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20forty9 · 2 months

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I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter I - From Me, To You

Summary : You just wanted to understand what it felt like to be human, but instead ran into a cruel fate. After being cursed, you must revisit your past to find how to break the pattern, all while moving forward. It was supposed to be a one-man job, but why do you suddenly seem to be surrounded by so many people that you cherish? Why are you having second thoughts about this? Maybe things don't have to end this way. But maybe they do.

Word Count : 12k

Warnings : Suicidal ideation/attempt

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N: I honestly don't care about Tumblr formatting as much as I do Ao3, so take this. If it looks funky, mb but idgaf LMFAO. All characters are depicted as 18+.

There are different kinds of curiosity: one comes from self-interest, which makes us want to know everything that may be profitable to us; another from pride, which comes from a desire to know what others are ignorant of. ~ Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Curiosity is an innate characteristic of being human. Existing in one from birth; a flame that, once lit, is impossible to extinguish. It burns bright until the one holding the candle passes on.

If curiosity is so human, then why does a spirit, sworn to its duties, experience it?

And so violently, too.

It feels like all the questions it wants answered are trying to tear themselves out of its skin, keeping its mind racing every moment it finds itself unoccupied. What is a pure companionship? What does a handmade meal taste like, made with care and patience? What does hatred feel like? What does it mean to feel alive, to live your life to the fullest? What is loneliness?

What is hurt?

What is love?

Hundreds of unanswered questions, an unending list that grows more and more each day, until it can’t take it anymore.

All the things it liked to do in the past to bring itself entertainment feel dull. There isn’t a rush of satisfaction after playing a trick on another fellow spirit or even a curse; the feeling of a smug victory after being yelled at for causing yet another mess in the realm is missing; the bathhouse is full of greedy spirits desperate to wash mankind’s pollution from their very being, pushing against each other and fighting – it’s disheartening.

It has had enough.

It ventures to the outskirts of the sacred forest, the air surrounding it unusually heavy and suffocating; oppressive . There’s not a single bird singing – not that it would be able to hear them, in the first place, but there are no telltale signs of branches rustling that move along with the birds. There’s no breeze, either, it notices. This is strange.

It feels dead leaves crunching underneath the sole of its bare feet, rocks digging into its heels and small sticks poking its toes. Undeterred, it continues along the natural pathway carved into the forest floor – indented from frequent use by humans, spirits and animals alike.

There’s a presence nearby, the spirit can tell. It’s an indescribable feeling that it feels often, almost as if it's being watched, hairs on the back of its neck rising as it snaps its head to the right, presumably in the general direction of the presence.

Squinting its eyes, its keen vision picks up the person’s cursed energy long before they enter its field of sight. There, through the forest thicket, a woman dressed in royal red robes takes careful steps, mindful not to catch herself on any loose branches or stones. Her light blonde hair cascades over her shoulders; long, flowing, looking silky and smooth to the touch. She keeps her hands hidden behind the long sleeves of her robes. Her porcelain skin contrasts against the deep red lipstick adorning her lips, a gold pendant resting around her delicate neck and dipping into her neckline. The spirit’s eyes trace every enchanting feature of this mysterious woman, feeling its gaze quickly snap back up to her face as they trail too far past her neckline.

The woman stops a few short feet away from the spirit, not facing it, but obviously not oblivious to its presence. They are both acutely aware of each other, letting the dead quiet of the forest envelop them both.

Her lips move to form words, but the spirit is too distracted by the shiny layer of gloss that accentuates the deep red painting them. It subtly pinches itself to shake it out of its reverie, focusing on telling the words apart instead of getting lost in the alluring siren standing before it.

“What are you?” She asks it, tilting her head to look at it in its eyes. “You’re beyond human… I can feel it.”

Instead of replying, it nods slightly.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” The woman chuckles, it can tell by the repetitive rise and fall of her chest, eyes crinkling closed – the smile does not reach her eyes. So strange. “The least you could do is introduce yourself.”

It quietly replies with its name. It cringes, nose scrunching in awkwardness, knowing its voice is off – a few syllables missing, maybe, or its voice pitching in different tones. “My name. You?”

“Oh my,” she giggles again, this time a clothed hand coming to cover her mouth. It drops back down once she calms herself down. “You talk in such a peculiar way… but, your voice…”

She steps closer to it, raising her hand to trail a finger along its bicep. “You can’t hear, can you?”

It shakes its head to confirm her suspicions, breath hitching lightly at the close proximity.

“Let me describe your voice to you, then.” The hand touching the spirit’s bicep moves to its chest, pressing down lightly to force it to sit down on a fallen tree log. The woman quickly hikes one leg over its thigh, plopping herself down on its lap, making herself comfortable. Skin peeks through the slit of her robes, the supple, soft skin of her thigh calling out to the spirit to place a hand there, and it does so, albeit after an awkward pause.

The blonde raises her hands to gently hold its face, tracing its jawline, eyes boring into its mismatched ones. Her eyes are a deep grey, the spirit notices; a tempermental cloud, the reflection of light in her orbs akin to the strike of lightning.

It's suddenly aware of her chest pressing against its own, trying to get her body as close as possible.

“ Seductive ,” Her lips form the words, it feels the rumble of her voice verberating against itself. “Deep, and low. It’s beautiful, a shame you can’t hear yourself speak.”

“You could bring nations down to their knees with a voice like that,” she says, sending a shiver down its spine.

What is this feeling? The spirit thinks to itself. It feels like a knot in my stomach, a burning sensation. It's not sure if it likes it.

“I can see so many questions in your eyes, spirit,” the woman continues. “Know that with me, you will have potential. A curious thing like you can’t go to waste, can you?”

What is going on? Blood feels like it's rushing away from its head, the warmth in its stomach spreading throughout its entire body, making its fingertips tingle.

“Come with me,” her hands trail to its back, digging her nails into its shoulder blades, muscles rippling underneath her touch. “I’ll make you discover amazing things. A powerful future awaits you.”

The offer is enticing; maybe this is what it has been waiting for, the opportunity to finally answer those questions constantly running through its mind. The spirit isn’t entirely stupid; it knows that this woman wants something in return. No human ventures through this forest without having a plan to come across whatever unfortunate spirit’s path and asking for a blessing after providing an offering. Maybe if it plays its cards right, it can trick her to work this out in its own favour, without it having to sacrifice much in return.

The spirit moves its hand away from the woman’s thigh, pointing at her wordlessly.

“I’m a simple being,” she sighs, immediately understanding its wordless question. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flick over to the scenery surrounding the two of them. “I want what any other person would like to have.”

It tilts its head to the side in confusion, not completely catching onto what she meant.

“Power,” she starts, “fame, fortune, all the men in the world tumbling down to their knees to worship the ground which I walk upon… and immortality, of course.”

Ah, the age-old request. The spirit frowns, eyebrows knitting together and lips slightly downcast. How typical, how boring – and to think the spirit was starting to become entertained by this unknown woman.

She notices the change in behaviour, and simply gives a light pat to the spirit’s cheek before resting her hands on its shoulders.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m different,” she reassures it, declaring it with the utmost conviction. “I will change the shaman world as we know it.”

Shamans. Now, that is a familiar word. Whispers of shamans, sorcerers, wizards & witches and what-have-you passed through the bathhouse on the daily. Normal spirits aren’t too worried, but there’s word that cursed spirits are being wiped out one by one, trying to make the world a safer place , in the shamans’ words.

“It’s rotten out there, you know,” the woman says. “People are so selfish, greedy and impulsive.” Like you? The spirit thinks to itself, raising an eyebrow. “Violent and angry.”

It doesn’t understand those words; yes, it has heard of those emotions, but it has never experienced them. So it continues to blankly stare at the woman, waiting for her to continue with her spiel.

“Their hatred is what keeps us shamans alive.”

Her grip tightens on its shoulders.

“One day, someone will try to take over and become the most powerful shaman in history. That person will be me . I’ll change our society. But…”

…

“...It’s not enough. I want more,” she continues, “I need more. But I require more firepower for that, more time, and there are countless other goals I want to achieve – will achieve, no matter the price. Nobody understands me, not like a spirit would.”

This… could actually pan out for the spirit, if the odds are in its favour. This woman is obviously obsessed with her self-centered desires. A binding vow is a binding vow, even non-humans face its negative repercussions, but there are always loopholes, especially for a spirit as cunning as itself. A life free of its original duties, in exchange for the curse that is immortality. A fair trade, indeed.

The resolution must show in its eyes, because the woman gets up from its lap to stand on her feet, taking a few steps back to let it stand up as well. She extends her left hand, strangely enough, but the spirit shrugs it off as an unusual quirk of hers. It extends its own left hand in reciprocation, their fingertips grazing before their hands finally clasp together. Their eyes never leave each other as they shake on it.

The woman brings her right hand up to her face, holding her pointer and middle finger up and nearly touching her nose with them, mumbling incoherent words that the spirit cannot lipread. Suddenly, dark purple wisps emerge from her left arm, forming tendrils that slowly wiggle as if they have a mind of their own, crawling away from her and onto the spirit’s arm. It frantically tries to unclasp her hand, attempting to tug its arm away but to no avail; it’s like their hands are glued together.

The tendrils make contact with the spirit’s bare skin along its arm, and it feels like acid is sinking deep into its bones, a burning feeling spreading all throughout its body. It’s agonizing. It’s painful.

It hurts.

