso squeezed her nipple through the material of her bra and was very glad he did as her pussy clenched around his fingers still working inside of her, and juices rushed out of her and all over his forearm.

He’d never experienced anything so hot in his life.

When he removed himself from inside her, he chuckled at the desperate whimper she made.

Shinso wasted no time discarding his boxers, pumping himself slowly and groaning as he stared down at her.

He didn’t even bother removing her panties, just pushed them to the side with his cock before sliding in to the hilt.

A new beat could be heard throughout his appartement as he pounded into her rhythmically, her moans urging him on. Deeper, harder, faster before slowing down again, building up the pressure in the pit of his stomach.

His hands gripped her hips as he lost himself in every sensation. The way she tightened around him, the look of her throwing her head back, the glimpse of lust and pleasure in her eyes sent heat from his chest to his dick.

He felt himself twitch inside her.

Shinso could feel she was approaching her crescendo. His hips rolled over and over, pressing onto her clit with every thrust, tempo increasing until her cunt spasmed around his cock, her back arching off the bed.

Shinso fell forward with his hands on either side of her head, eyes locked as he buried himself into her again and again. The look she gave sent Shinso over the edge as he pulled out, spilling himself all over her pretty little skirt.

The image of her would be locked into his core memories for years to come.

He rolled over and laid on his back as they both tried catching their breaths.

The room became quiet as she drifted off. Only then did he allow himself to glance over at her.

Well, I can see the way she sleeps

He was sure he would wake up to her gone.

Tonight, I find a better peace of mind

It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

In her eyes, oh her eyes, oh her eyes, yeah

Shinso stared at her a little longer, a smile plastered on his face.

In her eyes, lord, her eyes, oh her eyes, yeah!

He never learned her name.

Art by me.

I wrote this fic as a birthday gift to myself but I hope you enjoyed!

#mha #bnha #shinsou x you #hitoshi shinso #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso fanart #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha shinsou #shinsou smut #shinsou simp #song fic

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fieldsofmoonshine · 4 years

Text

Maid of Honor

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Warning: cursing, leaving a guy at the altar, friends to run aways

Notes:

Word Count: 1313

Elijah was happy for you. Elijah was one-hundred-percent happy for you, more than happy. So fucking, happy. Over the moon. You were sitting in an arm chair, your legs pulled up to your chest as you looked in a mirror, your mother was curling your hair while a soft melody played from your speaker. Elijah was leaning against the doorway, he was happy for you. So happy. So freaking happy, really.

”You’re late,” you smiled at Elijah in the mirror, he smiled sheepishly and nodded as he walked into the room. ”You look great,” you told him as you looked at his purple bowtie. ”The perfect bridesmaid.”

Elijah chuckled and placed a hand on your shoulder. ”I do try my best,” Elijah told you, and placed a kiss on your mother’s cheek as she hugged him. ”You look even better, the best looking bride I have ever seen.”

”I’m still in my morning robe,” you answered blushing slightly as you looked down at your legs. ”Thank you, for being here for me.”

”You want to do the make up?” Your mother asked and looked at Elijah with a teasing smile as he chuckled and shook his head, sitting down against the desk.

”I believe I would make the bride look far too bad,” Elijah smiled as you chuckled with him, smiling brightly. Two hours passed quickly as your mother continued fixing your make-up while Elijah watched, helping you, fetching a coffee and a few pastries to make himself useful.

You sat by yourself in the room as he returned, watching yourself in the mirror. You were staring at yourself, you looked beautiful, you had never seen yourself looking so beautiful. Your make up was finished, a natural but stunning look, your hair curled around your face and that white gown, a gown which embraced your every curve. You looked like an angel.

”Are you alright?” Elijah asked, placing the plate and cup in front of you. You nodded absently, looking down at the table before looking up again. ”Y/N, look at me,” Elijah knelt down at your side placing a hand on your shoulder, you turned to him slowly, looking at him. ”You’re not alright, tell me, I’m your maid of honor, remember?”

You chuckled slightly and looked down at him. ”I’m not alright, I’m not alright,” you whispered and looked down at the floor between the two of you. ”Am I doing the right thing? Elijah, am I doing the right thing?”

”No,” Elijah didn’t even know he said it before it was too late, you looked at him and raised your eyebrows, your breath catching in your throat. ”I mean—”

”You’re supposed to say yes,” you breathed out feeling the tremble coming to your voice. ”You’re supposed to say yes, Y/N, you are without a doubt doing the right thing.”

”I don’t think you are,” Elijah answered. ”If you think this is what you want to do, I will support you to the end of the aisle, but no… I don’t think this is right.”

”Why?” It was a simple question, it should have a simple answer but it didn’t. Elijah sighed as he looked at you, slowly dropping his hand from your shoulder. You watched his hand as it fell to his side, before looking up at his face again. ”Why?”

Elijah took a subtle but deep breath before meeting your eyes. ”I want to be the one who waits for you on the other side of the aisle, I’ve wanted to since we met.”

”Oh,” you bit your lip, even though you knew it would ruin your lipstick. ”Fuck, Elijah.”

”Run away with me,” Elijah didn’t know what he was doing, this was the opposite of the person he was. The absolute opposite, he did not ruin marriages before they even begin, he didn’t ruin your happiness. ”Run away with me.”

”I’m in a wedding dress, I’m in my wedding dress,” you answered and shook your head, your hands absently tracing the beadings. ”I— you, why couldn’t you say this when I told you a year ago that I didn’t know if I should say yes? You told me to say yes!”

”You seemed happy, I want you to be happy,” Elijah told you and stood up, you looked at him with tears clouding your eyes as you grabbed his hand. Making sure he wouldn’t leave. ”Please don’t cry.”

”I can’t run in this,” you whispered and cleared your throat. ”And my mom will be back in like ten minutes so we need to go now.”

”What?”

”I’m running away with you, Elijah,” you told him with a smile. ”We’re running away.”

Elijah smiled at you, using the hand you were already holding to pull you to your feet, with one hand behind your back and the other still in your hand you felt his lips press against your. A warm, amazing, and absolutely perfect kiss. You had kissed Elijah once before, a drunk dare from his sister, but it was one of the best kisses you had ever had. Until this one, this kiss beat everything you had— ever.

”Oh, God,” you both turned towards the door, pulling away as you heard your mother’s voice in the door.

”Mom—”

”Oh, God,” she repeated, her hand over her mouth as she looked between the two of you. ”Tell me, is this a last time kiss, or a—”

”I can’t marry, Richard,” you stated and held onto Elijah’s hand.

”Okay, okay,” your mother nodded to herself and went into the room closing the door behind her, you stood silent while Elijah kept his eyes trained on his mother with a guilty look. ”Okay— I would say this is a surprise but I kinda thought it was Elijah who proposed a year ago… Richard is on the other side of the building, no guests have arrived yet, so you two are going to leave, now.”

”What—”

”Now, Y/N! Now, before anyone gets here!” Your mother raised her voice and gave you that look which only a mother could give you. ”Go now.”

”Okay, okay,” you answered and nodded. ”Let’s run, then.”

”Let’s run,” Elijah answered, he didn’t dare to feel happy yet. Not until you were somewhere far away, Elijah walked out of the room first, not letting go of your hand. You kissed your mother’s cheek as you passed her before hurrying after Elijah, the skirt was heavy but it felt like feathers as you held Elijah’s hand, walking towards the exit together.

”Wait,” Elijah stopped and stopped you, pushing you both into a corner. You raised and eyebrow and was about to ask what was happening before Elijah brought a finger up to your lips, indicating for you to stay silent. It was strange, you should be feeling like the worst person on the planet, leaving a man who loved you, but as you hid in a corner from your family the only thing you could think about was Elijah’s finger on her lips. A single kiss was all it took for you to fall at his every move, you smiled slightly and wrapped your arms around his waist.

”You could get us out in seconds,” you whispered against his fingers and smiled as he lifted you up, as if he had forgotten about his supernatural abilities. You giggled as you felt the air speed past you, until you were both in the parking lot, Elijah stopped beside his car and picked the keys up from his pocket before unlocking the door. You jumped into the car, nervously watching as he sat down in the driver’s seat.

”You sure about this?” Elijah asked, turning the keys in the ignition. ”You can go back, and I’ll leave.”

”No, I’m sure,” you stated with a smile, holding his hand placed on the gear shift. ”Let’s go.”

”Let’s go.”

#Elijah Mikaelson x reader #fluff #Elijah mikaelson #tvdu #au #wedding #run away #reader insert #Elijah Mikaelson one shot

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joonkorre · 4 years

Text

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared.

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been.

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up.

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind.

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two).

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

#drarry #drarrymicrofic #drarry fic #fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #blanket fort #oneshot #3k words #draco would be the type to get mushy mushy in private and call harry shit like lover darling my love #harry would say draco baby and babe everywhere #thats it hes uncreative like that #and draco wouldnt even care #both of their love languages are acts of service so draco doesnt need reassuring when he knows harry would burn cities for him #they love each other very ardently that simple gestures communicate entire sonnets #and theyre cool with that #good for them #joonkorre writes

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

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In A Day or Two-Ch. 34

A/N: I’m so sorry to @hungmanhorsecarriage that there’s no sexy times in this chapter. Coming in 34, I swear!

Chapter 33

Two days after the disastrous dinner with my parents, I sat ringside in the Hammerstein Ballroom in Midtown. I’d been to a couple concerts and dozens of galas held there before, but the room looked nothing like it did for those black tie affairs. No, the Hammerstein was packed with people sitting on metal folding chairs on the floor and crowding along the seats up in the balcony. A ring sat in the middle of the room with a ramp leading down from the stage. Music blared through speaker towers and video played on a screen as each wrestler came out for their match.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the show. It was one thing to watch Kenny wrestle—there was something about him that was magical—but I found that I actually liked wrestling. More than once, I found myself on my feet, screaming and clapping along as if I’d been a fan for years.

Several of Kenny’s friends wrestled early in the show. Adam Page, the blond Virginia cowboy nicknamed Hangman, opened the show. He was ridiculously athletic, and I nearly had a heart attack when he climbed up onto the first floor balcony and flipped backward into a crush of other wrestlers. But he stood up shouting and dragging his opponent back to the ring, leaving me wondering exactly how often he did something like that.

Kenny and the Bucks were the main event in what I found out was called a six-man tag match. I honestly hadn’t paid attention to their opponents when they came out. My eyes were glued to the entrance ramp the moment I heard Bullet Club reverberate through the speakers. The screen showed a skull with teeth made of bullets and crossbones made of rifles. The skull had a blue and purple bandana. I grinned and hopped to my feet as a black curtain parted and Kenny led the way out onto the stage, Matt and Nick just a few steps behind him.

The Bucks were dressed in black tees with the hems and arms cut into tassels, their wrestling gear all black with splashes of color and fringed bellbottoms. Nick had a bandana tied on, holding back his hair. Matt’s was in a low ponytail. They grinned and hammed it up, carrying their championship belts over their shoulders. I’d seen them backstage before, but never in the ring. They were absolutely mesmerizing to watch—perfectly in their element and riding high on the adoration of the crowd.

A ripple of noise went through the gathered audience. As one, the crowd began chanting “Young Bucks, whoop whoop,” over and over again. I fell into it, stomping and clapping and shouting along with them.

Not a moment later, the chant morphed into a rhythmic “The Elite… the the Elite” as Kenny burst through the curtain. He gear was black with white angel wings on the sides and the Omega symbol on his kneepads. Over his bare chest, he wore a sleeveless leather jacket with a single black-feathered wing on the shoulder. His hair was a riotous mess of black and blue curls made heavy with water.

The three of them strutted to the ring, slipping between the ropes and posing toward the audience. I couldn’t help but bounce up and down, screaming in happiness and excitement at seeing them. A cameraman shifted into his place slightly in front of me, trying to catch the three of them. I kept my eyes on them, blushing when Nick winked and blew a kiss in my direction. Kenny smirked, nipping his bottom lip as he sauntered toward the ropes.

My heart thundered in my chest, practically bursting through my ribs. I blushed, even as the thought ran across my mind that they were just mugging for the camera.

***

The match was almost over. Nick had one of their opponents in what looked like a painful contortion. I could see him snapping his gum and shouting tap! Matt was tussling with another of their opponents in the opposite corner, trying to keep them from getting back in the ring to interfere. Kenny was on the mat outside, snatching the third opponent into a nasty-looking throw over his shoulder.

It happened in an instant. Kenny stood, ready to repeat the move. Before he could, his opponent tripped him up, sending him hurtling face first into the steps by the side of the ring. I heard him curse and thump the mat with his fist. When he rolled over, I could see why. Blood spilled down his face from a gash that stretched from near his temple, over his right eyebrow, and down to the bridge of his nose.