It looks from the tendrils back at the woman’s face, a deranged look in her eyes as her smile stretches wickedly, the corners of her lips nearly touching her ears as she shows off all her unnaturally pearly white teeth. Her body heaves – this is clearly not an easy task for her – but she is somehow successfully draining incredible amounts of energy from the spirit.

“I imagine it must feel strange being overpowered by a weak human, am I right?” She cackles as she lets the cancerous tendrils do their work, eyes unnaturally wide and sunken-in. The ache in its bones spreads to its spine, sending unpleasant shivers running down its back, making its legs weak.

With its right hand, the spirit snaps its fingers, sending a large swoosh of fire, targeting the woman, but the lack of energy makes the attack more inaccurate. Just as the flames flicker too closely to her, black tendrils appear from the ground and easily block the fire before it can touch her; this must be a part of her technique.

Spots start to appear in the peripheral of the spirit’s vision, a wave of nausea and dizziness overcoming it. Another snap of its right hand, but the small explosion rumbles the ground too far off to have been anywhere near its opponent. At this point, she blurs in with the background, royal red robes blending with the rich green of the trees, and the spirit feels its knees buckle before it falls to the ground face-first.

Finally, it feels the woman let go of its left arm, letting it follow the rest of its body, falling limply to the ground. It gathers just enough strength to turn its head to the right, squinting its eyes as a last-ditch attempt to make out her features.

“I’m glad we were able to come to an agreement, spirit,” it can just barely make out what she’s saying. “And to answer your question from earlier…”

“...I am Madame Suliman.”

And finally, its vision completely fails, body going completely limp as it falls unconscious.

It’s a clear night, the stars shine brightly in the sky, not a single cloud to obstruct them. If you squint your eyes just right, you can see a plane’s lights blink on and off, slowly moving through the dark expanse.

The long sleeves of your ragged sweatshirt scratch at your skin, reminding you of your current situation. Cheeks sunken in, dried scabs and unhealed cuts litter your arms. Your ripped running shoes are covered in mud and speckled with your own blood. Your stomach rumbles loudly, sides cramping angrily at the lack of food over the past few days – or was it weeks? Experiencing hunger in the way only a human could was not new to you, but it was just as uncomfortable and strange as the first time you had felt it. However, things would change soon, you think to yourself. Things will change.

You walk along a tall bridge that looks over a river whose water flows quickly, slamming against exposed rocks and sending waves crashing against each other. If you tried to reach out, you would feel the energy and life from the river, coursing through your veins. But you don’t.

Matted hair falls in front of your face as you take a peek over the edge of the bridge. It’s so dark out that the flowing water looks like a void, the stars reflected in it making it look like the sky never ends and the horizon never stops, blending seamlessly and wrapping around you entirely.

Is this what peace feels like?

You don't feel anything other than the cramping in your stomach, hands coming up to clutch and squeeze your sides to try and give your body at least a second of reprieve.

This is not peace, you decide.

You close your eyes, moving your arms to grasp the railing of the bridge. Your foot blindly seeks out to find a small ledge to heave yourself up further over the railing, too weak to use your arms to lift up your entire body.

Just as you feel your foot catch onto a small step, there’s a flash of light beyond your eyelids, making you snap your eyes open. There, to your right, down on the riverbank; a gaggle of kids messing around with each other, watching the eldest of the group light another firework. There’s a small straight line of light that shoots straight up before a sudden burst of colour explodes in your vision.

Blues, purples, reds and greens flow into a thousand sparks, and you can nearly feel the sound verberate through your chest.

The kids all have large grins spread across their faces, one exclaiming in surprise and pointing out to a bright red firework going off. The smell of gunpowder tingles your nostrils, leftover smoke covering the reflection of the stars in the glimmering water.

Not here.

You take your foot off the ledge, taking a step back, but your hands remain firmly planted on the railing of the bridge. It was so close, yet so far. The cramps seem to pulse in discomfort tenfold this time, making you hunch over yourself until your forehead presses against the cool metal where your hands rest.

When can this all be over?

Clearly, not soon enough. This isn’t the place…

Tomorrow, then.

A sudden and quick tap on your right shoulder makes you turn your head slightly, smooshing your cheek against the railing to see who would be bothering you at this time of night. A man in a black sports jacket and dark grey jeans stands next to you. His buzz-cut is clearly done by himself, some hair sticking out at random angles that he had missed in the mirror when he shaved his hair off. His moustache is recently shaved, but it looks like he’s trying to grow a beard; the hair on his chin is left untouched. His shoes are well-worn – clearly this man does regular exercise, which is probably why he was out at this hour. There’s a serious look in his dark brown eyes as he looks at you.

The man’s lips move, and you suspect that this guy is asking you if you’re alright. You give a weak nod in reply, raising your left hand to your ear and then making an ‘x’ as you bring your right hand up to cross both of them with each other. Hopefully it gets your point across pretty easily without the latter knowing sign language. I can’t hear.

The man nods, taking out his flip phone from his jacket’s pocket, large thumbs moving awkwardly against the small keypad before he turns the screen to you. You squint your eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden harsh light.

- Need food? YES or NO.

Surprised, you nod awkwardly. Is this guy serious ? The man turns the phone back towards himself, typing again.

- U have place to stay? Y / N?

You shake your head this time. No, you ran from the only place that dared to house you, if it could even be called a home . It was the furthest thing from it.

The man closes his flip phone, motioning to you to follow. If you were in any other state of mind, you would maybe think twice instead of blindly following this man, but your hunger and exhaustion take over. The potential idea of having even just a single bite of food and maybe a soft pillow to rest your head on is too promising of an opportunity to pass up. You don't feel any weird aura from the man, either – but maybe that’s just your senses being dulled by everything else going on right now.

…What were you just doing, anyways? Where did you come from again…?

Your movements are sluggish as you take a step towards the man, disregarding your own worried thoughts about forgotten plans from just mere moments ago. Your right knee buckles slightly underneath your weight, but you heed it no mind; not until you take another step and your vision starts to spot at the edges, creating a warped tunnel in front of you. You collapse, feeling yourself fall into a pair of strong arms before everything goes completely black, enveloping you completely and taking your consciousness away with it.

The years pass by in a muddled mess, and now you look at yourself in the mirror. Your hand holds your chin as you stare at the jagged scar that runs from the top of your right eyebrow, along the bridge of your (currently broken) nose, down to your left cheek. Another smaller scar sits right next to the bigger one in your eyebrow, almost looking like a claw mark.

Your eyebrows furrow in distaste at the ugly scars, nose wrinkling before you hiss at the pain that pangs throughout your face. The bandage currently resting along the bridge of it feels like it’s barely doing its job at holding the broken bone in place, and to distract yourself from the persistent ache, you look up into your mismatched eyes. Your right eye is its original colour, but your left eye is a deep, vibrant magenta that you still aren't used to seeing. There’s a distinct lack of light that should normally be reflected in your eyes – instead, they look empty. Worn out. Cold.

Your gaze trails down to your left arm, which is left uncovered by a black sleeveless compression shirt. The curse mark looks back at you, an ugly dark purple with a lighter, thick burgundy outline. It’s in the shape of the tendrils that once crawled along your skin, leaving their permanent mark deep within your bones. It covers nearly your entire forearm, looking like a messed-up tattoo. The pain is constant, only slightly dulled with whatever concoction of medicine Yaga tends to give you. Never in a thousand years did anyone think a spirit could ever experience chronic pain, yet here this one stands, insomnia riddled nights keeping you awake and acutely aware of the never-ending throbbing. The dark bags underneath your eyes speak for themselves.

Your hair hasn’t been cut since Yaga took you in, and you style it the way you usually like it, making sure that there’s enough hair that covers your ears completely.

Besides the curse mark, the purple eye and the broken nose, everything else seems to be in place as it normally should be.

Your knit-picking of yourself gets interrupted by a presence on the other side of the bathroom door. You can tell someone is knocking by the way that the old handle shakes and the door slightly bounces back and forth in its frame.

Sighing through your nose, you open the door to reveal a familiar man. Yaga’s buzzcut is what greets you first as the teacher seems to be looking down, fumbling with something in his hands. Oh, the elastic bandages. Your left hand goes to grab it, distracting Yaga from his awkward struggle and grabbing his attention.

The man seems to be saying something unintelligible as he drops the wraps into your awaiting hands.

“ Here you go, ” Yaga signs to you once he realized that you couldn’t understand him, “ they’re clean bandages. Do you still have the dirty ones in here ?”

You turn to the sink where the discarded bandages lay. There’s dried blood and dirt littered all over the fabric, wordlessly telling Yaga everything he needs to know about what happened. The teacher quietly watches as you unfurl the clean wraps before enveloping your left arm with the bandages, just enough to cover the mark of the curse. One-handed, you struggle with tucking the wrap properly so it doesn’t fall off, so Yaga swats your right hand away to do it himself.

Finally secured properly, you take a step back to create a bit of distance between the two to take another look in the mirror. You nod your head, approving of the placement of the bandage. No sign of the curse mark underneath it.

“ Now that you’re all fixed up, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Yaga signs to you again. “ Do you mind reading my lips? ”

You shake your head. Thankfully, Yaga’s beard isn’t too obstructive to his lips, so it’s easier to understand him compared to others.

“Thank you for understanding,” he seems a bit sheepish, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “My sign language is still rusty at best, but the classes are paying off. I can understand you better now.”