Matt seemed to see the blood the exact moment that I did. I covered my mouth, pressing my palm hard against my lips to hold back the scream that built in my chest. In the same breath, I wanted to climb over the barrier and go to him and yet I couldn’t make my legs move. Nausea clawed up my throat.

A bell rang somewhere in the distance. Matt ran to Kenny and pulled him up from the floor, pressing a balled up towel against the gash that still wept blood on Kenny’s forehead. Nick snatched up their belts, hooked them over one arm, and then ran to help his brother support Kenny toward the back. I snatched up my bag and ran flat out toward the lobby. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there, but I couldn’t sit there and wait.

No sooner had I hit the lobby, turning in stunned circles to figure out what to do, did a door open on the far side of the room. Nick’s sweaty face appeared as he hissed my name and waved me over. “Come on,” he said, grabbing me by the hand the moment I was within reach. He tugged me through the doorway and down the hallway. “He’s down the hall, third door on the left. Go!”

I ran, barely able to catch my breath, panic rushing through my chest. My thoughts were filled with the image of Kenny’s face streaked with blood. “There,” Nick shouted from behind me, pointing toward a partially closed door.

The moment I pushed through the door, I thought I was going to faint. Kenny sat on a padded table with a white towel draped over his right shoulder. Blood still trickled down from the cut over his eye, gathering in rivulets along the side of his nose and down along his cheekbone. He looked up, blue eyes going wide when he saw me.

“Shaye…” He moved to stand, but Matt grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. He winced at the impact. A fresh gush of blood trickled down into his eye.

I moved closer, my fingers trembling as they reached for him. His eyes were remarkably blue as he watched and waited. “Oh, Kentan,” I whispered, reaching up to brush a sweat-soaked curl from his temple.

“Koibito,” he replied as his taped up, calloused fingers settled over mine. He was warm, his skin sticky with sweat and drying blood. “I wish you didn’t have to see this.”

A smile curved my lips even as I tried to fight it. “I get the feeling this isn’t unheard of in your line of business,” I teased. “Besides, I’ve heard that chicks dig blood and scars.”

Kenny smiled and I couldn’t help but move closer, feeling more comfortable with touching him. My heart skipped a beat as I took the towel from the trainer, pressing it gently against his forehead. The world slowed, narrowed until there was nothing but the two of us. It didn’t matter that he was busted open and bleeding, he was still the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

Matt slipped around the table, and I saw him lean against the wall next to his brother. I turned back toward them and smiled softly. “Thank you both,” I said gratefully. “For taking care of him.”

“Somebody has to,” Nick said, not quite smiling.

We looked at one another for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us. It was at once unnerving and comforting. My attention turned back to Kenny as he slid his arm around my waist, the palm of his hand settling on the dip of my back. His thumb brushed the curve of my ribs as he leaned in and rested the uninjured side of his head against my shoulder. I brushed my free hand through his sweat-soaked curls, gathering them up in my fingers and lifting them from his forehead.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked quietly. A quick shift of the towel proved that the blood had slowed to barely an ooze.

Kenny smiled, looking up at me with his eyes bright and content. “I just want to go home.”

I grinned. “Home is about seven thousand miles that way,” I gestured vaguely westward.

His arm tightened around me. “Home is wherever you are, Shaytan.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @imagineall-the-fandoms @Waywardstrong @lilred91

@lakamaa12 @maelleoute @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @writtingrose

@unabashedwrestlefics @hungmanhorsecarriage

#in a day or two #kenny omega #kenny omega fanfiction #aew #aew fanfiction #nick jackson #matt jackson #ofc #oc #shaye walker #kenny x shaye #multi-chapter #travel #japan #japanese #strangers to friends to lovers #romance

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ryqoshay · 4 years

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How to Handle a Nico - Dinner at the Nishikino’s

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~4.1k Rating: K Time Frame: Late in Maki’s 1st year and Nico’s 3rd year in college. Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: This chapter was assembled from a patchwork of about a dozen instances I wanted to include and thus wrote each separately. And somewhere along the lines, MS Word decided not to sync between my PC and mobile devices, so I ended up with two, slightly differently edited versions. Thus, here’s hoping my self-purported prowess with prose was successful in stitching this scene into a sensible structure. Please forgive any unsightly seams.

Nico couldn’t remember the last time she had been this nervous. No, wait, just a few days ago, her first date with Maki. Well, first official date, not counting all of the not-actually-date-but-technically-were-dates from years prior. Unfortunately, that was quickly falling into second place as she approached the gate to the Nishikino home.

Perhaps the date had been easier because she knew Maki, knew Maki liked her, knew Maki liked spending time with her, knew Maki wanted to date her, and was fairly confident Maki was attracted to her. She had known all of these things even before they started dating officially. As such, looking back, she wasn’t sure why she had been so nervous for their first date, because with the exception of one little hiccup named Etsuko, it had all gone splendidly.

But the parental Nishikinos were more of an unknown. Nico had met both of Maki’s parents a handful of times throughout the years, but had never really gotten to know either. She was all but certain she would have little problems with Maki’s mother as she had apparently been talking behind the scenes with her mother about her and Maki’s developing relationship. And she had been quite supportive of Maki’s time as a school idol, so Nico didn’t think she would object to her intended career choice.

Maki’s father on the other hand… Nico remembered quite vividly when he almost made Maki quit being a school idol after her grades slipped the tiniest of bits; not even enough for her to drop from her position as top of her class. Umi had been the one to stand up to him, which made sense insofar as she understood having parents with high expectations. Still, looking back, Nico couldn’t help feeling a bit of regret that she hadn’t been the one to protect Maki. Sure, she had offered her support, but…

“Good evening, Yazawa-san.” A voice came over the speaker.

Nico jumped. Had she even pushed the button to announce her presence?

“Yes, good evening.” She replied as she recognized the voice of the Nishikino estate manager.

“Ojou-sama has informed me of pending arrival, though as always, you are most welcome here.”

“Thanks.” Nico replied as the buzzer sounded to indicate the gate was unlocked.

One gate down, literally. Nico thought as she made her way toward the front door. Though part of her wished Maki had been the one to answer the intercom, she was nonetheless thankful that it had been a member of the house staff with whom she got along well. At least it hadn’t been…

“D-Dr. Nishikino?” Nico sputtered as the door suddenly swung open to reveal a towering, bespectacled man who immediately fixed her with a cool and calculating gaze.

Damn. Why had she stuttered? This wasn’t the first time she had met Maki’s father, and if all went well tonight, it wouldn’t be the last. You can do this Nico! Sure it wasn’t the man she expected and she was caught a bit unaware, but… Gah! Stop being intimidated. You’re here for a reason! And that reason is Maki-chan!

“Yazawa-san.” Maki’s father stated flatly.

“Hi…” Nico cutoff by clearing her throat. “Good evening.” She corrected, offering a polite bow. “I’m…”

“I’m afraid my daughter will be unable to entertain your visit tonight.” Dr. Nishikino interrupted. “We are expecting an important guest who should be arriving presently.”

I’m an important guest? No, wait, of course I am! I’m Maki’s girlfriend now. So, buck up and tell him that.

“Yes, sir, that guest is me.” For emphasis, Nico indicated the stylish dress she had picked out specifically for the occasion. “I’m Maki’s date.”

“…” Dr. Nishikino raised an eyebrow but remained steadfast in his position.

“Nico-chan!” the voice of an angelic savior came from behind the barrier of the paternal Nishikino. “Papa, let her in.”

Dr. Nishikino stepped aside and…

Holy… Nico had to make a conscious effort to avoid letting her jaw hit the floor. Not that Nico, at any point, had forgotten that Maki was beautiful, but when the redhead went all out, it was all she could do not to stare. Though elegantly modest, the deep purple dress still managed to highlight Maki’s best features.

“You’re early.” Maki said, bringing Nico back to reality.

“I’m sorry, did I take you away from your precious piano?” Nico couldn’t help teasing a bit, figuring the younger girl had wanted to arrive at her parents’ home earlier for a few moments of nostalgia with the instrument she grew up playing.

“Yeah, actually.” Maki admitted as she glanced away sheepishly.

“Well maybe after dinner, you can continue your concert, but with an audience?” Nico pointed herself as if it wasn’t already obvious who she meant.

“I’d like that.”

“You look lovely, by the way. Purple always looks good on you, Maki-chan.”

“Thanks.” Maki replied as pink dusted her cheeks. “You look good too. I like when you leave your hair down. It makes you look more…” She trailed off.

“More?”

“Sorry, I meant…”

“More mature?” Nico completed what she believed to be her girlfriend’s thought.

“Uhm… yeah…”

“I’ll have you know Nico is always mature.” She squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips pridefully.

Maki raised an eyebrow in a way that left no question as to her linage.

“Anyway, I haven’t seen that dress before, is it new?”

Maki nodded. “Mama and I just got back a little while ago from picking it out.”

Huh… Mama and I were also just out shopping for my dress. Nico thought to herself. And, wait a minute… “We match.” Or at least they matched in the way their old idol costumes matched in overall theme and enough details to be an obvious set while maintaining enough individuality to be unique as well.

“We do?” Maki glanced down at herself before back at Nico. After half a second, she smiled. “Yeah, we do. What a nice coincidence.”

Nico found herself wondering if the coincidence was perchance planned by a pair of meddling mothers who meant well. She made a mental note to ask her mother about the issue later, if for no other reason than to thank her for the cute gesture.

“So, dinner isn’t for a little while yet” Maki continued “but they might have appetizers ready already so why don’t we head to the dining room and I’ll quick check?”

“Lead the way.” Nico decided not to bring up how she still got lost in the huge house, even after visiting frequently over the last few years.

“You coming, Papa?”

Nico realized she had all but forgotten the paternal Nishikino was still there. Stealing a quick side glance, she found him quietly observing the couple. If she was reading things correctly, his aura had warmed somewhat, though was no less calculating than before; gears were obviously grinding behind his stoic expression.

“Your mother and I will meet you at the table.” Dr. Nishikino stated. “I’ll go find her.”

As Maki took her hand to lead her through the house, Nico noticed her grip was tighter than normal. A lot tighter. Maki was more nervous than she was letting on. Just how worried was she about her father’s approval of their relationship? Nico already knew Maki’s mother was wholly supportive, as was her own, but the only things she really knew about Maki’s father were that he had high expectations for his daughter and was not particularly fond of idols.

“Wait, Maki-chan,” Nico said, stopping in the hallway before they reached their destination “hold up a moment.”

“Eh?” Maki uttered, not seeming to notice the change and almost yanking Nico’s arm out of the socket before being held to a halt. “Nico-chan?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Maki.” Nico fixed her girlfriend with a steady stare. The redhead returned the gaze, though was far more furtive, and when she began to fidget with her hair, Nico reached out and gently touched her hand. “What’s wrong?” She repeated.

Maki released a puff of air. “I’m nervous, alright? I… I just really want Papa to like you.”

“I’m nervous too.” Nico admitted, her thoughts racing through things she could say to calm them both down. “But you know, he didn’t turn me away at the door, so that’s gotta count for something, right?” She paused for a moment. “Well, technically, he did, but that was before he realized why I was here, but he still let me in, so that has to mean he’s willing to give me a chance, right?”

“I just… I know he’ll bring up idols, and…”

“Maki-chan.” Nico took a step in to close some of the distance between them. “Nico didn’t become the No. 1 Idol in the Universe without learning a thing or two about reading her audience.”

“…” Maki’s expression wasn’t one of disbelief but of continued concern.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to your father about my career of choice, but I’m also not going to try to convert him into a fan or convince him that idols are the most amazing thing ever, even if I believe that myself.”

“I know…”

“And I am attending college and aim to get a degree.” Nico continued. “Sure it won’t be a fancy medical degree like yours, but I’m getting it while still being an idol. So that’s also gotta count for something, right?”

“Papa does respect hard work.”

“And Nico is a hard worker.”

“I know.” Maki affirmed, dropping her hand before leaning her head into Nico’s hand. “Nico-chan is one of the hardest workers I know when it comes to working toward her goals. It’s always admired, and envied, about you.”

Nico scoffed. “You say that as if you don’t work hard as well, Maki-chan.”

“Mmm…” Maki hummed in a tone that implied she was paying attention to something other than the conversation at hand.

Hand… Maki closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against Nico’s hand, causing her to open her fingers to increase contact. It should be fine here, right? Nico moved in the rest of the way and tilted her chin up. Maki followed her hand as Nico guided her down. Their lips touched and…

“Oh dear…” A startled voice uttered, causing the couple to jolt away from each other. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Ojou-sama.”

“I-It’s f-fine…” A blushing Maki stumbled through.

Nico recognized the woman one of the newer members of the Nishikino house staff. She was responsible for general assistance wherever needed.

“Welcome, Yazawa-san.” The woman said with a polite bow, but when she righted herself, her expression was thoughtful. “Although, now that you’re dating Ojou-sama, perhaps Yazawa-sama is more appropriate?”

“Just Nico is fine.” Nico assured.

“Right, anyway, I’m on my away to retrieve some bottles of Cloudy Bay at the behest of the master.”

“White?” Maki inquired.

The woman nodded. “We’ve prepared a delightful shrimp pasta for the main course.” She turned to Nico. “Ojou-sama has informed us of your talent in the kitchen, so we hope to meet your standards, Yazawa-sama.”

Guess the new title is going to stick. Nico thought to herself. “I’m sure it will be great.”

“The caprese salads should be ready if you wish to head to the dining room now.”

“Tomatoes, of course.” Nico couldn’t help commenting.

“Yes.” The staff member confirmed. “We have also been informed of one of your preferences, so for dessert, we will be serving traditional crepes with lemon and sugar.”

“Sounds delicious.”

The woman smiled before bowing again to excuse herself and hurrying down the hall.

“Is there anything wrong with your father requesting white wine?” Nico asked, trying to gauge her girlfriend’s reaction.

“I don’t believe so.” Maki shook her head. “White is better paired with seafood, after all.”

“Yes, but…?”

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Maki shook her head again. “Cloudy Bay is actually one of Papa’s favorites. He’s quite fond of the New Zealand area in general.”

“One of his favorites? That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

“I hope so.”

Nico took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it slowly. “Well, the salad is apparently ready, so we may as well get to it.”

Maki nodded before taking Nico’s hand once more to complete their journey to the dining room. Nico noted, thankfully, that her girlfriend’s grip was far more relaxed this time around.

Upon arrival, the couple was greeted by the Nishikino estate manager who showed them to their seats. Shortly thereafter, Maki’s parents arrived and took their own seats. Next the chef and her assistant from before arrived with the first course. Finally, the first bottle of wine was uncorked and the meal was underway.

“So, Yazawa-san,” Dr. Nishikino stated, drawing Nico’s attention “you’ve known Maki since high school, am I correct?”

“Yes.” Nico affirmed. “It was Maki-chan’s first year and my third.”

“I see. And were you one of the girls who helped convince her to become an idol?”

Well, that didn’t take long for the subject to come up. Nico thought to herself. Straight to the point, I guess, unlike a certain dishonest daughter of his…

“Actually, it was the other way around.” Nico replied.

“Oh?”

“I was in a disillusioned and jaded state back then, after my first attempt at forming a group fell through.” Nico admitted. “And it was Honoka and Maki-chan and the others that pulled me out of my funk and helped me remember why I adored idols so much and wanted so desperately to be one.” She couldn’t help smiling as fond memories flooded her mind. “I really do owe them all a debt of gratitude for that.”

“I see. And you are still an idol now?”

“Part time.” Nico nodded. “I was able to find a small production company that was willing to work around my classes. It fills up my schedule and keeps me busy, but also lets me keep my foot in the door.”

“Because you intend to go full time even once you’ve earned a degree?”

Nico wasn’t particularly fond of the wording of the question and had to resist the urge to call it out; had it been Maki and they were in a more casual setting, she likely would have done so.

“I do.” She said aloud instead. “And once I retire from being an idol, the degree will help me find other employment.”

“And what type of employment might that be?”

“Something still in the industry, if possible.” Out of the corner of her eye, Nico caught a suppressed expression of surprise on her girlfriend’s face. Understandable, as it was news to Maki as well. “Choreographer, trainer, costume design, heck maybe even a producer, someday. Basically, I’d like to pay forward my debt by helping the next generations of idols.”

“And one is able to earn a living in such an industry?”

“Others have before me; I believe I can as well.” Nico gave another glance to the redhead beside her. “I may not have the skills to become a life-saving doctor like Maki, but I can still do my part to make the world a better place; one smile at a time.”

“Medicine, law, business, engineering,” Maki’s mother suddenly spoke up “these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” She smiled at Nico. “I believe Mr. Keating’s words hold true for many things. Music, painting, writing, really the arts as a whole are what make life worth living.”

“Mr. Keating?” Nico inquired.

“The lead character of Dead Poets Society.” Maki responded. “We should watch it sometime, Nico-chan; it’s really good.”

“And it is because the arts are so important” Dr. Nishikino continued “that my husband and I strive to support them as much as possible. In fact, we will be attending a performance of The Barber of Seville late next month and have not even started sending out invites to fill our box. You two are more than welcome to join us.”

At this, Maki’s eyes lit up. “Next month? When?”

“I’ll message you the dates later, but it’s a weekend so you should be able to work it into your study schedule.”

Maki turned to Nico with an expression rivaling the one she wore when December started. “Do you want to come with me?”

Nico smiled at her girlfriend’s excitement and word choice. “I’d love to. But where have I heard that title before?”

“From my playlist.”

“Tchaikovsky?” Nico made sure to pronounce the name as correctly as she could.

Maki shook her head. “Rossini.”

Nico racked her memory. “Cinderella?”

“Yes, different opera, same composer.”

“One smile at a time, you said?” Maki’s father suddenly stated.

“Oh, yeah.” Nico recalled her words from a few minutes ago.

The barest hint of something tugged at the edges of Dr. Nishikino’s lips. “Well, if nothing else, you have succeeded in making my daughter smile.” He nodded toward Maki, directing Nico’s attention back to the mentioned reaction. “And as my wife and I can attest, that is not always the easiest of tasks.”

“… P-Papa…” Maki offered a mild protest as pink dusted her cheeks and her mother chuckled.

Nico couldn’t help a smile of her own as she turned back to Maki’s father. “I think I’m up to the challenge.”

“Indeed.”

Wait… wasn’t this a bit hypocritical? Nico suddenly thought. Why claim to be a patron of the arts while simultaneously disallowing one’s daughter from being an artist?

On occasion, Maki had bemoaned being railroaded into the medical career while her dreams of being a professional pianist were dismissed as a passing fancy. Yet she hadn’t acknowledged the contradiction. Was she even aware of it? With the level of reverence Maki held for her parents, Nico could easily imagine her remaining oblivious; well, that and Maki’s overall naivete in many aspects of life.

Should she tell her? Was it even Nico’s place say such a thing? Nico was no stranger to speaking her mind when it came to her own interests, or those of her siblings. And she was dating Maki now, which meant defending her girlfriend’s best interests also shouldn’t surprise anyone. Or at least what she believed to be Maki’s best interests, as her parents obviously felt differently.

“On a related topic, Yazawa-san, Maki has told us much about your shared love of music.” Dr. Nishikino continued.

Nico derailed her own train of thought and refocused her attention on the conversation at hand. “It is one of our favorite subjects to discuss… or argue over.”

“And you often listen together while studying.”

“I believe music helps keep us in a good mood, which then helps us study.” Nico explained.

“I think we can all attest to the positive effects of music.” The Nishikino matriarch said.

“Indeed.” Her husband agreed.

“And Maki-chan has helped expand my appreciation of other genres of music.” Nico turned to her girlfriend. “And I’d like to think I’ve expanded hers as well.”

Maki nodded an affirmation with a smile.

“Maki also has told us that she often helps you study.”

“She does.” Nico confirmed. “Maki is incredibly smart. Even if she doesn’t know the answer to a problem, she is often able to logic things through and help guide me in the right direction. Honestly, if I didn’t already know she was going to be a doctor, I’d’ve suggested she become a teacher.”

“Now that would be an interesting career choice.” Maki’s mother said thoughtfully.

“Hrm…” Her father seemed less than convinced. “So, do you help her study in return?”

“Well…” Nico started.

“Nico-chan helps in other ways, Papa.” Maki offered. “Even if she isn’t able to help me with a given topic, she helps ensure I take regular breaks so I can come back with better focus. She makes sure I’m hydrated and helps track my nutrition and is quite insistent on keeping a decent sleep schedule. Honestly, she’s better at taking care of me than I am.” Her eyes widened as her admission registered in her mind.

“That’s right,” Her mother continued with the thoughtfulness from earlier, though Nico was sure she detected some teasing undertones “wasn’t it Nico that saved Maki from herself back on her birthday?”

“Mama…” Maki was losing a battle in trying to keep down another blush.

“Maki is very diligent in her studies.” Nico stated. “And I’m happy to help where I can.”

“Hmm… sounds like another couple we know, right Dear?” Dr. Nishikino sent a sly smile toward her husband, the teasing more obvious now.

“… Perhaps.” Maki’s father conceded.

Was it Nico’s imagination or did she just catch another glimpse into the source of some of Maki’s behavior? The Nishikino patriarch wasn’t the easiest to read behind his stoic mask, but his daughter wasn’t always straightforward with her emotions either and Nico had figured her out fairly well by this point.

As far as Nico was concerned, the rest of dinner went quite smoothly. Once Maki’s father got past his initial questions, he remained mostly quite. It ended up being Nico and Maki’s mother carrying the bulk of the conversations, which honestly didn’t really surprise Nico all that much. Maki’s mother inquired about Nico’s family, though Nico suspected she already knew most of the things anyway and it was more for Maki’s father’s sake. Still, Nico wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to brag about her amazing siblings and about how proud of them she was in taking care of the household and themselves in her absence.

After dinner, Maki’s parents excused themselves to finish up the day’s emails and paperwork. Nico couldn’t help but wonder if that would be something Maki would end up doing once she became more involved with the hospital administrative duties.

As for Nico herself, she joined Maki in the Nishikino music room for the previously promised private concert. There, she had happily settled into the best seat in the house, next her girlfriend on the bench. All in all, it was a wonderful conclusion to what she believed to be a wonderful night. However, as confident as she was, she still wanted to be sure, so she made a mental note to ask the one she believed would know best, or at least better than herself.

“So, how did I do?” Nico asked, once she was sure they were well beyond earshot of anyone even remotely associated with the Nishikino residence.

“You were perfect, Nico-chan.” Maki responded with a smile that sent a warm feeling through Nico’s chest. “I think Papa likes you and is fine with us dating, and we already know how Mama feels.”

Thank the gods… Nico thought with relief. And with that load off her mind, “Of course I was perfect,” she decided to get in some teasing of her own, after spending the evening watching Dr. Nishikino do so “Nico is always perfect.” She grinned and held up her signature gesture.

“Id…” Maki’s typical retort was interrupted by a yawn.

Nico laughed before continuing the tradition. “You love it.”

“… Maybe…” Maki managed to get out as her energy seemed to be leaving her rapidly.

Nico leaned her shoulder into her girlfriend. “Steady there, Maki-chan, you going to be alright getting back to your dormroom?”

“Eh? But, I thought…”

“You thought…?”

“I thought I was going to your place?”

“Well you can, obviously you’re always welcome, but…” Nico motioned to Maki’s outfit, taking the moment to enjoy the view as well “I figured since you don’t have a change of clothes, you wouldn’t want to put this back on in the morning.”

“It’s fine…” Maki stifled another yawn. “I just want to go home…” She blinked and shook her head. “I mean your home… Yours… yours and Nozomi’s, I mean… ueeehhh…”

Nico chuckled. “It’s your home too, Maki-chan.” By the gods did she want to kiss the redhead whose cheeks were now matching her hair, but even this late at night, there was a risk of being seen. Later. She promised herself. “Nozomi and my names may be on the lease,” she said instead “but that doesn’t make it any less home to you or Eli.”

“T-thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me for that; that much is normal for couples, right? But you know, Eli does leave a lot of stuff in Nozomi’s room…” Nico thought aloud “perhaps I should clear out a drawer and make some room in the closet for you.”

“I’d like that.” Maki smiled. “I’ll be sure to bring some stuff over soon.”

“Good. For tonight, you can borrow your usual sleep shirt and we’ll figure out something else in the morning. I think the outfit I lent you the other day is clean, but if not, maybe Nozomi has something that will fit you.”

Maki nodded.

“Then it’s settled.” Nico took Maki’s hand as they boarded the train together. “Let’s go home.”

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #fanfic

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kinsbin · 5 years

Text

Always to the Rescue [Commission]

Title: Always To the Rescue Word Count: 2098 Pairing: Kiwi/Dick Grayson [si/canon]

Summary: Batman informs Nightwing that his girlfriend has been kidnapped. Nightwing, as expected, takes it as well as he’s able to: meaning that he goes to save her instead of waiting for backup like a sane hero.

A/N: A commission for @trunks-kiwi and their s/i with Dick Grayson! I missed writing for my DC boys...

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

He had a feeling that he wouldn’t like what Bruce had to say.

The moment his phone rang, the sigil of the Batman blaring dark in its illuminated wake, Dick Grayson’s stomach dropped into his throat and it was all he could do to simply swallow down the panic that his mind began to work through with furrowed brows and a clutch grip on the training bar he had been working on within the batcave. Hopping off of the item, he wiped the sweat from his brow before daring to reach out and answer the call, his breath shaky for a reason he didn’t quite understand. Probably the exercise, he decided for himself, that was why. Not because of anything else. He would NOT allow murphy’s law to get the better of him. Not today.