At this, you give him a grin. “ I really appreciate you taking those classes. Most people wouldn’t bother.” You sign to him, making sure to move your hands more slowly than usual so he can understand.

“Well, we have to communicate somehow, don’t we? And anyways, it’s an important skill to have,” the brunette brings a closed fist to in front of his mouth momentarily, probably to clear his throat, you surmise. “Moving on…”

Yaga leads you to exit the bathroom, walking out into the small dorm that you currently occupy, unbeknownst to the other students living at the school.

You both sit down on your respective mats laid out on the floor, sitting across from each other with a small coffee table in between the two of you. Normally, you would prepare green tea for yourself and him, but it looks like Yaga has something on his mind, so you let him take the lead. He folds his hands together, resting them on the tabletop before he starts speaking.

“I’d like to have you join the Jujutsu society, officially,” he says. “No more hiding. You’d be training with others, and have an official rank.”

You can’t help the way your jaw drops quickly, eyes widening. Immediately, your hands start to move frantically as you lean over the coffee table excitedly.

“ Seriously?! You’re not joking??? I could be out there again? But what about the higher-ups?! You know Gakuganji hates my guts! ”

Yaga lets a small smile grace his usually stoic face at your excitement, though he quickly gets nervous, as the speed at which you sign is not something he’s used to. Who knew someone could ramble so efficiently with sign language? “Hold your horses – first off, he doesn’t hate you, he’s just a traditionalist. A spirit working amongst us, no less a cursed one, is probably the highest form of blasphemy for him. I’m surprised he hasn’t had a heart attack already, truthfully.”

You sit back on your mat, huffing out longingly, lazily tilting your head side to side as you slump over and pout. “ He acts as if I murdered his entire family. ”

Yaga says nothing to that, simply nodding along. “As I said, it’s nothing personal… the higher-ups weren’t happy with my proposal, but I can’t keep you locked in here. You’ve proven yourself time and time again that I can trust you. It’s due time that you discover our world properly.”

You bristle at that, back straightening. Similar words were spoken to you decades ago, hiding a sinister truth behind them. Yaga isn’t her, you remind yourself. Things have changed... though not everything. Funnily enough, your body hasn’t aged a day since your creation – constantly stuck in the body of a young adult. However, the things you have seen and experienced are enough to last for a thousand lifetimes.

“I’ve trained you underneath me for some time now, but you should learn to work in a team,” Yaga continues. “I have very promising students this year, you’ll be a good match for them.”

“ They won’t take kindly to me being a cursed spirit, ” you frown. “ I’m not entirely sure that’s a good idea.”

“We won’t know until we try, will we?” He raises an eyebrow in question, which you return mockingly. “Don’t give me that. You’ve always been an optimist, prove yourself to me.”

You sigh dramatically. “ Lots of pressure you’re putting on me, old man…” You lay your head on the coffee table, eyes still on Yaga’s lips to read them properly.

“Run that by me again?” The teacher asks, and suddenly it feels like a heavy weight has appeared in the room. You immediately sit up straight, eyes growing the size of saucers as you grin nervously.

“ I mean, you look as young as ever!” You shake your hands out in front of yourself defensively, sweating profusely. “ You haven’t aged since I’ve known you!”

“...That’s what I thought.” You breathe out in relief.

“ So when would I be meeting your students? ”

“I was hoping for our first class of the day today. It’d be good to get you involved as soon as possible,” Yaga says.

His timing is reasonable – today is the first day back to school after summer break, so it’d make sense for you to be introduced then, instead of halfway through a random semester. It would feel invasive if he did otherwise. The prospect of being introduced to a class that already knows each other well makes you a bit nervous, but the excitement to meet new people and no longer having to hide your presence overshadows your anxiety.

You take a look at the digital clock on your nightstand, seeing it is approximately twenty minutes before class starts.

“We should get going, then,” Yaga states as he follows your eyes to the time, tapping the table with his pointer finger to get your attention. Your head snaps to the teacher’s fingers, who points behind him to the door of your dorm with his thumb.

You both get up, and you quickly dust off your dark brown cargo pants before you follow behind Yaga, the familiar feeling of the knob locking signaling that you closed up your door properly. You make your way down the hallways of the dormitory, stepping outside to walk along campus towards the school itself.

It’s a beautiful morning; the sun shines brightly, only a few clouds can be seen in the light blue sky. Birds fly back and forth between the trees, and you are sure that they must be chirping (a noise that Yaga had tried - and failed - to explain to you, but at least you know what the word is). The day still holds a bit of the overnight chill, though it’ll soon dissipate into the oppressive heat that summer usually holds as it ends.

You step into the school, and you make your way to Yaga’s classroom, sliding the door open. The wooden desks with white tabletops are holding up stacked chairs, and on Yaga’s desk sits a pencil holder and sharpener with a chunky laptop placed on top of a few stacked papers.

You tap the man’s shoulder, grabbing his attention.

“ I see you went all-out with your decorations, ” you joke.

“Ha ha ,” and you know that’s a sarcastic laugh because Yaga’s eyebrow twitches like it usually does when there’s sarcasm laced in his tone. “There’s only three of them, plus my two first-years. It feels ridiculous to have a classroom of this size for just a few brats. Take a seat, one of them should be here shortly.”

You obediently take a seat at one of the desks in the middle at the very front, plopping yourself in the chair and leaning back to make room to rest your legs on the top of the desk, crossing one over the other. At least in this seat, you’ll be able to read Yaga’s lips with little to no issue.

“ One? ” You sign with a simple motion, raising an eyebrow questionably.

“Yeah, the two others are always late no matter what.” Yaga seems exasperated as he says it, rolling his eyes, followed by his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if a headache is already forming when class hasn’t even started yet. Then, Yaga signs a word that you are incredibly familiar with. “ Morons. ”

That makes you laugh without a sound. “ Are you even allowed to say that about your own students? ”

The teacher nods his head fervently, and it’s enough to tell you all you need to know about the people you’ll be introduced to shortly. Speaking of which, you take a look up at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard. Oh, they should be here right about…

You notice movement in the corner of your eye, and someone takes a step through the doorway and into the classroom.

…Now.

A girl with dark brown hair cut in a bob holds a pack of cigarettes in her hand, doing a poor job of concealing it in front of her teacher. Her bangs are swept to the left, and it looks like the length of it is annoying her, as she blows air to get some loose strands out of her eyes. She dons a long-sleeved shirt in Jujutsu High’s typical dark blue colour with a skirt to match it, black tights underneath and brown sandals on her feet. The features that stand out the most to you is the mole right underneath her right eye, accompanied by the tired look in her chocolate brown eyes.

She fusses with the pack of cigarettes, trying to slip it into a pocket of her skirt, and is discussing something back and forth with Yaga, completely oblivious to the other presence in the room until he jabs a finger in your direction.

“...Oh,” you read on her lips. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

You wave back politely, signing good morning to her with a smile on your face. She tilts her head in question, not understanding the movements you did with your hands.

“ Ohh. ” The girl drags the word out. She brings her right hand up to her forehead, pinching her thumb and forefinger to make something similar to an ‘OK’ sign, hand tilting sideways, then flattens out her hand vertically and brings it down. ‘ I’m sorry’ in sign language. “I don’t know much sign… besides ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’,” she says as she turns to her teacher.

You’re surprised that she knows how to say sorry in sign language in the first place, and it makes your grin stretch even wider. It’s still something.

“They’re very good at reading lips, if it’s any consolation. I’ve been learning for the past few months but I’m still a novice,” Yaga tells the girl before he rummages through a drawer in his desk. He pulls out an empty notebook and then takes one of the pens in his pencil holder, handing it to the girl. “You should introduce yourself.”

You try to take a peek at the notebook, sitting upright as the brunette hunches over, writing away. Finally, she turns the paper to you, letting you read it properly.

- My name is Ieri Shoko, sorry I don’t know or understand JSL.

You stick your left hand out, right one pointing to the pen in her hand. She hands it to you wordlessly, moving to stand over your shoulder and look down as you write away.

- Nice to meet you, Shoko!

You write down your name on the paper to introduce yourself, leaning your head over so she can read it before you continue again.

- It’s okay. I’m fine with reading lips or writing in this notebook. I’m completely deaf and mute, so if it’s not too much trouble, face me when you’re talking or else I won’t understand you. I apologize.

Shoko waves her hand around nonchalantly, as if saying it’s no problem. She grabs the pen from you to write again.

- No need to apologize. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.

You smile at her, and she sends you a lazy one of her own in return, setting the pen down on the desk.

“Where are those two runts?” Yaga looks towards the doorway, waiting for the rest of his students.

“Probably setting the microwave on fire, I think it’s a biweekly ritual of theirs,” Shoko says as she grabs a seat at the desk to your right. “Either that or terrorizing the staff again.”

Yaga mumbles incoherently to himself, rubbing his temples, annoyed. “I swear…”

A movement out of the corner of your eye catches his attention. Shoko is writing something down again, making sure that you can see the notepad.

- What happened to your nose?

You cringe slightly to himself, brows furrowing in annoyance.

- Bad run in with a curse.

“Literally,” Yaga makes sure to mention to her. “They ran into a wall while chasing it down.”

You wave your hands back and forth, as if trying to cut him off while glaring at the man. She doesn’t need to know that! All dignity is thrown out the window when you realize Shoko is chuckling. It’s so over, you slump back into your chair, dramatically sighing.