Of course that was thrown out the window when Bruce’s voice echoed in its usual serious motoneness through the opened speaker.

“Dick, you need to remain calm on what I’m about to tell you, can you do that?”

“Well that depends on what it is.” The retort was dry with humor and laced with anticipation. With a worry both knew was coming but couldn’t dare expect in one another as Dick felt his hands grip into his palms, nails biting at the soft flesh until he was sure that he had poked holes into himself with the wait Bruce made him pause in. It was a heavy, deep pause that only made his mind work faster. His heart beat quicker.

“It’s… It’s Kylee, Dick. She’s been taken.”

His heartbeat stopped somewhere in his chest now, the heaviness of his breaths pausing altogether as he inhaled sharply and held it there for what felt like far too long. Dick’s muscles tensed under his training gear and his eyes, for a brief moment, were red. Simply red with anger and frustration at the words that were just offered to him. The echo of Bruce’s statement rang like lava in his veins as he tried to find a way to vent out the frustration that wasn’t on the nearby computer that cost way too much money to ever consider destroying and, yet, it was oh-so tempting in that singular moment.

“Dick, are you there?”

“Who. Took her?”

Each word had to come out carefully. Calculated. His heartbeat wouldn’t allow for anything that wasn’t between babbling and frustrated gasps as he glared with sharp lines at the screen with Batman’s face on it as he looked away from one thing or another to answer him.

“If I tell you then you’ll go after them, and I need you to wait until you have backup to-”

“WHO FUCKING TOOK HER?”

He threw his fist down to slam on the counter now, his gasp sharp and demanding at Bruce as the line, for a long moment, went quiet beneath the nothingness of the cave itself. Static filled both the cave and Dick’s mind as he waited. Waited for the answer and craved in the hope that it would be someone easy to track down. To find and destroy so that they could NEVER take the person he loved ever again. Oh, he thought with rage bitter in his mind, they would surely regret ever touching Kiwi. Ever looking in her general direction as the world around them filled with something between miasma and rage.

“Ivy found out her connection to you. The location she has her at is secure enough to-”

He hung up, cursing as he scrambled to find his Nightwing suit and slip it on in the fastest possible motions as he moved. He had his target and, by god, he would make sure that she would pay. As he did so, though, he tried to ignore the fear that palpated in his veins. The extra adrenaline of worry that seemed to permeate his movements as he began to move.

She would be okay, he reassured himself numbly, this would all be okay.

---

Kylee tried not to look in the eyes of her captors, teeth sinking harshly into the flesh of her lip as she took a deep breath through her nose and tested the all too tight zip tie bindings that held her wrists behind her spine. They only dug and bruised the tender flesh around it more, making her shiver as, somewhere, the voice of Poison Ivy laughed haughtily in the background. The sound of plants moving amongst mulch and fertilizer made her skin crawl as one of the long, slender vines of Ivy’s army touched delicately on her chin and tilted her face upwards, so that she had to gaze at the aloof smugness of the green woman before her.

“You’re a very lucky girl, you know,” Ivy’s voice was mildly amused as she brushed hair behind her head, “So many others would give their arms and legs to date Nightwing…”

Her smile was wider now. More malicious as she continued:

“Now let’s see how he takes to his little treasure having none of those, shall we?”

Kylee’s eyes shut as she tried to block out the pain that would soon surround her. As her limbs would be forcibly squeezed by plants surrounding her. This would be the end, certainly…

The sound of crashing glass interrupted. Ivy’s growl low in her throat as the world was suddenly thrown into something between combat and hell. Kylee was scared to open her eyes as she kept them shut, her mouth forming into a whimper as the noises continued on. Voices, sharp and tactile in their presence, echoed in a cacophony around the warehouse as though there were no true origin or end to their presence. It blurred like an endless soundless void between her ears until she felt it, the gloved hand of someone on her shoulder, squeezing with worry as it shook her from her stupor. His voice was warm as much as it was worried. As much as a trace of fear laced its normally confident and sweet tone:

“Kiwi? Hey! Stay with me, are you alright? It’s me…!”

Her eyes flew open, his name falling from her lips before she could stop it.

“D...Dick.”

His masked face smiled back, caked with sweat and spots of blood against his nose that made him look so rough in the most handsome of ways. He was there for her. There in this hellscape to get her. The knowledge was suddenly overwhelming as the world faded into view once again. Of plant parts shattered endlessly around them, dripping sap and blood and hanging from strands of his dark hair as he checked her over to make sure no damage was sustained fully. As he cut away at her bindings and freed her hands enough for her to fling them around his shoulders and drag him close to her as tears welled in her eyes.

“You came for me,” She gasped as she held him closer with the slightest sense of disbelief in her tone, “You… You found me.”

The smile he wore in response was almost sad against his jaw. When he did laugh through the gentle look, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. It dribbled from the inside of his lips down his chin, dripping unceremoniously onto the warehouse floor below as he hugged Kylee back. Strong leather-clad hands held her close. Held her so tight that, for a moment, she was afraid that he might crush her to death. As he buried his face into her shoulder and sighed, relaxed and easy against her body, she could smell him through her slightly clogged nose. Leather and metal and sweat and everything she loved so much about him assaulted her in a way that made a new wave of disbelieving tears fall from her face as she held him tighter still.

“Of course I found you,” Dick whispered incredulously into her ear as he laughed, “I’ll always find you. No matter where you are or what happens, you’re always the first thing on my mind, okay? Always, Kiwi…”

She laughed through the pain in her lungs as she looked up at him, touching the side of Dick’s face as he gazed on at her through his mask as well. Leaning forward, they sealed their mouths in a bloody and wet kiss that tasted of copper and salt through their tears. It was a disgustingly delicious flavor that made goosebumps rise on her arms and neck as she held him close. Kept him near as though she was afraid something might fully take him away this time. That, when she opened her eyes, he would be well and truly gone away.

Instead, when they did pull away, he was still there. He had come for her, just as he had promised.

“Come on,” Nightwing breathed as he heaved her up into his arms, adjusting her in a bridal carry with a small smile to his mouth, “Let’s get you home and cleaned up. Batman’s going to give me an earful when we get there, but maybe seeing you so nice in my arms will make him push it down a bit.”

It was all she heard before fading into darkness.

When Kylee woke up, her limbs hurt. Her wrists were bruised bright reds and purples, an estranged work of modern art across a flesh canvas that hurt to look at. She could feel every breath she took weighed in her lungs like an anvil pressing against her core, growing tighter and tighter until the world seemed to spin with let lack of air. Kylee let out a long, deep breath to steady herself as she blinked slowly, trying to focus back on the world around her. To remember just what had happened before everything had faded.

Sitting up, the room was deemed familiar by her view of the open space and warm temperatures. It was… her room. Her room at Wayne Manor. The one she shared at a near constant rate with Dick. The king sized bed was plush beneath her body, providing the support her bruised form needed to feel comfortable. She took in a shaky breath and sighed out through her nose, a smile daring to pass on her lips as she thought of the events of the night.

Dick had did it… he saved her.

The door to the room opened and her head whipped around. Dick's form stood in the way of the frame, his vigilante suit discarded in favor of a well fitted tank top and sweat pants that hung handsomely on the v of his sharp hips. She could see the spots on his arms and face that were bandaged, covered in light gauze and pale white patches that made her heart hurt at the sight.

'Hey," his voice was relieved as he appeared at her side, "You're up… Uh, how are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a bus," Kyler joked in weak willed return, her smile light as she took his cheek in the palm of her hand, "but it's still alive. Alive thanks to you… I'm sorry that it happened. That I was-"

Dick stopped her with a kiss. His lips were chapped and sore but not unpleasant. It lacked the coppery taste of their previous kiss. It was softer but no less passionate as well, his form covering hers as he held her close to him in that same way. She felt safe here. Protected from all the horrors of the world and Gotham alike. Tears sprung in her eyes without her permission as they held one another.

"Don't ever apologize," Dick gasped as the two pulled away, "For anything like that. For being you. I would save you a thousand times as long as it meant we could be like this, Kylee. I-"

He stopped, the words Frozen in his throat as he blushed a brilliant shade of red against his tanned skin.

"I love you."

And she felt the tears fall as she laughed, hugging him close again as she sighed into his shoulder, kissing the edge of his neck and making h shiver as she breathed out her confirmation:

"I love you too, Dick Grayson. No matter what."

#self ship #self shipping #self insert #original character #si/canon #si x canon #oc x canon #self insert x canon #dc #nightwing #dick grayson

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oculusius · 4 years

Text

Desk Jockey

“I want that report on my desk at 6 AM tomorrow or your ass is on the street.”

I look up from my keyboard, from the sickeningly modern, blank desk to the even worse face of my branch manager. Picture what you’d expect the person saying this to look like, and you’re probably right. Tall, dark hair combed back, slicked back with just enough gel to not be disgusting. Attractive, but only conventionally, because it hides his fetid interior. The rotten, wriggling insides of the kind of guy who relishes other’s misery, especially when he’s snorting high grade blow on the weekends. Though he’d probably prefer orphan’s tears (But that’s a story for another time).

I’ll do my best, you fucking cretin.

I mumble out some garbled excuse. I won’t even tell you what I said because I forget, or rather, it was so insignificant that I never committed it to memory in the first place. “Sorry Eric,” (He’s one of the ‘hip’ bosses that makes us call him by his first name), “Won’t happen again”, Please don’t take my healthcare away I will literally suck your dick to keep it. He shakes his head and walks away. We’re the last ones in the office, one of the tallest buildings in our shitty, Midwestern town; all glass and steel like some gaudy San Francisco startup. The only lights still on are in the lobby; besides that the only other illumination is from the sickeningly crisp glow emanating from my monitor. As soon as the elevator doors close behind Eric, I grasp my hair in my hands; it’s drenched in sweat and I’m balding already, despite being in my late twenties. Flakes of dandruff are appearing on my scalp, but by the time I get home from work I’m too damn tired to remember to get that special shampoo. Stress related? Probably. Did I have time to fix it? Fuck no.

I swear to God you motherfucker I’ll name you when I eat a fucking bullet you shit fuck…

Stop. The more rational voice in my head. Finish this shit in the next—5 hours? Shit, it’s already 1 AM! I’ll smash bottles and get proper wasted when I’m finished. And when the following day is over, seeing as I’d probably be pulling an all-nighter. Fuck. I take two caffeine pills from the nondescript tin in my top drawer.

Alright. I need to get the excel sheet from that old email inbox the intern left when he quit (not that I blame him). To do that, I need to go through my inbox and find that time I CC’ed him about scheduling that conference call. But to get into my inbox, I need to reset my password because company policy is to change passwords every 3 weeks, and it can’t be a past password…

Alright. One step at a time.

It’s two hours later. I found the file, finally. I feel like I crossed the fucking Rubicon with no limbs to get here. Now, to get the shit I need from it and send it to Eric. I hope he chokes on it. While bleeding. From every orifice, and then some. I open the file, and I’ve never been so goddamn happy to see the sickening green of excel. Document recovery—what’s that? Fuck it, I’ll deal with it later. I ctrl f the account name. Beads of sweat are dripping off my forehead. Outside, it’s still the vaguely pinkish black of night in any big city. I might actually get some sleep tonight…

WHY IS THERE A FUCKING HYPERLINK HERE?

Oh boy, this better not cost me my job. I get sent to a greyish webpage, the kind of soulless portal that screams ‘high finance’. A nondescript login page for “Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management LLC”. I roll my eyes. Management occasionally threw us these shitty platforms because their friends from way back developed them, and they wanted to help them out. Because God forbid we use Citibank.

There’s no login, but there’s a support number on the bottom of the page. Maybe if I call, they can help me? It’s worth a shot. I mean, I had nothing but time, and if it actually worked and saved my job, I would fly all the way to India or some shit to kiss that phone technician on the lips. Alright. God, when I was an undergrad did I ever imagine this would be my waking life (or lack thereof?) I should’ve joined the military. Better to be blown up overseas then mentally scarred over here.

4-887-612-393: 24/7 Live Support

I call from my office phone, in the hopes that it’ll lend credence to the claim that I fucking need this login. The phone rings for what seems like half an hour, but I can tell from the clock on the wall that it hasn’t been a single, godforsaken minute. Maybe I’d died and gone to purgatory? Seemed believable enough—although, I wasn’t sure what I’d done in a past life to deserve this. Maybe I was a Mongol slavedriver, and…

“Hello, this is ZenDesk, my name is Robert. How may I help you today?” My crisis of existential spiraling instantly, mercifully, shatters. I put on a cheery voice.

“Hi, I work at [company name]. I really need to find something for my boss, and in this accounts payable excel file, it says that I’m supposed to login to a ‘Kleene-Rosser Accounts Management?’ I have all my company info if you need it, I was just never told we used this firm before.”