There’s a thumping that vibrates the floorboards on the other side of the doorway. Multiple, actually. Curious, you look over to your right and through the windows of the classroom, seeing two figures blur as they run down the hallway and rush into Yaga’s room.

Two men stand there, both wiping sweat off of their foreheads as they catch their breath.

The first that catches your eye has black hair tied back into a bun, letting his bangs stay loose on the left side of his face. His eyes are dark brown, and he has black gauges pierced in his ears. He’s tall and slim, but you can tell that his arms are muscled underneath the long-sleeved uniform shirt. He wears extremely baggy pants and dark black sandals.

The other has stunning pure white hair that sticks up at random angles – he obviously doesn’t care too much to brush his hair in the mornings – and he wears a black hoodie with the hood flipped up, covering most of his head. His eyes are an electric blue, almost seemingly glowing. He wears the school’s uniform pants with expensive-looking shoes. He looks a little taller than the other one by a couple of inches, too.

“Sorry we’re late…” The dark-haired one says after catching his breath. The other seems to have his gaze locked onto you, slapping his friend’s arm to grab his attention and pointing to the new addition in the class. Uncomfortable at the intense eye contact, you avert your gaze to his friend’s earrings.

There’s a certain indescribable aura that emanates from the mysterious stranger sitting at the desk, setting off warning bells in both of the boys’ minds. They take a defensive stance, ready to attack at any moment.

“There’s no mistaking that…” The black-haired guy mumbles, fists raised.

“It must be a cursed spirit.” The other one finishes.

Shoko seems surprised, but doesn’t make a move to make any distance between her and you.

“Calm down, you two,” Yaga steps forward slightly. “They’re joining you.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” The white-haired one asks.

“This is your new teammate, or your babysitter, depending on how you look at it, Gojo,” Yaga answers. You presume Gojo is the one with the striking blue eyes.

You quickly grab the notebook in front of you, holding it up so they can read the introduction you wrote to Shoko a minute prior.

The two friends look at each other, apprehensive. Obviously, they aren’t too keen on you being in their proximity, which is exactly what you feared in the first place. You can’t blame them for their initial reaction, though it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Are you being for real?” Gojo asks his teacher. “This thing is joining us?”

“That thing can read your lips. It’s a complicated story,” he says. “It’d take too long to explain. However, I can assure you that they’re perfectly safe. They’re not a curse.”

A pen being thrown in their general direction grabs their attention, the three men’s gazes trailing to you, holding your notebook up again.

- Don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the same room as you.

Yaga signs an apology, but Gojo crosses his arms and frowns at you.

“So what, you’re joining us on missions and training?” He asks.

“That’s the idea,” Yaga says. “So play nice. That goes to you too,” he says your name.

Your point to yourself, pouting. “ Such offensive accusations. I’m an angel. ”

“Huh? What’d they say?” The black-haired one tilts his head in confusion.

“They’re a bit of a trickster as well, been a pain in my ass for the past few years. Not unlike you three…” the teacher pauses for a moment. “ Goddamn , I just realized – introducing you all to each other is probably the worst thing I could’ve done to myself.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, now…” Gojo mumbles before looking dead-ahead at you and addressing you. “Satoru Gojo.”

Despite his attitude, you move your hands together to sign ‘ Nice to meet you. ’ His last name seems familiar, but you can’t quite place why. The lack of recognition in your mismatched eyes must be obvious to the white-haired man, who’s eyebrows raise at the lack of reaction.

“You know, like the Six Eyes? The Gojo Clan ?” He points to himself to drive his point home.

The mention of Six Eyes rings a bell, but for some reason it still doesn’t click. You shake your head, shrugging, then pointing to the dark-haired man standing next to Gojo.

“I’m Suguru Geto,” he introduces himself simply, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “...You’re completely deaf?”

You nod, quickly writing down in the notebook.

- Can’t hear a single thing.

“Shit, that sucks.” Gojo says.

“Gojo, have some decorum, idiot,” Geto hisses to his friend, slapping the back of his head, though it has zero effect on him.

“My bad,” The white-haired man half-heartedly apologizes. “You’re the one who asked in the first place.”

“Can you take your hood off, Gojo?” Yaga gets the student’s attention.

“But sensei , my head hurts again…” he complains, pulling the hood down even further to cover his eyes completely. “Everything’s so bright today.”

“I’m guessing that’s why you were late. As usual. ”

You tilt your head, taking the pen off of your desk and scribbling down in the notebook again. Shoko leans over to read what you’re writing, and Suguru, noticing her behaviour, does the same.

- Does he have migraines often?

Suguru nods in reply. “Yeah, pretty much every other day.”

You hiss through your teeth, mouthing ‘ ouch’ and doing a thumbs-down, making Shoko chuckle lightly.

“Anyways,” Yaga speaks to the entire group as Gojo sits on top of the desk to the left of you, “I’d like you three to take today easy and get acquainted with them. Since this is your first day back to school, I’d like for you to train for an hour. Following the next few days, we’ll get onto a regular schedule.”

“We don’t need a babysitter, sensei,” Gojo pouts at his teacher. “We’re fine on our own.”

“This isn’t just for you, Gojo. This is also for them,” he looks over at you. “They need to learn how things work around here so they don't get into more trouble.”

“ Ooooh, is someone in cahoots with the higher-ups?” This time, he directs the question to you. You make a so-so motion with your hands, shrugging at the same time.

- Something like that? You write down in the notebook, giving an awkward tight-lipped smile.

“Seems like you might fit in with us, in the end.”

Silence stretches out for a few moments before Yaga breaks it by clapping his hands together once.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to get to your training. After that, do what you want,” he says before he turns to you. “ Notebook O-K?” He signs.

You nod in reply, giving him a thumbs up. With that, the teacher exits the classroom after tucking his laptop and loose papers underneath his arm, waving goodbye to your small group.

A poke to your shoulder takes your focus away from your only friend to these strangers. Shoko gives you a lazy grin, pointing at you, then your notebook and pen.

“So, what’re you good with?” She asks.

- Polearms, or my fists. What do you use?

“Ah, actually, she uses a scalpel. Shoko’s refining her Reverse Cursed Technique,” Gojo butts in.

“I could’ve answered that myself, thank you very much, ” she hisses at him, though seeing the small grin on her face, you can tell that there is no actual bite to her words.

Then, you point to the two men standing to your left, as if to ask what about you two ?

There’s a small pause before Gojo breaks out into a shit-eating grin, and both Geto and Shoko shake their heads exasperatedly.

“ Well , I’m glad you asked,” he says as he lowers the hood of his hoodie, completely uncovering his head as he splays his arms out as if he’s performing in front of a crowd. “See, I’m the strongest . I have both the Limitless and Six Eyes.”

The look on his face is full of pride, a hint of mischief flashing in his blue eyes for the split second that you make eye contact with him. You give him another blank stare like a few minutes before, making the white-haired man clench his jaw and shove his face into his hands, irritated. By the look on Geto and Shoko’s face, he’s complaining about that, as they start laughing.

“See, I already like you. You’re actually funny, unlike these two,” Shoko turns to address them. “You guys might have your panties in a twist, but them and I will be best friends,” she says, drawing a small smiley face and a star next to you and her’s names written in the notebook. “Right?” She asks as she looks at you.

You tilt your head to the side, then smile, nodding along. You point to yourself, then to her before clasping both of your hands together tightly and making a small circling movement with your clasped hands.

“What does that one mean?” She asks goodnaturedly.

- Can we be friends? You jot down on the paper.

The brunette repeats the motion slowly, mumbling the words to herself as if it’ll help her remember more easily. “Like that?”

You nod, the smile never leaving your face at the small interaction.

“Sweet!” She exclaims. “You’ll have to teach me more eventually, it’d be cool to communicate properly with you.”

“ I’d be happy to, ” you nod again before you turn to Geto, pointing at him again.

“Oh, right,” he says, mostly to himself. “I manipulate curses.”

Immediately, your jaw drops before you give the raven-haired man two thumbs up. “ That’s sick!” You sign, impressed, eyebrows raised.

“Oh come on, that’s hardly fair! Barely a blink of an eye to my insane powers, and now they’re shitting bricks over Suguru’s ability! This is crazy glazing,” Gojo whines, draping himself over the top of your desk dramatically.

Geto gives him a full-body laugh. “I guess I’m just cooler than you, Satoru.”

“This hardly feels fair. C’mon, I’m sick of this room. Let’s go to the training grounds!” He thumbs in the door’s direction.

Your group gathers their things before making your way outside, not crossing by a single other staff member or student. You can tell how deadly quiet it is on the campus of the school, even without your hearing – there’s a certain lack of energy. You recall Yaga mentioning that jujutsu sorcerers were far and few between nowadays, which explains the few number of students attending.

Now that you’re all walking next to each other, you notice how much taller the two men are compared to yourself. Shoko’s around the same height as you, but Geto is nearly an entire head taller than you, and Gojo is even taller than Geto. You feel short compared to the two of them, and it annoys you.

The weather is still nice by the time you arrive at the training grounds, however the heat is starting to make itself known, making you cringe. You’ve never been good with the warmth that accompanies summer, usually only having a certain amount of energy before you’re knocked out for the rest of the day. You won’t be impressing any of your new acquaintances (and friend ?) today, that’s for sure… not that you wanted to, in the first place. Better to keep your power under wraps for now, especially with the heatwave. Stick to normal physical attacks instead.