A beat passes. I hope he heard the desperation in my voice, because if I had a guardian angel, it’d be on the other end of that phone line. Why did I tell him I never heard of this place? He doesn’t care! He isn’t paid to care!

“Of course, sir. Just a moment please. What’s your name sir?”

That thin veneer of politeness again.

“Uh, Keith Sanders. I also have my company email, if you can send the password there…”

“OK sir, what’s the address?”

I spell it out for him. My fingers are digging into the faux-leather of the chair. I’m starting to sweat. If this doesn’t work, I’m fucking hosed…

I tell him the address, and soon I have the URL to reset the Kleene-Rosser password. Surprisingly, my company email works for the username. Lucky guess I suppose? I thank him, truly from the bottom of my heart, and wait for the page to load.

According to the web page, the site was some kind of file storage service. Besides a few nondescript tabs on the top leading to “Home”, “Support”, etc. there’s nothing but a grey background set behind a very basic file directory.

[company_name]/Accounts/Accounts_Payable/2019/May/.

There it is! So deceptively close. 05.19.19.xcl

When I try to open it, I hear the most awful of noises: the Windows 10 error sound, impossibly loud. File corrupted. WHAT THE FUCK? HOW DO YOU CORRUPT A FUCKING EXCEL FILE? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS SIDEWAYS?

I dig my fingertips into my temples. I can feel the faint outline of an engorged vein on the side of my head. I imagine it, an angry, vibrant purple, the shooting representation of my immense, earth-shattering frustration.

It was as if every cog in the infernal machine that was my work place was designed specifically to drive me fucking bananas. Like my life was some cosmic joke to see how much I would endure before going postal, or at least smashing my monitor. Jump out an office window, strapped with speakers blaring “FUCK THIS PLACE” over and over again, even when they’re scraping me off the pavement with a comically large spatula. Every little thing piled atop one another to form the worst shit tsunami eternally suspended above my head. Every wriggling, squealing fucking cell in my brain…

Alright, let’s think of solutions. Eric wanted the file, and if it was corrupted, I’d just tell him the truth: that it’s how I found it. Man, why did I drive myself up the wall earlier? So stupid… I log into my email. Actually, I don’t. As soon as I hit enter in the URL bar, I get that fucking google “no internet” error dinosaur. At this point, I try to keep rolling with the punches. Alright, network diagnostics, here we go. After what feels like centuries, after windows resets the router, etc. I finally get an answer. Sort of. An error code. I had two hours left before I was unemployed. I take another caffeine pill and keep going, determined to see this shit through to the end.

Hidden on the fifth page of the search results is my answer. It’s on an obscure, early 2000s web forum that had a grand total of 2 users online, probably bots. A post from a literal decade ago has my same issue, and one of the commenters mentions he had the same thing. Apparently, it’s a hardware issue with the router. Despite being woefully underqualified to deal with IT issues, I have no other choice. No fucking way Eric will believe that the internet cut out 2 hours before my deadline. I find the tech support number, and pray that the information is up to date and that they won’t have to send a technician out to fix it.

As the phone rings, I ponder my situation. I was unlucky enough to find what I needed right as the Wi-Fi died, and it was probably one of those issues that fixes itself in an hour anyway. There it is again; I can almost see the shadowy gears of the universe working against me, trying to crush my psyche beneath their teeth into bits of mental scrap. When I finally get a response, I’m caught off guard. This guy seems American. His voice is a bit hoarse, and I picture him as the fat comic book guy from the Simpsons, gut and all.

“----- tech support. How can I help you?”

I don’t like the way his voice trails off every word, leaving a breathy wisp behind like the tail of a comet. It makes me want to shudder.

“Yeah, uh—“

My mind blanks for a minute. I’ve been derailed, and it takes an agonizing few seconds for me to decide what I want to say.

“I was trying to email my boss, and—“again with the unnecessary details “I got this error code, and I saw online that it was an issue with the router.”

“Uh huh.” He sounds skeptical. And disapproving. I imagine he’s wrinkled that gob of cartilage clinging to his face he calls a nose. “What’s the model number?” He finally asks.

I read off the name, and he laughs. He fucking laughs. Is my suffering amusing him? Arousing him?

I have a clearer image of this guy now. Pervading my mind, filling the gaps in my brain, covering my synaptic gaps with fucking cement. He’s grossly overweight, in some dark room somewhere. He smells like BO and he is sweaty milky beads off his forehead that are landing into his keyboard and congealing. The scent is odious, like a corpse coated in mayonnaise and left in a tomb for five millennia, except it’s still wet.

“Sir?” That subtle tone of annoyance again. “Do you understand me, sir?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. Would you mind repeating that? I was just—talking to someone.” Idiot he can tell you weren’t.

I write down his instructions, but first he pontificates about some issue with a chip in the router or some shit. Apparently I have to call the manufacturer? And they can help me dust it off or some such?

He’s fleshy and sickeningly soft, like a malformed, hairless puppy. That shirt’s been pasted to his damp stomach longer than you’ve been on Earth. It’s just a crude impersonation of the kind of people that run this industry. And you’re just his plaything, to be antagonized and fucked with until…

As soon as my attention is re-centered, I say “Alright thanks bye” without even knowing what he was rambling about before. He laughs. No, cackles. I can practically smell the stale coffee and tobacco on his breath. I slam the receiver down. It was starting to stick to my face with sweat and I really wanted to switch to my cell anyway. Peeling it away was orgasmic.

I examine the napkin I had scribbled on. I’d written it down in a haze, and it almost felt like I was reading someone else’s handwriting. Was that a 5, or a 6, or what? Doesn’t matter. I plug in the numbers, to some obscure fucking company I know nothing about. There’s like 12 digits, not like any number I’ve ever dialed. Unbeknownst to me, I was about to make the worst fucking mistake of my life, worse than taking on that debt to go to college or that time I puked on grandma’s casket at the funeral. Light years away, I imagine, some metaphysical blade was eagerly, sexually, preparing to scoop out my insides and flay them across time and space, flicking its imaginary tongue back and forth in anticipation.

I had expected that infuriating error code, but instead, I feel it. All of it. The other side is cold, and every hair on my body stands right on edge.

“Hello?”

The phone’s definitely connected.

“Hello?!”

This time it seems to echo. I’d opened a door, a beaming ray of light into a place that hasn’t been graced by it in eons.

“Is this Infolink appliances?” I gulp suddenly. My throat is impossibly dry. Everything that made me me, my identity, my memories, my interests… were spilling out into space, into an impossible void far blacker than even the darkest of nights. Please. Like my brain was a plastic bag full of air, but now it’s been punctured. It’s getting sucked out like a breached spaceship, and my body is curling around the now torturous void. I am a husk.

I drop the phone on the ground, and the screen cracks. But I’m far beyond caring about that screen now. The spiritual, inky black is billowing out of the phone like an endless wave going out in every direction. And there’s something else. A raucous laughter, and sneering, they’re laughing so hard somewhere backstage that their mouths, or whatever they call those fucking gullets, are overflowing with sickening white foam with streaks of yellow bile. Dark silhouettes that have been eagerly waiting this whole time for this horrible climax. I’d played my part. Everything else was out of my hands now.

#horror #writing #lovecraft

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fucking-zawa-sensei · 6 years

Text

Another One

Title: Another One

Word Count: 1,700+

Rating: M

Categories: Hurt/comfort, angst, emotional angst

Notes: @bethhankel did this incredible art that I gushed over for months and then asked me to write my fic interpretation of it and I FREAKING JUMPED FOR JOY. I love angst. I love bath tubs. I love kisses on the forehead. I am here for this. I am living for this art and now I am writing for this art and I really, really hope this is what you were looking for Beth. I love you! Keep throwing angst my way and I’ll keep throwing it back at you.

Read it on AO3 here

Support me on ko-fi here

Another One

The ice cubes jostle as he raises the whiskey to his forehead, settling against the side of the glass as he tilts the cool, golden liquid against his aching skull. It doesn’t do much, and as he lowers it back down, he decides it will have more of a soothing effect on the inside, taking a swig of the hard liquor.

Shouta sighs, bringing the glass up to his eye this time, trying to reduce a bit of the swelling he can feel starting around his angry, purple socket.

It had to be the right eye, didn’t it? The thin band of scar tissue along the top of his cheek bone didn’t normally bother him one bit, but with his skin irritated and puffy, it felt tight and uncomfortable.

It felt almost as tight as his chest, as his shoulders, as his other hand, which he has to force himself to relax, let go of the edge of the tub. Finger by finger, he lets his grip loosen, moving his arm to drape over the smooth porcelain instead. He shifts the drink away from his eye and sinks lower into the lukewarm water, having run the bath so long ago now that the once comforting heat has lifted.

The bubbles too have settled, giving him a nice view of his cut up knee and thigh. The water looks a little murky, tinged with blood and dirt, and he knows he should have rinsed off more before he’d let himself step in, but it had been a struggle to twist his body with the deep gash along his ribs and the weight of the night’s fight resting heavy on his mind.

The steam slowly rising off the bathwater had beckoned him and he’d answered the call.

Now, he was left with the consequences.

As he leans his head back against the tub, letting his other arm drop down, holding the whiskey just a few inches above the water as he rests his elbow on the edge, he doesn’t even try to drag his thoughts back from where he feels them wandering.

It had all happened so fast.

Even now, he feels like he can only see pieces of it.

One piece, though, is startlingly clear.

The boy’s eyes as tear after tear dribbled down his cheek, mixing with the blood trailing from his split lip and down onto his shirt.

Shouta brings the glass back to his lips, lets the burn at the back of his throat bring him back to reality.

Rather, he tries to, but it just reminds him of the way the smoke wrapped itself around his neck from the inside out, filled his chest with a stinging pain he just couldn’t shake, not after the fist to his eye, or the knife to his side, anyway.

His hand shakes as he lowers the drink.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t drag his injured leg out from underneath him, and couldn’t make his arms push him off the concrete. All he could do was stare at the boy as the smoke swirled around them, watch as the villain’s arms grappled at the child, tore him, kicking and screaming, from the ground. Shouta had activated his quirk, vision tinged red, barely able to see out of his quickly swelling eye, but it hadn’t mattered.

They weren’t using their quirk at that point anyway.

He was just too weak.

As the boy managed to free an arm, reach out toward Shouta’s uncooperating body, still lying on the ground, he could barely slide his hand across the pavement, struggled to keep his head up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought of USJ, about how he’d impossibly resisted Nomu’s immense strength, had so much blood pouring out his nose he’d practically choked a few times, and still shoved the pain of a shattered elbow aside to fight back, to save his students. Yet, here he was, a few stab wounds and a chest full of smoke, spitting up soot, and he couldn’t rescue one child.

Am I old?

Am I useless?

What kind of hero can’t do this?

Shouta brings his hand out of the bath water to pinch at the bridge of his nose, forgetting the bruise along his eyes has stretched here too, wincing at the sting the pressure brings with it.

He remembers the flood of relief that had come with flashing red and blue lights along the alley’s walls, the sound of the other pro hero arriving, shouting over the sirens for the villain to cease, to not try escaping.

More than that, he remembers the shame that came with seeing the boy’s eyes flicker up as Mist stepped into Shouta’s field of view, her quirk already active, clearing the dense smog as she commanded it to lift away.

The boy had looked hopeful.

When he’d held out his hand toward Shouta, he’d looked hopeless.

Shouta grits his teeth, balling his hand into a fist. He has to resist doing the same with the one that holds the glass, or else suffer further injury.

He breathes heavily in and out of his nose, trying to let the anger dissipate, begging it to leave his body.

Then the door opens.

Shouta lifts his head, turning, blinking away the film in front of his eyes, to watch as Hizashi steps into the bathroom. Shouta’s gaze quickly runs across his husband’s body, doing the same mental check he did each time the other man returned home from his own hero work. Hizashi is wearing a plain t-shirt, which looked to have a slight stain around the collar where he’d been sweating beneath his speaker, and had pulled on some sweatpants from their room. He’d slipped on his regular glasses as well. His face looked fairly clean, as did his arms, no visible cuts or bruises, just the typical pink tinge around his neck. That would fade soon enough, just like it always did when he took the heavy support gear off for the night.

Shouta is relieved to see Hizashi is unharmed. He always is, but tonight especially, he’s not sure he could deal with more stress weighing down his shoulders right now. He sinks lower into the tub as Hizashi approaches.

The blond looks from Shouta’s bruised eye socket to the knee sticking out of the water, also purple and irritated, and then to the glass balanced on the tub.

“That bad?” Hizashi asks, and his voice is quiet.

Shouta glares at his drink, now mostly watered down with the little bit of whiskey left and the nearly melted ice cubes. He slips further under the water, letting his chin and mouth dip in, and covering up all but his eyes.

He groans in acknowledgment of Hizashi’s words.

Hizashi steps closer again. He tentatively reaches down to dip a finger into the tub and then pulls it back out, wiping it on his shirt.

“Water is cold, Sho.”