You can feel the dry dirt crunch underneath your beat up black – mostly brown, now – converse shoes. You mentally note to not make the wrong move, or else you’ll roll your ankle on the dirt.

There’s a small shack nearby the training grounds, and Geto opens it to reveal an entire array of weapons. There’s a long wooden polearm hanging on the wall; precisely what you need. You grab it, weighing it in the palm of your hands. It’s much lighter than what you usually use, so you’ll have to adjust a bit to that.

You take a quick glance at Geto, who’s doing stretches on the grassy part of the field, and then your eyes drift to Gojo, who stands there watching his friend, hands in his pockets. Isn’t he at least going to pick up a weapon or something?

The latter must feel your attention focused on him, because his gaze snaps up to meet your own. You nervously divert your eyes, looking down at Gojo’s nose and lips instead in case he begins to talk.

“Something on your mind?” He asks you.

Multiple things, actually… you think to yourself. Setting your wooden polearm on the ground, you grab the notebook and pen you brought with yourself and scribble down a few words before turning it around to face him.

- Aren’t you gonna grab something too?

It seems that there’s always a stupid grin smeared across Gojo’s face that you can never wipe off. This time, instead of a dramatic display, he just crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“You’ll see.”

There’s an undeniable curiosity that itches at the back of your mind, so you decide to put the notebook down and pick the polearm up again, making your way closer to Gojo. You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow with a lighthearted smile playing upon your lips.

Well, what are you waiting for?

The white-haired man immediately pulls his hood down, an aura of confidence surrounding him. There’s not a single twitch of his finger or furrow of his brow that gives a hint to any anxiety – he has complete faith in himself and his abilities. Gojo spreads his arms out like he did earlier, as if to make himself an easier target than he already was.

You aren't stupid; you know that your opponent has something up his sleeve, so you have to be careful with your opening moves. You need Gojo to give away what his techniques are without getting caught in the middle of it. Thankfully, this is just a training exercise, so it’s not serious if you get a scratch or two; Gojo wouldn’t go all out, after all, so you wouldn’t either.

With that reassurance, you make the first move. You take a quick step to the right, so swiftly that the air whips around you, the grass where you once stood ruffling angrily from the sudden movement. Gojo immediately reacts; he tries to put more distance between the two of you, not quite expecting the speed at which his opponent moves, but not entirely surprised either.

Another step forward, and you’re suddenly behind him, raising your staff and bringing it down to whack him with it. However, before your weapon can touch Gojo, it gets caught mid-air by an invisible force. Furrowing your brows, you try to put more force behind the blow, but there’s still some sort of force field surrounding him. There’s no way you can land a single scratch on him with this ability activated.

Suddenly, the polearm splits in half, sending shards of wood everywhere around the two of you. Gojo turns around, about to take his turn to attack, but your reaction time is faster, right foot immediately pressing down on the ground below you, sending you flying backwards to put enough distance between you both and landing on your feet.

Your polearm lays pathetically broken on the ground next to Gojo, who continues to smirk at you, completely relaxed as he tugs his hood over his head again.

Even though you had barely done any physical exertion, you already feel sweat form on your brow. You sit down on the grass, leaning back on your hands, feeling the earth refresh your bare palms for a few seconds.

“ What was that? ” you ask him, hands moving quickly as the curiosity continues to eat away at you.

“That was Infinity,” Gojo says, deciding to sit across from you on the grass. For a split second, you look up, and his eyes look less bright than before; it might have something to do with activating his ability, you think. “It’s a work in progress, but I’m basically untouchable with this.”

Shoko walks up to the pair of you, Geto following close behind with your notebook and pen in hand. Grateful, you sign your thanks to him and take them from him, writing some more.

- That’s impressive!! :D You’ll have to tell me more about your Limitless and Six Eyes, I’m curious to learn more.

“Why, so you can take over and kill us all?” Gojo asks, ignoring the flare of pride in his chest at your interest – he knows he can’t trust you that easily.

You level him with a deadpan stare, raising your eyebrows, completely unimpressed.

- Obviously. While I’m at it, I’ll burn the whole world too.

“ See! ” Gojo hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “I knew Yaga’s must’ve been sun-downing when he introduced us to a freaking cursed spirit to add to our team.”

You make a ‘cuckoo’ sign, rolling your eyes and trying not to take the male’s words to heart. He’s just speaking that way because he doesn’t know the entire story – not that he should, honestly – and has only been taught to exorcise curses.

- Jokes aside, I promise not to lay a finger on a single precious hair of yours. As Yaga said, it’s complicated when it comes to me. I’d appreciate it if you keep an open mind. I’d get killed in a split second by the higher ups if I even thought of that, anyways :/

“Seriously, they haven't done anything to show that they’re aggressive,” Shoko comes to your defense, though you find it hard to read her lips as your eyes unfocus; you can’t help but think that maybe Gojo isn’t completely wrong to have that mindset.

“But what if one day they are? Not that it would be a problem for me to exorcise them, but c’mon now. It’s a threat to have them around.”

“Satoru, I think we can trust sensei with this. If he says that they’re trustworthy, then they probably are. He’s a good judge of character,” Geto says next. He isn’t entirely convinced that you’re harmless, but Gojo is being rather harsh with his words.

He huffs, annoyed that both his friends are on your side. “Don’t come crying to me when they finally snap.”

“ I’m not a curse ,” you sign even though none of them know sign language. “ You wouldn’t be exorcising me. You’d be killing me. ”

Tired from this back and forth, you get up, brushing your pants off and grabbing the notebook, tucking it underneath your arm.

“Wait, where’re you going?” Shoko asks.

You point back to the dormitories, shrugging. There’s no point in you sticking around right now if this is going to be the team’s dynamic.

“Don’t go, Satoru promises to behave himself,” Geto says while pinching Gojo’s ear. “Right, Gojo?”

“Fine, fine! Jeez, I’ll stop.” He shakes himself out of his friend’s grip, soothing his now-swollen ear. “Did you have to yank it that hard, Geto ?”

“Seems to be the only way to get you to behave, so yes.”

Shoko claps her hands, satisfied. “Perfect. Let’s go downtown to grab something to cool off, hm?”

A refreshing drink doesn’t sound like a bad idea, you muse to yourself. After a moment, you nod in agreement, making the brunette smile widely at you.

The subway is packed with people; afternoon rush hour is no joke on these trains. Shoko is uncomfortably pressed up against the windows of the doors, Geto is stuck between two people chatting away on two different business calls, you’re desperately clinging onto the railing attached to the ceiling and trying not to lose your footing as you sway back and forth, squished in between the crowd, fingers brushing against the metal pole as your arms aren’t long enough to reach it properly… and Gojo sits happily in the one free seat that was left in the compartment, sitting right behind you.

He’s looking down at his flip phone, obviously amused at something as his body wracks with laughter. He looks up, feeling a hint of murderous intent in the air, making eye contact with Shoko, who’s current glare held towards him could kill someone. The white-haired man smiles innocently at her, sending a lighthearted wave and mouthing something – Having fun over there?

She flips him off in reply.

Meanwhile, you and Geto share equally uncomfortable glances with each other, neither of you being able to breathe properly in this sea of people. Your view is suddenly obstructed by a tall man with bright orange hair, a large suitcase in his hand. His mouth moves quickly, too quickly for you to read his lips properly. Not only that, but you’re pretty sure that this man isn’t even speaking Japanese.

Oh, a tourist… This isn’t good.

Nervously, trying to keep his legs steady, you lower your hands from the too-tall ceiling railing, your left pointer finger pointing to your ear, then making an ‘X’ with your hands. Can’t hear, you mouth, shaking your head back and forth.

Not understanding, the stranger tilts his head to the side, obviously confused, trying his hand again at communicating with you.

What’s this guy not getting? Damn, Shoko has my notebook in her bag and she’s stuck in the corner across from me…

You repeat the motion but it falls on deaf ears – or eyes, in this case.

The man is starting to get irritated, lips downturned, but then his eyes widen at the same time as you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jolt. Looking back over your shoulder, you’re surprised to see Gojo standing up, starting to talk to the tourist with an easy smile spread across his face. You’re even more surprised to see that Gojo is speaking an entirely different language, seeing as you can’t understand the way his lips are moving, unable to place a single word compared to what you’re familiar with.

The warmth of Gojo’s hand resting on your bare shoulder makes you uncomfortable, but you can’t exactly shake him off when you’re stuck in between this many people.

Looking back up, the conversation seems to flow easily between the two men, and by the next stop, the stranger steps off the train, lugging his heavy suitcase behind him.

Hesitantly, you turn around to sign a thank you to Gojo, surprised he would’ve gone out of his way to take over the situation when he holds an obvious distaste towards you. The white-haired man waves you off lazily, sitting back down in his seat and flipping his phone open again, completely disregarding you.

A few stops later, and the four of you shove your way through the train to get off. Each of you takes a deep breath of fresh air, relieved to finally get out of that cramped space.

“It smelled musty in there, oh my god,” Shoko complains, taking a quick peek in her tote bag to make sure that everything she brought with her was left untouched. Cigarettes and lighter, check , wallet, check , phone, check, your notebook and pen, check .

“What did that guy want, by the way?” Geto asks Gojo. “He seemed pretty intent on bothering you,” he looks at you as he speaks, “I just couldn’t get through my two entrepreneurs to help out.”

“He wanted to know where the museum was located,” Gojo replies. “I gave him the wrong directions.”