Shouta sighs out into the water, letting little bubbles burst along the surface. It felt childish, but he didn’t really want to talk about what had happened tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

Hizashi seems to understand, of course he did, it was one of the many reasons Shouta had married him.

Hizashi knew exactly how this felt, and he knew Shouta, knew when the other man needed time to process his thoughts, time to come to terms with them, that prying wasn’t always the answer, wouldn’t always help.

“Need a refill?” Hizashi asks, and he bends over the tub, his lips pressing softly to Shouta’s damp hair.

“Yeah,” Shouta sighs out, lifting his mouth out of the water, and letting the grip on his glass loosen as Hizashi’s hand comes over top of his, gently taking it away.

As his husband stands up, twisting his body to turn around, about to pick his foot up and begin walking toward the kitchen, toward the bottle of whiskey Shouta hadn’t capped, knowing he’d be back, Shouta abruptly reaches his hand out. He grabs hold of the back of Hizashi’s shirt.

The blond pauses and looks over his shoulder.

“Shouta?”

“It can wait,” he says, looking down at the water.

He hears Hizashi set the empty glass down on the sink counter, and then a soft whooshing noise as the other man’s shirt falls to the ground. Shouta looks up just as Hizashi is shucking his pants, lifting a leg up to slip it into the water. Shouta holds out his hand to steady his husband as he steps inside with the other foot, sitting down on the edge of the tub in nothing but his underwear. He probably hadn’t needed to take off the shirt, but Shouta wasn’t about to complain, moving closer to rest his cheek against Hizashi’s thigh.

Hizashi’s hand comes down on his head so softly Shouta can barely feel it at first, until he begins pulling his fingers through the knots Shouta had not gotten to working out of his hair just yet.

Admittedly, he thinks he should be telling Hizashi that the water is filthy, that he’s going to need a bath after sitting in Shouta’s half-assed one, but the heat and comfort coming from Hizashi’s body is far too good to pass up. Besides, the blond’s hair was still gelled up from his own patrol. He’d need to shower before the night was over anyway.

So it’s fine.

They can sit like this for a while, in the quiet of the bathroom, in the dim light cast by the wall lamps framing the mirror.

They can sit like this for however long it took, for however long he needed.

Shouta sighs, kissing Hizashi’s knee.

It felt like it might be awhile tonight.

#erasermic fanfiction #maizawa #erasermic #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #yamada hizashi #aizawa #bnha #mha

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okitodorokidoki · 5 years

Text

[1]I’m gonna be fine (maybe not tonight)

ao3 | 1533 words | female reader next

warning: character injury [pairing tbd]

Far longer than you could remember, all you wanted to do was play baseball. Your father had been a catcher through college, while your mother pitched softball until graduation, so it felt like you just had the diamond in your bones. Some of your earliest memories were learning to play. Your first bats (aluminum and wooden, to see which you preferred) and a pair of purple batting gloves were still in the attic to this day. Up until the end of middle school, baseball was all you knew; and you were damn good at it. And under your catcher's gear, you didn't have to worry about how the other team felt playing against a girl. You were just half of the battery, the number two sewn on your jersey. Until you weren't.

You could barely recall the incident as it happened. You could remember the sound of your mother screaming, the feeling of an iron grip on your wrist turning into perfect bruises of your father's fingers, but before that was just a runner coming around third base.

Your pitcher, your partner, your best friend, took days to visit you in the hospital. Even then, he barely looked at you. You could easily say that was what broke what was left of your heart, but it was undoubtedly shattered by your parents.

"You can't play anymore." Your mother looked more tired than you'd ever seen her. "If you ever step on that field again, my heart won't be able to take it."

You wanted to jump up and scream. The doctor had just updated you, told you that you were recovering well. She'd played before, so had your father- they both knew that injuries were a possibility, especially as a catcher.

"We should've never let you play on a team like that in the first place." Your father's words made it feel like the breathing tube was being shoved back down your throat. "Those boys were too big compared to you, you should've never come off that damn bench."

You could barely manage a quiet "Why are you doing this?"

"Maybe you'll understand when you're a little older." Your mother said. "But if you love us, you'll listen. We already spoke to your coach, and he's agreed to let you finish off this season in the dugout."

"But you're not playing again."

A year ago, going to Seidou High School was your ultimate goal. You'd walk up to their coach, with all due respect, and ask that he hear your request to try out for the team. No crutches, no special treatment. If you didn't make the cut, you'd be eternally grateful for the opportunity and continue to support the team and try again next year. You had the confidence that you'd make it- and had inherited some of your parents' best physical traits. You could smoke your teammates during practice drills, and your throwing arm definitely wasn't what had you picking catcher over pitcher.

Watching some of their games, you were left in awe of one particular player- their starting catcher. You couldn't understand his name over the speaker, but the loud man you found yourself sitting near referred to him as "Yuu." Your curiosity won over your anxiety after your mother went to get you a bottle of water. Leaning over between innings, you tapped him on the shoulder just firm enough to get his attention. You couldn't gauge his expression well behind his shades, so you tried to make your smile as polite as possible.

"Sorry to bother you, but do you know Seidou's catcher?" It sounded odd coming out, but there was no stopping it now.

He laughed before leaning back slightly to have an easier conversation. By the time your mother returned, you learned the boy, Takigawa Chris Yuu, was his son, and he was very proud of him. Not much else, but it was heartwarming and made you feel mushy. Your mother was understandably shocked when she saw the company you were making, and ended up introducing herself to get a read on this adult man talking to her child. They ended up talking more as you returned your focus to the game, watching Seidou's offense.

By the end of the game, your mother seemed like she'd made a friend, and even exchanged emails with him. You sent her a look, but she just shrugged in response with a rather 'why not' expression on her face.

"Good luck getting into Seidou, you crazy kid. Try to give my son a run for his money," Mr. Animal laughed and ruffled your hair as your mother brought you to her side.

On second thought, maybe you misheard his name. But at this point you were too scared to ask.

A few days later, your mother knocked on your bedroom door.

"Yeah, ma?"

Opening the door slowly, she peeked her head in. "So guess what, kiddo."

"We won the lotto and we're moving to LA?" You looked up from your sketchbook.

"No, but close! Chris, the catcher boy from Seidou, apparently wants your email." She slid into the room to sit on the edge of your bed.

You sent her a very skeptical look. "Mom, are you trying to set me up or get rid of me?"

"Either one will do. I already gave it to him."

"Mother!"

You and Chris didn't start off with too much to discuss, and you found yourself hoping he wasn't being forced to talk to you.

It took you getting wiped out to see otherwise.

Ironically enough, Chris had come to see you in the hospital before your own pitcher had. He brought you some flowers and a small teddy bear, safe gifts for whatever the two of you were. Friends? Pen-Pals?

"Is it as soft as it looks?" You asked with a smile, reaching out for it with your good arm.

"I tried to find the softest one on the shelf that wouldn't drain my wallet." he said, voice oddly quiet.

It struck you that you'd never actually met in person, and a wave of self-consciousness washed over you.

"Sorry I look like hell." You tried joking at your own suspense to lighten the mood.

"You look like you got off easier than I thought you would." His expression fell as he set the flowers on your bedside table. "The coaches are still talking to the runner that hit you."

"That was a person? Jesus Christ, I thought I was thrown into the damn road!" You relished in his conflicted yet amused expression before a sharp 'Language!' told you your mother could hear you.

You apologized, not exactly sincerely, before resting the small bear in the crook of your sling. "A perfect fit."

"How long are you going to be out for?" Chris sat in the chair closest to you, looking a little less stiff and proper.

"Doctor said I might need to do some Physical Therapy after I recover, so there's no telling right now." You shrugged with your good shoulder, smiling in hopes that you wouldn't bum him out.

There was a bit of a permanent shroud over him that thickened a bit. Apparently your smile hadn't helped.

"I'll just have some extra down time to read up on other teams. No reason why being off the field means I'm not in the game." You tugged at the blue bow tied around the teddy bear. "Besides, I've got to be at the top of my game if I'm gonna take on Seidou's tryouts."

He seemed confused for a moment. "Seidou doesn't have a girls' team."

"Nope. I just have to try out for the boys' team." The bow was becoming a good excuse not to look at him.

You really didn't need to be told to get your head out of your ass and think about your future. Although that was definitely a parent thing to say, and not a Chris thing.

"Then I look forward to it." His expression was a little softer than before as you peeked over at him, shocked.

"You're not gonna tell me I'm crazy?" You were almost disappointed.

"I've seen you play." His words almost triggered your heart monitor. "I hope you make the team. Maybe you'll even take my place."

After he and his father had left, your mother rearranged the flowers he brought you with a sad look. "Apparently he was injured not too long ago. That damn school pushed him too hard and it broke him."

You didn't think he meant you'd literally take his place. Sure he'd seen you play, but you've seen him play, too.

"Do you think we could go to Seidou together?" You mused. "It'd be nice to know someone on the team."

Your mother turned her head to you without looking at you. "His father's trying to get him off the team, sweetie. He needs to focus on recovering."

You shook your head. "He doesn't want to leave the team, mom."

"It's not about what he wants, it's about what's best for him." The upset tone your mother spoke in had you shocked. "Your father and I need to talk to you when he gets off work."

#daiya #takigawa chris yuu #ace of diamond imagine #reader-insert #female reader #my work

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jelanisaeed · 4 years

Text

Round 5: VS Turtwig- Legends Part 5

Hello everyone! Sooo, I had a whole plan for Jasper's chapters and then I scraped them lol Cause I'm chaotic like that lol. So, I made some edits to the ending of Chapter 4 which changed how this chapter begins. Basically, I removed the argument and ended it with a more diplomatic ending. The reason is that in light of everything going on in the world, I didn't want to have my male leads experiencing conflict with male leads right off the bat when I know my female lead won't experience the same. So, I decided to make all three have unique experiences core to their development and character.

There's a lot of pain in the world so I want to alleviate that. However, I feel it necessary to make this known moving forward. This author is a black queer man who supports Black Lives Matter. So a lot of my stories will have emotions and plot-lines geared towards the black experience (modified of course since this doesn't take place in our world). I feel like it's necessary to make that clear moving forward.

And before we move onto lighter things, I also wanna say Rest in Power Chadwick Boseman. You were loved and still are for your amazing contributions to the lives of black peoples and for being an icon that young black actors can strive for.

Nowww, on a lighter note. The song of choice for this chapter was all over the place lol. But I eventually settled on My Sanity by Thrii. They're amazing and that song is so beautiful.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story!

…

Pokémon Adventures: Turquoise, Jasper, & Ammolite

Round 5: VS Turtwig – Legends Part 5

Location: Veilstone City Date: August 4th , 3000 Time: 3:00pm

"Ight," Jasper finally said with a smooth grin. "I'll take your word for it."

Today hadn't gone as Jasper expected. Not surprised there. His days never followed a set plan. Something always came up and disrupted the course. Rocking the boat until he tumbled into the waters and swam for safety. Other times, however, he was surprised with a gift.

Much like today, he chuckled.

Jasper accepted the package from the cute guy. Had to be from Oreburgh with his purple miner hat over his short coils. Dressed the part, though the orange belt was a nice touch. Way better those gaudy belts the miners wore around Veilstone.

The package matched Jasper's aesthetic. Star-themed with his name written almost like constellations. Whoever this was from had great taste. Maybe Jasper could borrow some stationary from them? Regardless, he tore open the package and found three gifts—a timer ball, a letter, and some gadget.

"A pokémon?" Jasper snatched the ball and examined the transparent top. A turtle of some kind slept inside.

Mommy nudged him and flashed another encouraging smile. "Go on," she urged with cacturne mimicking her every move. "Let's see 'em?"

Everyone watched him, awaiting his next move. Even Kito stopped eating for this! Though the little looked fed up with all the waiting. Tapping his feet with arms folded across his tiny chest. Jasper chuckled. If Kito was ready for it then there was no reason why he shouldn't be.

"Ight—c'mon out, buddy!"

In a burst of light and smoke, the pokémon appeared. Much greener than he thought with a twig on its head. Still cute though. Even though it yawned nice and wide without care.

"A turtwig?" Mommy frowned.

Turtwig? Now that was name Jasper remembered. He learned about them in history class. Super rare pokémon that Pokémon Professors researched in Sinnoh. One of the Pokédex Holders had them too if he remembered right. Diamond, was it? Yeah, Diamond of that comedy duo.

But why me? Something soft nudged against his legs. Jasper looked down and smiled. Looks like Turtwig finally noticed him. Little guy smiled at him with those droopy yellow eyes of his.

"Professor Kapok gave you a turtwig, huh?" Baryte mused with furrowed brows. "Weird. What else is in there."

Guess this Professor Kapok didn't give out pokémon often. Much less to strangers. Jasper didn't have any teachers who matched the name. Although, there was this cool guest speaker who always asked him questions. Said something about having the eyes of a pyroar—whatever that meant. Jasper never paid it much mind.

"He gave me this weird-looking gadget," a handheld painted light yellow with purple stars, "and this letter."

A letter addressed to him in perfect script. Jasper snorted. Academics sure loved their cursive writing. Nonetheless, he opened the envelope and took the letter inside. Written in cursive as well, but on more star-themed stationary.

"Greetings, Jasper." Arceus, even the writing sounded intellectual. "I hope you remember me. Spoke at your school while you were just a litleo. Yet your eyes burned with the passion of pyroar. Such ferocity in your moments—I knew you'd be a force in the future."

So, it was them. Jasper assumed they were just another scientist. One of Daddy's colleagues perhaps? He met some of them in the past. Whenever he brought Daddy dinner during overtime hours. His coworkers always gushed about Jasper. Even teased Daddy about having the coolest son ever.

Their words…well, maybe he paraphrased a bit.

But this Professor Kapok came to his school. Taught the best lecture on dark type pokémon he ever sat through. Left without a trace, only to give him a gift years later. Jasper didn't believe much in faith, but this lined up too well not to be!

The letter soaked Jasper's mind with flowery metaphors. A few questionable ones, sure—The hell does "a blazing star in the void" mean? But he pushed through. Poetry was never his strong suit. Though Baryte took to it with ease and explained that stuff for him.

Smart guy, Jasper decided. Though, no surprise there. Baryte gave off the vibes.

He finished the letter shortly after. Only noticed then his trembling hands. The teardrops pelting the paper. And the soft arms hugging him from behind. The sensations struck at once. His heart led the sensation, pounding in beat to his sobs.

Little turtwig even hopped into his arms. Little turtwig—a pokémon he just met—came to comfort him with soft nuzzles to his chest. Jasper accepted each brush and hugged the little guy closer to his chest.

Professor Kapok gave him a gift to treasure. Not just in this new pokémon. But the opportunity of the lifetime inscribed in his words.

"I never enjoyed seeing the lights of stars dimming away," the letter had said. "So, for you, I'll send a private nurse for your mother. So, you may take your journey uninhibited and breathe life into the star burning within you."

…

Jasper emerged from the bathroom refreshed. A grin slapped across his face as he hung a dry towel around his neck. Perfect for catching the water dripping from his shrunken afro. Had to love washdays. Never failed to leave him as stress-free as the towel slung around his waist. Almost made the cold shower worth it.

Almost. Jasper stilled loathed them with a burning passion.

I guess they good for something, Jasper shrugged and walked back to his room. They eased away the sores from his morning workouts. Plus, he felt less tension in his soul.

Still hate 'em though. The disdain, however, didn't last long. Once he slipped into his room, he found the cutest surprise. His new turtwig stood at the door with a fish-eating grin.

Now this made the shower worth it. "You waited for me, Kobe?" The little guy nodded. Even licked his wet legs. Jasper laughed. Such a sweet little guy—unlike Kito who lazed around on his bed.

I gotta thank Professor Kapok when I see him. Maybe buy them a gift. Though, Jasper didn't know where to start! Science wasn't his forte; maybe Baryte had some suggestions? He seemed the type.

Regardless, Jasper had more important business to attend to. Like getting dressed. And he wasted no time throwing on his clothes. Truth be told, he had this outfit picked out for years! Well, sort of —a few changes as his style evolved.

Ge unzipped his stunky track top, showing off his favorite starry night tank top. Paired well with his royal blue track shorts and silver compression tights. Finished off by slipping into a pair of purple and black sneakers.

"How do I look?" Jasper struck a pose. If he had the mass, he would look like all those famous bodybuilders! Especially the ones down in Orre. Now they were massive!

Kito only nodded, bored with it all. Figures—never gave Jasper any credit! So what if he saw it a million times? Kito needed to learn from Kobe. Now he had the perfect amount of enthusiasm as he jumped around and cheered. Jasper grinned. Finally, someone appreciated his swag.

Half of being a trainer was looking the part, right? The half came from being prepared. Jasper already packed up his murkrow travel duffle with the necessities. Now, where did he put his belt?

Ah ha! There it was, hanging off his desk. He strapped it on and clipped his dusk balls in place. Now, he was ready for anything Sinnoh threw at him!

"Jasper?" Mommy stood in the doorframe with cacturne beside her. Her eyes glossy as tears streaked down her face. "You look so handsome."

Jasper blushed and rubbed the back of his head. Maybe it was too early for handsome. He still had to pick out his hair. Couldn't go out with a shrunken 'fro! Especially if Mommy wanted pictures like always. No way he'd embarrass himself again!

"I want you to know this before you leave," Mommy started. "Something I'm sure you know, but reassurance never hurt."

Mommy walked to him. Slowly as if every step burned away at her energy. In some ways, it did. Jasper knew it did. Not just from the illness, but her pride. Back in her day, Mommy rose to the ranks of the Elite Four and mastered Dark-type pokémon. Even conducted extensive research on them. It was, honestly, how she met Daddy. And the two fell in love instantly. Or so they say. Grownups loved telling love stories.

She reached him drenched in sweat. Her breathing labored as cacturne scolded her. Thank Arceus for that guy. Mommy's partner and caretaker. He knew her better than most and never took his eyes off her. It set his heart at ease to know she had him while Jasper left.

"Your father and I are proud of you. Regardless of what path you take. And we'll support and cheer you on through hardships. So, please, don't forget to call home."

Smirking, Jasper hugged her tight. "You don't hafta worry, Mommy." After all these years, his dreams felt closer than ever. "I'll call home and I'll come back. Just you wait."

Time to follow the stars like Professor Kapok said…or whatever that letter meant.

…

"So, you're ready now?" Baryte asked with a smirk.

Jasper rolled his eyes. Wasn't his fought! Mommy refused to stop taking photos. Only Arceus knew what she planned to do with them. Especially the ones with his shrunken afro! She loved showing those off to company. Parents loved embarrassing their kids, Jasper figured. Must be some form of payback from their parents or whatever. Not that he cared.

Okay, maybe he did. If only to stop her from showing those photos to his coach again.

Mommy played a cruel game, but Jasper rose above it. Besides, he had bigger issues to solve. "Yeah, just gotta swing by Lake Valor." He stated, slinging his duffle over his shoulder. "I left Kula there in the morning."

Baryte accepted that and followed him there.

Truth be told, Kula enjoyed Lake Valor more than his room. Not that he blamed her. Jasper always got up early to relax by the lake. Sometimes he spent the morning bathing in the solar rays as his pokémon played. It was easy for him. Under the soft embrace of the lake, he felt at ease. Energized with peaceful energy as the tension eased from every fiber of his being.

On the way there, Jasper boasted about the lake. Encouraged Baryte to take a swim there sometimes but backed off when the miner admitted he couldn't swim. Fit his aesthetic— swimming rock-lover? Jasper laughed.

They arrived at the lakefront easily enough. Jasper knew the route well and took all the best shortcuts. Encountered a few pokémon along the way, of course. And a few trainers who loved losing to him. What could he say? When it came to battling, Jasper held his own.

And so did Baryte. His cranidos rammed through the competition with an impish grin. Had to love it.

When they arrived, however, Jasper felt a shift in the atmosphere. Spirited pokémon lived in Lake Valor and infected the air with bursts of energy. On a good day, he heard the roars of a gyarados breaching free of the crystal blue water and blew a powerful spray to rain over the land. Much like this morning.

Yet the lake was silent. And icky energy crawled through the air and stung at his bare skin.

"This is Lake Valor?" Baryte frowned beside him with a strange look behind those glasses. "It's…somber—not like you described."

Somber…an aura that didn't blame in this lake. Over the years, Jasper only experiences roaring energy blazing through the souls of pokémon and trainers alike. Not this cold hand that strangled his inner flame.

"This is wrong." Jasper walked inside and scowled. That icky energy bit at him, whispering strange warnings in his ears. Warnings that didn't match the usual voices he heard. "Something happened here?"

A thin fog fluttered around them. Chilling as the voices grew louder and that hand tightened its grip. Beside him, Baryte shivered. Couldn't blame the guy. The lake shouldn't feel like this. Unless someone trespassed and disrupted the natural habitat. Jasper frowned. Anyone who disturbed the lake had to deal with him as a Child—

"Gah!" Baryte stumbled into him and pointed a shaky finger and at a downed body up ahead. A dark, bird-shaped…wait a minute!

"Kula!" Jasper scrambled to his murkrow and scooped her into his arms. Something attacked her! An electric-type no doubt; she had electricity dancing through her feathers.

"Jasper?" Baryte whispered, tense and with a hand at his belt. "Look ahead."

Deep in the fog, a ball of light floated. Dancing almost like a bizarre apparition as it came closer. The air thickened and Jasper swore he smelled ozone. Regardless, that icky energy gnawed at him the closer the light came. The voices now a chorus of screaming children submerged underwater. That light had a strange aura to it…much like the lake.

"The trespasser…" Eyes wide, Jasper screamed for Baryte to move. The two went separate ways as a lance of golden electricity shot through the fog and struck down a towering tree! Their attacker emerged from the fog with a ditzy look to it. But the aura it radiated sent the voices in a frenzy, Finally, Jasper understood why.

"A Shadow Pokémon."

For the first time in years, shadow pokémon returned to the lake.

…

Anddd that's the Chapter! Jasper is really fun to play with. Especially cause he has an endless pit of energy that really just writes itself. I adore him lol And Baryte kind of acts like a good balance for him. But that'll come up more later. They're good for each other. In a friendship way lol I haven't given thought to who Jasper is paired with now, but we'll see! Who knows, Jasper and Baryte might be the end result lol.

But anyways, feel free to review or pm with what you think of the chapter!

#Pokemon #LGBT

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sothisiswhatidreamtlastnight · 7 years

Text

I was on an adventure last night

I had 2 very vivid, detailed dreams that have interesting ideas for books and/ or movies. Let’s start with the first one, which was full of action.

1. I was on a cruise with my family the day or so before I was due to visit my best friend, and there was a dance competition over a few days where you perform 3 rounds, and the audience decides the winner. But the thing is, you don’t have any time to prepare a routine; you just flaunt what you’ve got.

On day two of the competition, I was on my way to the waiting area backstage when I saw a missile shoot horizontally across the water right next to the ship. I investigated further, and it turned out that it was my brother who had done that; and he made the ship fire a second one, though I don’t know what he was firing at. The cruise staff was aware of this and was doing what they could to fix the problem, but acted like nothing was wrong so not to scare and alert the passengers. That meant the show was going to continue; and it was my turn to perform soon.

My brother found me before I went on and tried to convince me to leave with him, but he didn’t tell me why or seem too panicked, so I assumed that it was because he was going to go on the run since he was in trouble with the cruise and didn’t want to leave me behind. But I didn’t want to go on the run or anything; it was his problem that he got himself into, so I declined his offer and continued backstage.

In my area, there were 6 vodka cruisers of different flavours (not normal flavours. There was a purple one, a blue one, and the others were normal colours but different flavours to normal.). I had decided that since there were 3 rounds, that was 2 cruisers per round; but I didn’t drink any for the first round, so decided to save those two for later. I organised and hid my drinks so no one would take them while I performed.

I had my turn and just let loose on the stage. I don’t know how many other performers there were, but I remember being one of the better dancers and feeling like I had a chance at winning the competition or at least making it to the finals. After my performance, I had the purple cruiser, and a tropical coloured one then decided to go for a walk out on the deck.

The cruise staff were working hard at taking some sails down and moving them from port side to the other. I knew that even though they were ordered by the captain to do so, it was because my brother had made it happen. As confused as I was, I ended up being on a tender (smaller escape boat) with the cruise directer, who was speeding up the channel. He mentioned something about having just one more week to get something finished, and even if the ship was going to be taken elsewhere, he was determined to get to his destination. I chose to jump out of it and swam back to the ship where I ran into my brother again just as I was sending a text to my best friend to tell her what was going on.

He tried to convince me to come with him again, but I declined and went to go help my mum and stepdad, who he was going to kill or they were going to get captured or something. As I climbed the stairs to reach them, my brother jumped off the boat and landed on land, and began to run through the streets. I saw that my mum and stepdad was safe, and saw military soldiers going after my brother, so I jumped off the boat too, to chase and see if I could help him. I can’t remember if he got shot or he tripped, but he suddenly fell, and the military men had him surrounded and took him away.

I don’t know if they caught me too, or I was just following them or something, but suddenly I entered a building that I was sure my brother would be in. It was a lab, but instead of it being bright white and pale colours like we usually see in modern set ups, the walls and technology was dark, with low white lights emitted through a design in the walls. In the first room I entered, I found my brother unconscious in a giant orb thing that was connected by what looked like a honeycomb laser casing, where the outline was honey coloured and the centre was transparent and clear. It was hovering a few feet off the ground, and a moment after, the door to another room opened.