You choke on your spit, quietly snickering to yourself while coughing a bit, signing another thank you.

“It’s not that serious,” Gojo waves you off again before he starts laughing. “Anyways, look at this hilarious picture I got of you trying to struggle to grab the railing!”

The man turns his phone screen to face you, showing off a semi-blurry picture of you, your fingertips brushing against the railing while on your tip-toes, a determined look on your face (that made you look a bit constipated, if you were being honest with yourself).

I’m either going to kill myself, you think to yourself as you glare at Gojo, who continues to cackle, or I’m going to kill him.

“...” Shoko finds it hard to stop the grin from spreading across her face, turning to her friend. “Send me that.”

He sends her a thumbs up, and immediately Shoko hears a ping coming from her phone that sits at the bottom of the totebag.

“You guys are jerks, y’know that?” Geto asks, somehow the voice of reason between the three of them. “C’mon,” he says your name, “let’s ditch these two and go get bubble tea or something.”

You immediately go to walk next to the raven-haired man, sticking your tongue out at Shoko who gives you an offended look. Even though you had only met her this morning, you felt comfortable enough joking around with her. It was a nice change of pace for once, having only known the glares of the higher-ups for the past few years.

Shoko and Gojo immediately catch up to the two of you, your group walking down the bustling streets of Tokyo, the afternoon sun beating down on everyone. The heat is oppressive, and you find yourself thankful there’s only a few more weeks of this kind of weather before it starts to cool off.

You all look at the different shops and restaurants, Shoko focusing on a run-down corner store.

“After we get our drinks, I’m gonna stop here and pick up some more cigarettes,” she tells you. “I’m running low.”

“That’s gonna develop into a problem,” Geto says.

“As if it isn’t already?” Gojo asks rhetorically.

“Don’t blame me, blame the principal for making me do all this shit for my reverse technique.”

You find a nearby boba tea shop that’s relatively empty – most cafes are bustling with students who are in-between classes. It’s a comfortable little shop; there are small plants littering the shelves all around, a few people are already occupying some tables at the back, which leaves the table at the front right next to the window free. Shoko immediately claims it, dumping her bag on one of the two seats closest to the window.

Gojo and Geto are already at the counter, ordering their own drinks, but you hang back awkwardly, looking back and forth between the menu and the brunette next to you.

“What’s up?” She looks over at you, noticing how tense you look.

You point at all the different drink options before shrugging; I have no clue what to pick. Unbeknownst to his group, you’ve never had boba tea before and have absolutely no idea what it tastes like, or what flavour you should be getting.

“Ohhh, I think I get it,” Shoko says, pulling out her wallet from the tote bag. “Want me to order you something?”

You nod in reply, handing her some pocket change to pay for your own drink.

“I gotcha. Stay with our stuff, I’ll go order.”

You sign your thanks, taking the seat across from her so you can people-watch in the meantime. Many businessmen frantically walk by, rushing to get to their next meetings while balancing phones next to their ears, meanwhile a mother gives a piggie-back to her young kid, both smiling and laughing. Couples hold hands, one sharing ice cream between each other and whispering inside jokes in each other’s ears. You picture how their voices must sound – are their tones different when they speak to each other? You can’t picture the specific sounds in your mind, but you imagine that there’s a difference in pitch when someone talks to the people they like, they dislike, their coworkers, customers and more. It makes you long for something you haven't known in centuries. You wonder what your new acquaintances sound like, what you sound like. You’ve forgotten your own voice.

A flick to the forehead brings you out of your reverie. Shoko sits across from you, two drinks in hand that look exactly the same.

“I got you what I usually get, I hope that’s okay,” she tells you, handing you one of the drinks. There are small black blobs at the bottom of the creamy-looking substance. You observe the way Shoko pierces the plastic top of the cup with the thick straw, imitating her, careful not to pierce the cup itself. Immediately, you smell vanilla and coffee with a hint of something else.

Tentatively, you take a sip and the taste of caramel touches the tip of your tongue. It tastes delicious .

Gojo sits next to Shoko, Geto taking the seat next to you. His drink looks more fruity, with swirls of orange with whipped cream on top – he doesn’t have the black boba at the bottom, though. Gojo’s is a light blue, and he seems to have taken extra boba.

Geto taps his pointer finger on the table, grabbing your attention.

“Ever had this before?” He asks. You shake your head, and immediately flinch backwards when Gojo slams his hands down on the table and leans over it, a look of horror on his face.

“Has Yaga been starving you?! He’s been hiding this from you the entire time?? I think this counts as a form of abuse!”

“Oh my god, Satoru, quiet down - there are other people in the shop,” the raven-haired man clenches his jaw, giving a look to his friend across from him.

“But this is tragic!”

You huff, a small smile playing on your lips as you happily take another sip from the drink, your left leg swinging back and forth as you get lost in the taste.

“Do you like it?” Shoko grins at you.

You nod enthusiastically, giving her two thumbs up.

Suddenly, another drink is pushed towards you. It’s Gojo’s blue drink.

“Try mine,” he insists, inching it closer to you.

All three lean on the table, curious as to what you will think of it. You look at them awkwardly, hesitantly grabbing the cup, and take a cautious sip. Your eyebrows immediately shoot up at how sweet it tastes – the coconut slush tastes delicious though, especially the coconut jelly that is mixed in with the drink.

“Sooooo…?” Gojo awaits a reply.

You look over at Shoko’s bag, pointing to it. She catches on quickly, handing you the notebook and pen.

- It’s soo good and rich :D but super sweet

“Yeah, this guy has an addiction,” Geto says, handing you his drink next. “I’m curious as to what you think of mine.”

Gojo grabs his drink again, pouting as he takes a big sip from the straw. “At least they appreciate my taste in drinks, unlike you guys.”

Ignoring his pouting, you take a sip from Geto’s drink, catching yourself before you can hum at the taste. Passionfruit and mango – your favourite – hits your taste buds. You also taste crushed biscuits with the whipped cream. You close your eyes, content.

“I’m guessing that was good,” you read upon Geto’s lips when you open your eyes again.

- I really like mango, so that’s an instant winner.

“HA! Suck it, Satoru,” he mocks his friend, smiling ear from ear.

“When and where?” He instantly says in rebuttal, barely taking an eye off his drink, making you slap a hand over your mouth as you cough over another laugh.

“Not in front of my drink, guys,” Shoko whines as you try to take sips of your drink to cover up your amusement. “Now I definitely need a smoke.”

After finishing your drinks and disposing of them in the trash, you make your way back to the corner store the brunette wanted to stop at earlier.

“You guys can wait out here if you want, I’ll be quick.”

The three of you stand outside, Geto and Gojo talking amongst themselves while you peer into the window of the store. The sunlight shines directly into it, hitting the sunglasses display. Curious, you look more closely, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you notice something.

When Gojo looks back to where you once stood, he notices that you’re missing, instead hearing the sound of the bell of the front door to the store opening, then closing.

You step inside, making your way to the rack of sunglasses, looking at a specific pair of round ones. They look nearly completely blacked out, and just for fun, you try them on – sure enough, you can barely see a thing with these on. Is this even legal? You think to yourself for a moment, but…

It might make for a good peace offering. A helping hand in return for a helping hand, equivalent exchange, isn’t that what they all say?

Looking at the price tag, they’re not necessarily cheap sunglasses, but you can afford it with the money that Yaga has given you as an allowance. You nearly scoff – you , needing an allowance ? How ridiculous is that?

You walk up to the cashier, lost in thought as you pay the worker absentmindedly. Hopefully this will work, or else you’ll look like an idiot.

Not a moment later, you step outside again, a pair of round sunglasses in your left hand, notebook in your right.

“What’s that for?” Gojo approaches you, eyes trained on the object.

You point to him, holding the sunglasses out in the palm of your other hand.

“Uh, okay…?” He feels the need to take the pair from your expecting hand, and decides to put them on. Suddenly, it’s not overwhelmingly bright outside – colours stop melding together in the corner of his eyes to make him dizzy, and he feels the constant headache gnawing at his forehead and the bridge of his nose slowly dissipate, tuning into his Six Eyes to see instead. The overload of information he was so used to is suddenly dulled, and the persistent feeling of overstimulation is gone.

- Sunglasses could help with your migraines. Saw these ones and thought it would be good.

Sure enough, you were right. He lowers his hood, the headache nearly non-existent by this point.

“Whaddya know, it actually worked.” Gojo says as he looks around. He’s able to feel Geto and Shoko’s energies, as well as your rotten cursed aura, and the hundreds of people walking down the streets or driving their cars.

“Good idea,” Geto says your name as he walks up to you both, smiling. “Not sure why resident boy-genius didn’t think of that sooner, honestly.”

Just as Gojo is about to insult him in return, Shoko walks out with a new pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Alright, I’m ready to head back. I need a nap,” she yawns as she speaks… which makes Gojo yawn, then Geto, then in turn, you.

You nod in agreement, feeling your crappy mattress call out to you.

By the time you return, the sun is just starting to set a bit, pinks starting to creep through the blue sky. You all go their separate ways once you return to the dormitories, and you immediately faceplant into your bed, barely making it in time to take off your shoes before you crash.

As you turn your head to look at the calendar right next to your bed, smushing your cheek into your pillow, you think back to the day that you’ve had today. Meeting new people and talking to someone besides Yaga was riveting, even if it didn’t all go according to plan (you frown as you think back to Gojo’s attitude), but you definitely got somewhere. By the end of the hangout at the boba shop, there was a lighter air surrounding the four of you. You feel something burning in your chest, something you think you’ve never felt before.