In entered a doctor with two lab assistants and a military member. None of them had noticed me, so I quietly hid, listened, and watched. The doctor explained to the military member that my brother never consciously wanted to take over the cruise ship and fire those missiles, and that it was part of an experiment. I realised then that who I saw on the ship wasn’t my actual brother, but a projection of him through his mind. Regardless of an explanation of what was going on, the military member ordered a missile to land on the building and destroy my brother.

That was the end of my dream.

2. In this dream I lived in a world of wizards and witches, though I think it changed to vampires later on. Well in this world, once you graduate school, you get assigned a job to work at based on your power etc. A group of us were taken to a separate room for a special initiation, and my group leader was a man with long blonde hair that was tied in a neat ponytail, and he was wearing reading glasses with black frames, along with a long white lab coat that hid his clothes.

While we were waiting for instructions on beginning the initiation as we sat on a carpeted floor in a mostly empty room that was only lit by sunlight, I heard a confirmed rumour that we were going through an experiment and that there was a chance we could die. My brother was in the room for moment, just passing by after I saw him earlier to tell him I was doing the initiation. While he was in the room, he got very concerned and didn’t want me to be there because he didn’t want me to die. There was tension amongst everyone, and I did consider leaving, but it was too late to walk out when the man walked in. He seemed disorganised like he was setting up something, but that was merely a distraction to calm us so we didn’t pay attention to what was really happening.

There was a small round machine about the size of a ps4 remote, and it looked like a bluetooth speaker. It started to make some noise that most of us seemed to ignore, but I detected it immediately and realised that the experiment had already started. I was prepared to accept my fate no matter what it was, but I did hope that I would be one of the people who lived. the machine started to vibrate as the noise became louder, and people around me started collapsing to the ground after a particularly loud pulse.

A moment later, bright blue lightning bolts reached across the room and coated everyone in a second. The people who collapsed had one last spasm and that was it. Then the electricity went through me, and I felt a weird tingle that travelled from my toes to my head like one whole body spasm. It didn’t hurt, but it felt like I was feeling the vibrations from the pulse of the machine kinda tickling me.

As I looked around at the collapsed bodies wondering if that was it and how many others survived, the door opened and the man let the remaining maybe 7 of us go. As we walked out, someone asked what our jobs would be and he simply said that we were “Retired”. Although I was initially concerned because I didn’t know how I was going to get money, I later decided that there was a different reason to us having that label; especially when the survivors were just freely wandering the lab talking amongst each other.

I couldn’t find my brother straight away, but chose to stick around a few of the survivors so we could figure out where to go from here and try to gather intel. I went for a wander to decide what to do, but wanted to avoid the experiment rooms to begin with because I was concerned that even though I survived once it didn’t mean I would make it again. But after studying some spectators that sat in the room themselves after a few experiments and seeing them safe, I decided to watch one for myself.

This time, the lab leader looked completely opposite to the blonde. He had short black hair, no glasses, and his lab gear was completely black (I’ll call him Black). But at the same time, when the blonde (I’m gonna call him White) joined him I saw the resemblance and knew that they were brothers. White had joined him to offer some support after his latest success, but Black was cold and didn’t accept it. I got the impression that Black was the older of the two and that he was more stubborn and independent than his younger brother. White didn’t seem to care, though, and stayed to see how his brother’s experiment was going.

Pretty much the same thing happened as in my experiment, except even though I was in there, it didn’t effect me like I was out of the zone, or it was just ignoring me because I already had something done. But unlike in my initiation conducted by White, there were no survivors. I saw that White got visibly upset and teary-eyed. He offered to give Black his formula so there would be less casualties, but Black got angry and turned him down. I could tell that Black didn’t like being outshone by his younger brother and wanted to prove that he could do it himself.

Later when I walked away, I realised that although the experiments were essentially the same, there was one major difference; White was conducting it on those with power, and Black was conducting it on humans. I wondered if that was the reason that Black’s experiments were failing; because the electricity was wiping out those who were weak.

For the last few minutes of the dream, I kinda wandered around reflecting for a bit and ended up finding my brother and telling him I was okay; and then I woke up.

#dream #dreams #interesting #interesting dreams #experimentation #lab #cruise #brother #death #dancing

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altechml1-blog · 7 years

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Divine mediation: Google's Nexus 7 is a fabulous $200 tablet Like Microsoft, Google demonstrates its own accomplices how one forms a tablet.

The 7-inch Android tablet is one of the scrappiest models in the device scene. Starting with one producer then onto the next, one year to the following, these tablets have neglected to discover a crowd of people or win any vocal supporters. However deals for the 10-inch iPad keep on vaulting higher with each quarter. At the same time, organizations continue attempting to make 7-inchers work, pounding without end at the shape consider, committing similar errors (underpowered internals, stout bodies, poor execution), expecting diverse outcomes.

The shape saw its initially measured accomplishment with the Kindle Fire, which split a couple of million unit deals in a solitary month amid 2011's vacation season. In any case, the Fire's gathering then, and deals execution since, doesn't recommend a heap of happily glad clients. While Amazon's tablet has a few energetic fans here at Ars, the figure in our survey that it would "wind up regularly as a blessing from early tablet adopters to late ones" appeared to work out. You wouldn't get one for yourself, maybe, however it was a sufficient present for the innovatively unresponsive: Mom, Dad, Grandma, or Technologically Illiterate Sibling.

Enter organize right—well, more like stage from over, the God of Tablets besieging down in a skydiving suit wearing Google Glass—the Nexus 7. Google embraced the internals of Asus' Memo 370 appeared at CES in January, redid the body, and granted the gadget with Android 4.1 Jelly Bean. All while keeping up a $199 base value point.

The specs, outline, and cost all make the Nexus 7 appear like the Holy Grail of tablets. As we'll show later, it can even keep pace with the (fundamentally more costly) iPads in many regards. It's extraordinary. Suspiciously incredible. All of a sudden we have all that we need (well, near it), for less cash than we likely would have paid for it. Offering equipment shabby—with the expectation that more cash can be made somewhere else—is not another diversion. However, the Nexus 7 proposes Google will play that amusement harder and superior to we've found in quite a while.

More than anything, the Nexus 7 is Google's remark on the condition of the Android tablet. The organization has conveyed both a strike and some assistance to its lenient equipment accomplices (or if nothing else to Asus, which collaborated with Google on this model).Body

The Nexus 7 has a 10.45-millimeter thick body, with a Corning glass-secured IPS show and a bended, slightly rubbery, dimpled back. A long space for the speaker sits on the back, just before it bends into the edge where the microUSB port sits fixated on the base, alongside the earphone jack on the correct corner. The main catches, a rest switch and volume rocker, are along the correct hand side. The NFC sensor is set on the inverse corner. The Nexus 7 seems to have two pinhole mics, one around an inch over the NFC sensor (for sound dropping) and another on the upper left corner (for voice gathering).

The Nexus 7's bezel is thicker on the shorter sides, only a hair more than two centimeters, while on the more extended side it quantifies 1.1 centimeters. This makes it somewhat more agreeable and characteristic to hold in scene introduction (when writing, however, representation introduction is certainly prevalent). It's too terrible Google can't proper the iPad's capacity to part the console to make it nearer to the client's two thumbs in scene. As it seems to be, scene writing on a 7-inch screen still makes a great deal of strain (ten-finger writing is, obviously, right out).The console is not exactly as smart as whatever is left of the Nexus 7 encounter. It appears to once in a while miss letters, or need to get up to speed after a progression of letters are written, particularly directly subsequent to waking. This happened rarely, however was somewhat baffling when it did. Not at all like the Kindle Fire, the Nexus 7 is Bluetooth-able (this was one of our real strikes against the Fire's status as a tablet). Matched with a console, the Nexus 7 could without much of a stretch fill in as a portable work arrangement similarly as the iPad can.

Generally speaking, the body is exceptionally agreeable to hold. In bearing it, I felt I could deal with it more like a book than either the Kindle Fire or iPad 2. It feels strong without being too substantial, and the rubberiness of the back shields it from being excessively tricky. The dimpled back is by all accounts altogether a stylish decision, and an odd one at that, however we assume it may be a prevalent material decision for hiding fingerprints.

Like the Kindle Fire, the Nexus 7 has no equipment home catch. Rather, the three Android 4.1 Jelly Bean delicate keys are everpresent along the base of the screen: Back, Home, and Recent Apps, which will indicate applications you've utilized as of late in turn around sequential request. The exemption to the catches' appearance is the point at which you are e-perusing or watching motion pictures, when the symbols will blur totally or be lessened to dim dark dabs, respectively.By default, the home screen of the Nexus 7 is intended to chimp that of the Kindle Fire, with comprehensible media and sound gadgets masterminded up front. As we said in our early introductions post, the Nexus 7 accompanies a little determination of substance pre-stacked. This incorporates yet is not restricted to Swann's Way, duplicates of Popular Science and Esquire, and a couple of melodies from Google Play's Music store. One motion picture comes pre-stacked, Transformers: Dark of the Moon. That is a battery life analyzer's fantasy: turn the volume and shine up, press play, stuff it between two sofa pads, and go accomplish something else for over two hours.

The Nexus 7 weighs 11.99 ounces (340 grams), 2.6 ounces lighter than the Kindle Fire. While we found the Kindle Fire a tad excessively bulky and substantial, making it impossible to hold uncertain while perusing, the Nexus 7's lighter weight and sleeker body implies we can effectively hold it up like a book for 20 minutes to 30 minutes without our arm getting drained. Holding the Nexus 7 by the edge gets tedious somewhat snappier than holding it from the base, pinky and thumb propped in front, with the other three fingers supporting it from the back, similar to you'd hold a soft cover open.Camera and speaker

The stereo speakers on the Nexus 7 are secured by a recessed metal flame broil and call attention to out of the gadget, which means you'll get the best volume on the off chance that you can back it up against some sort of level surface. The speakers can get acceptably uproarious, and there's little bending at the most elevated volumes. The quality is not impeccable, but rather it's more than serviceable. Since the speakers are situated ideal by each other, the stereo impact doesn't generally become an integral factor.

The Nexus 7 has just a single camera, a front confronting one at 1.2 megapixels. That is one more camera than the Kindle Fire has. I made some video Skype approaches both the Nexus 7 and iPad 2 to perceive how the cameras analyzed, and was frustrated to find that the Nexus 7's camera is pretty terrible.Now, the iPad 2 front-confronting camera is no prize, being of VGA determination (0.3 megapixels). Be that as it may, holding it beside the Nexus 7 put the Nexus 7's camera to disgrace. Obviously, there are different components at play here: the nature of the association, and in addition inward equipment (yet I will take note of that my FiOS association is liberal in size, and was just out of gear use by one of my own PCs and the two tablets at the time).

We will most likely be unable to put the blame totally on the camera get together itself, yet whatever was going on, it was not working extremely well. The photograph above does not indicate it, but rather the limits of my face were in steady movement, as though I were being rotoscoped for a-ha's music video for "Go up against Me," "Go up against Me: Revenge of the Jilted Pencil Sketch Girlfriend."

We would have gotten a kick out of the chance to test the camera past the extent of video talk, however the Nexus 7 has no pre-introduced camera application. We found no plan of action in the Google Play store—evidently, every outsider camera application obliges gadgets to have a back camera for establishment. Unless you are a devoted enthusiast of Tumblr's Gratuitous-Picture-Of-Yourself Wednesdays (potentially NSFW), you won't utilize the camera much in the traditional sense at any rate. This cut our testing a bit short.Update: Some great soul has made a Camera Launcher for the Nexus 7 and put it up in the Google Play Store. We're calmed to locate that a great part of the camera's repulsiveness is the aftereffect of the video talk/Skype condition. All alone, the camera is simply your normal, scarcely acceptable 1.2-megapixel camera, yet outside video talking it can at any rate make out spots. The photograph above was taken utilizing the connected application.

Screen

The 7-inch screen is a 1280x800 IPS show, a sort that is eminent for its wide survey points. The Nexus 7's screen has a little however discernible drop in shine past around a 30 degree turn from head-on survey. The screen is equally lit in any case, so gatherings of people off to either side won't be at an incredible hindrance.

The alignment of hues in the primary symbols you see on the Nexus 7 make it appear a bit undersaturated. In any case, when we analyzed a wide assortment of hues on different screens, we found that the Nexus 7's screen is very piece more soaked than expected. Purples and reds specifically are a modest piece more dynamic, even to the point of mistake.

In contrast with the iPad 2's screen, whites on the Nexus 7 are on the warm side even at full shine, however the tinge isn't detectable when not being held up alongside another screen (Apple's iOS gadget screens do have a tendency to be cooler in temperature). This is a decent transform from some other extensive screened Android gadgets, which are regularly either too warm or exceptionally unforgiving at the brightest settings. At all shine levels, a dark screen is discernable from the bezel, yet even at 100 percent the dark is still very soaked.

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