Maybe…

Maybe things won’t be so bad, in the end.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #jjk x reader #cross posted on ao3

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transcribing-things · 2 years

Text

Hello and intro :)

Hi! Basically, I got tired of squinting at small text in images on my phone and I figured other people did too. It’s now my mission to transcribe pictures of text whenever the text is the main component (that happen to come across my dash) so people can easily read it. Feel free to copy-paste a transcription to somewhere else on a post (don’t need credit or anything like that), and @ me if I messed up somewhere or if you want a transcription and can’t add it! Or if you’ve got a suggestion of how to do this better because I’m just learning and I’m not sure of conventions and all (:

More info:

I know that alt text means sometimes screen readers will read it twice, but I don’t know how to check for that and this is also for people who don’t have screen readers. Words in regular text are usually easiest to read, and tumblr doesn’t load images half the time anyways.

I’ll start each image in a post with "[ID:", then a description of the source, then the transcription, and end with "/end ID]".

I’ll do my best to keep like spacing and formatting and everything consistent

Reason I’m not doing image descriptions (at least for now) is because I don’t know how to describe images of actual things accurately and know nothing about art, so I’d keep trying to go “It’s a…colored line drawing? digital painting? artwork??? what?????” and never actually get anything done

Call me Ri, if you like, main is @hi-my-name-is-dotdotdot so I probably follow you on there if I’m suddenly reblogging a bunch of posts from you :)

#pinned post #intro post

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acanvasofabillionsuns · 4 years

Note

Romantic analogical going to the fair or something maybe? -Skull anon(I have a feeling I know what this is for and I am very Happy :3)

this is exactly what you think it’s for! (presuming you think it’s for your birthday, in which case, yes!! happy birthday i hope you like it!!!)

• they go with their friends Roman and Patton and almost immediately lose them

“Should we go look for them?” Virgil asks worriedly. Logan hesitates.

“They have their phones with them,” Logan decides. “If they need us or vice versa, we can text or call each other.”

“Good point,” Virgil agrees, and pulls Logan over to the nearest roller coaster.

• Despite what some may assume due to his anxiety, Virgil loves roller coasters. Logan is,,, less fond of them.

“C’mon, please?” Virgil wheedles. “I don’t wanna ride alone.”

“My glasses,” Logan says. “I don’t want them to fly off or break or anything.”

“Not a problem,” Virgil tells him, rifling through his hoodie pockets and pulling out a glasses strap. “If a coaster’s intense enough that you need to take off your glasses with these on them, then we can just not ride it.”

“Oh,” Logan says, touched. “Thank you, Virgil.” He adjusts his glasses. “That’s very considerate.”

“No problem.” Virgil smiles at him. “Want help putting this on and adjusting it?” He waves the strap.

“If you would.”

• They ride coasters for a few hours before getting food, and then Logan insists they wait a bit before going on any more rides, so they wander around and look in the gift shops and stuff.

Logan squints. “Is that...”

“What?” Virgil looks over to where Logan’s staring. “Oh. Yeah, that’s them.”

Roman is sitting on a bench, clutching his stomach, as Patton flits between hovering over him and saying something to a park worker cleaning up something nearby.

“Yo, idiot!” Virgil shouts, striding over to them. “Tell me you didn’t eat a bunch of fair food and then ride a roller coaster.”

“Are we ignoring the fact that you would’ve done just that if I hadn’t stopped you?” Logan mutters, walking after him.

“Shh, let me heckle Roman.” Virgil grins.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Patton says, smiling at them. “Roman’s, uh.”

“Suffering,” Roman moans dramatically. “I may never step foot on a roller coaster again.”

“You mean you wouldn’t go ride the next roller coaster we come across if I paid for your ticket?” Virgil asks.

“Let’s not be hasty now,” Roman says, sitting up straighter. “Free rides are nothing to smirk at, Virgil, wipe that grin off your face I know what you’re doing.”

• Roman does end up riding the coaster they come across, since Virgil pays for it (Logan and Patton opt to sit out and catch up on what the other had been doing), but after that then they take a break from rides and play some carnival games.

“Roman,” Patton deadpans, grabbing his arm and halting the group. “Look over there.” He points. There’s a booth - some kind of throwing or shooting game, it looks like - with a bunch of giant stuffed animals hanging as prizes. “There’s a cat one,” Patton whispers fervently.

Roman puffs himself up and strides over to the booth, Patton hopping after excitedly.

“Roman knows many of these games are rigged and he will likely fail to win anything, much less one of the giant stuffed animals, right?” Logan asks, even as he eyes the unicorn one (it looks very soft, okay?).

“Yeah, but Patton wants one,” Virgil points out.

Logan sighs. “Ah, yes.”

• They give Roman five tries before Logan steps up and wins spectacularly, twice, and gets the cat for Patton and the unicorn for himself.

“I had it,” Roman pouts. “I just needed one more try, two at the most, and I would’ve won.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Logan placates him absently, squeezing the unicorn and appreciating the feel of it against him. It is very soft, as he predicted, and not overly heavy, and very good for holding.

“Psst, Lo,” Virgil whispers. “Can I borrow your unicorn for a sec?”

“May I ask why you want it? Also why you’re whispering?”

“You’ll see,” Virgil says cryptically. “And because I want to.”

“Fair enough.” Logan shrugs and hands him the unicorn. Virgil shuffles it around in his arms until it’s facing away from him, the head falling on its chest. Virgil clumsily sets the horn on Logan’s right shoulder, then the left, then on top of his head.

“I knight you,” Virgil proclaims, grinning goofily, “the best, smartest boyfriend ever.”

Logan melts, beaming softly back at his boyfriend. “I’m honored. If I may?” He gestures towards the unicorn. Virgil hands it over, and Logan passes it to Patton and kisses Virgil soundly.

• They eat dinner a little while later, because they’ve been there long enough for that, and wander around some more until they reach the ferris wheel.

“We’ve got to ride it!” Roman tells them. “It’s like the rule. You go to the fair, you ride the ferris wheel.”

None of them don’t want to ride it, so they all agree. They’ve accumulated enough stuff - Logan’s unicorn and Patton’s cat, Roman had gotten a few knickknacks as pity prizes from the game, they’d all gotten a handful of candy from here and there, Virgil had found a nice pair of earrings in a gift shop - that someone needs to stay behind to watch it, and since no one wants to ride alone Logan and Virgil stay back together as Roman and Patton take their turn on the wheel.

“Five bucks says they kiss at the top,” Virgil bets Logan.

“Are you kidding?” Logan asks. “Besides the fact that we’d have no way to verify if they kiss or not unless they were to tell us, they’re both hopeless romantics. Of course they’re going to kiss at the top.”

• Roman and Patton come down grinning widely and take over stuff-watching duty, and it’s Logan and Virgil’s turn to ride the ferris wheel.

Virgil wonders idly if he should kiss Logan at the top. Like he’d said, it’s a hopeless romantic move, and while Virgil might not be one, he is completely in love with Logan, and that feels close enough.

Then they’re at the top, and Logan is staring out at the amusement park below them and the sky around them - sun mostly set and a hint of stars starting to creep out and a really brilliant view - with such a look of wonder that Virgil has to just sit back and try to memorize his expression.

Then Logan turns that expression on him and Virgil is very, very gay.

“Are you looking at this?” Logan asks, eyes glittering brightly. “Isn’t it stunning?”

“Absolutely,” Virgil agrees.

Logan squints at him. “Are you talking about me or the view?”

“You.” Virgil grins at Logan’s squawk and blush. “The view is pretty too, though.”

• After the ferris wheel, they’re all pretty tired, so they wander back towards the entrance and pile into Logan’s car to drive back home. Roman fall asleep almost immediately after the car starts rolling, and Patton carries him inside once they reach home. Logan and Virgil grab the candy and the cotton candy that Patton insisted on wrapping up and saving for later, and decide the rest of the stuff they got can sit a night in the car.

They put up the food and get ready for bed and then curl up in bed next to each other and fall asleep, the lingering happiness from the full day turning into content.

#my writing #analogical #royality #platonic LAMP #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #sanders sides #roman and patton 100% kissed at the top for anyone wondering #an ask #an-on ask #skull anon #tk talks #this is very unedited so apologies for any typos #*squints at tumblr messing up how i formatted this*#happy birthday!!#tumblr please behave

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mari-beau · 3 years

Text

PARTNERS - A Rogue One Fanfiction

Written for Cassian Appreciation Week 2021 Day 4: Alliance Intelligence

(I know I missed Cassian Appreciation Week entirely with this one, but it got a little more out of hand than the quick scene tags and etc. Actually, tumblr posting etiquette question: At what point is a fanfic considered too long to post directly and should be hosted elsewhere and linked to? Or is inserting a ‘keep reading’ break enough?)

Title: Partners

Characters: Cassian Andor POV; Jyn Erso, Draven

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn

Words: 2633

Setting: Post-Rogue One, Canon-divergent (in that Cassian & Jyn live)

Summary: Cassian receives his first assignment for Alliance Intelligence after recovering from his Scarif injuries, but something is amiss with Jyn Erso. And something is gnawing at him as well...

Spoilers: Rogue One

Warnings: Our heroes have a little bit of PTSD/Separation Anxiety; Also it’s in a layered/nonlinear narrative format, which hopefully is clear/works.

“Where?” she asked. Was there a desperate edge to Jyn’s voice? Or did he just want there to be?

“You know I can’t tell you where.”

Cassian thought she would at least roll her eyes, if not spout sardonic criticism of Alliance Intelligence not even trusting their own people, not trusting those rebels who’d sacrificed everything for the Cause. But she surprisingly remained silent, pursing her lips and giving a little shake of her head.

“Are you allowed to tell me how long you’ll-” She swallowed, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’ll be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” Cassian wanted to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but he’d never seen her look so fragile, and he was afraid a single touch might shatter her.

“Okay.” Her response was clipped, even for her, and she just nodded her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be back, Jyn,” he said. And maybe he’d never actually said it outright, but maybe she needed to hear it. “I’ll never leave you behind.”

Again, she only nodded her head, repeating “Okay.”

He gave into the urge, placed a hand on her biceps and stroked her arm through the layers of her thick thermal jumpsuit.

“Are you-” he tried to ask her whether she was feeling okay, but she shrugged his hand off and bolted, leaving him to watch her fleeing back as she disappeared down an icy corridor, blinking in surprise.

…

Earlier…

“Medical informs me you’re cleared for active duty, Captain Andor.” Draven managed to make it both a statement and a question. Of course he was the head of Intelligence, a spy to his very core, working in vagaries. Except when he issued orders. Those were always clear.

“Yes, sir.” Cassian tried to stand at full attention, but the stance honestly put a little too much pressure on his bad leg. If it was just the artificial hip, he’d probably be sprier than he’d been before. But the deep tissue damage was going to take awhile, if he ever did regain the full musculature in his leg, the tendons and ligaments would never be the same. The fractures in his vertebrae and ribs had thankfully knitted back up and neither bothered him too badly. Even with the unrelenting cold of Hoth.

“I have your next assignment.”

Cassian nodded, accepting the datapad with mission specifics. He gave it a cursory glance.

Deep cover.

“Is this a solo mission?” he asked, but pretended to continue to study the information rather than risk revealing his insecurities to his commanding officer. “Or am I going to need a team?”

Maybe just a partner?

“It has to be you,” Draven said. “And only you. They’re your connections. Well, one of your alias’ connections.”

The older man hesitated, not dismissing Cassian, not continuing with the briefing, just standing, waiting. Cassian mustered the best impassive face he could before meeting his commanding officer’s gaze.

“You’re still one of the best agents we have, Andor.”

Cassian nodded his head in silent acceptance of the reassurance.

“When do you need me to leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re comfortable enough with the mission brief. But the sooner, the better.” Draven was still studying him intently, with more scrutiny than Cassian had even faced as an undercover spy. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, recognizing his dismissal.

Something twisted deep in his chest as he walked away.

He needed to find Jyn and tell her he’d be leaving.

…

That Day on the Beach of Scarif…

“Look.”

It sounded like Jyn’s voice. Was there an afterlife, then? And could Cassian have somehow been lucky enough to be with her there?

No. No, that couldn’t be the case. There was too much pain. If he no longer had a body, then why did it hurt in the way physical flesh only could?

“Cassian!” Jyn’s voice was more urgent and she was squirming in his arms, her hands tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “What is that?”

He forced his eyes open. It was bright. So bright. Why was she confused? It was Death.

No. No, it wasn’t?

He squinted, blinking his eyes as he looked off toward the ocean, well, where the ocean had been, where the wall of destruction had… stopped?

Jyn looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Is that a-”

“Shield,” Cassian gasped, in utter shock himself. “The Empire must have installed an emergency shield to protect the facility.”

“How long?” Jyn was breathing hard, already scrambling to her feet.

“Against that blastwave? Not long,” Cassian said. “Maybe it has dispersed some of the explosive force already but…”

“Come on.” Jyn was standing, leaning down to tug at his arms. He felt like he was ten times the weight he’d ever been on any planet.

“There’s not a lot of time,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

“Which is why you need to move your ass.” Jyn squatted in front of him instead, shoving her arms under his armpits and basically hugging him, she tried hauling him to his feet, but he was dead weight. He hissed with overwhelming pain that was practically blinding, his legs refusing to function. They collapsed back to the sand in a heap.

Jyn got back up, wincing and holding her injured shoulder before she renewed her attempts to get Cassian onto his feet.

It was a herculean effort for his weary body, but he managed to grab her arm.

“Listen to me, Jyn.” She locked eyes with him, and the desperation and pain he found there stabbed him in the chest, hurting worse than his aching ribs. “You have to go. You have to leave me behind. There’s got to be others still alive out there. Find them, get off Scarif. Leave me here. It’s okay. I want you to leave me. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said. There was a ferocious passion in the depths of her eyes, the green gone all steel grey. Any argument he could possibly make, any plea for her to save herself would not be tolerated.

“You listen to me, Cassian Andor.” Her hands captured his face. Her fierceness took away what little breath he had. “We live together. Or we die together.”

This time when she grabbed him, somehow her small body managed to haul him up, maybe she’d somehow given him some of her strength, some of her unrelenting determination, because his legs held... mostly.

…

Present

Cassian found Jyn hiding in a storage room, sitting on a crate with her hands on her knees, doubled over, breathing in big, sobbing gulps of air. He could only stand there and stare in complete shock. Not even on the beach that day had he ever seen Jyn Erso so… such an emotional mess. Angry. Passionate. Vulnerable. Yes. All those things he had seen in her eyes. But this sort of tangible, physical reaction? It was jarring to witness.

And he hesitated. Never hesitate. It could cost lives, the lives of others, your own.

Rushing to her side, he dropped to his knees beside her, the hard ice floor’s impact mitigated by his thick thermal pants.

“Jyn, what is it? What’s wrong? Should I find a medic?”

He placed a hand on her leg, tried to get her to look at him, but she turned away, her breathing still disturbingly uneven, like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“N-no,” she choked out. “Just- Just give me a m-minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m right here. If you need anything, I’m here.”

A sob escaped her, and then she gasped, continuing to struggle to breath, hyperventilating. Cassian just remained there, kneeling beside her, a previously unfamiliar agony tearing at him, watching Jyn suffer whatever it was she was enduring and unable to help her. But he’d stay there, by her side, forever, if she needed him to.

Her breathing gradually grew placid until she was taking deep, regulated draughts of air. And then those determined breaths evened out as well until she was finally breathing normally. And still he waited.

Jyn swore, wiping at her face before she turned to him, and oh, force, her cheeks were raw-looking with tear tracks staining her skin. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. As if she’d been awake, hunted, for a week. How did that happen in just half an hour or so?

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Cassian asked. He wanted to know, needed to know, so, “Maybe I can help.”

She nodded but her eyes were bright, welling up with tears. This was Jyn Erso. It took a lot to make the woman cry.

“What is responsible for this? Did someone hurt you?” Cassian could hear his own accent thickening but didn’t care, becoming too agitated to focus on proper Basic pronunciations.

Jyn shook her head but said, “No. Yes… I… fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“What is it, querida?” He took her hand and when she didn’t pull away, squeezed it, caressed her bare palm with his thumb, noting that her skin was getting cold and he should get her back closer to the core of the base where the temperature was more bearable. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

She nodded. And again, Cassian was struck by how vulnerable the woman was. She always had a deeply hurt portion of her soul, but she seemed incapable of letting it show, even to him. It wasn’t deluding himself, or an over-exaggeration. Cassian knew that her friendship with him was different than any other she’d had in her life. It was the same for him. They finally had someone they could trust wholeheartedly.

But he still held his breath, waiting for her to bestow that trust once again.

She looked down at her hands in his, then to his face, her weary eyes holding his gaze, searching for something.

“You haven’t realized it, yet, have you?” she asked. Cassian’s heart beat faster. Realized what? “Until your Intelligence briefing this morning, we hadn’t been more than an arm’s length apart since Scarif. And force, I’m having a fucking panic attack just at the thought of being separated from you. How ridiculous is that?”

Cassian’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and wet his lips before he could even contemplate speaking.

“It’s not ridiculous, Jyn.” Maybe he hadn’t realized why, but that uneasy feeling had been twisting his insides since he’d first left for his briefing. And now, now he couldn’t deny its cause.

Because Jyn was right. She’d basically dragged him bodily out of that massacre, off that cursed planet, held him as he drifted in and out of consciousness until he’d blacked out entirely, to wake up in the infirmary on Yavin 4 with Jyn sitting at his bedside, arms folded on the edge of his cot, supporting her head as she slept. And from there, she had been with him his entire recovery. She refused to leave the room when medical staff or droids checked on him, only turning her back to give him privacy. He hadn’t complained. He hadn’t objected. Even when she set up a bedroll in the corner of his quarters when he’d been released from the infirmary. Even when she wordlessly climbed into his bed to soothe his fitful, painful sleep, even when she helped him dress. And shower. And limp down the corridors to exercise his injured leg. And after he was basically as recovered as he was going to get, she stayed. Always by his side.

The memory that would always forever be seared into his existence slapped him in the face.

“We live together. Or we die together,” he whispered.

Jyn’s pupils dilated, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his.

“I meant it,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t think…”

Her hand reflexively clutched at the front of her thermal jumpsuit, seeking the only possession she cared about, the only thing she had left of her mother, her father, the only thing she had that was her own, special. But hadn’t she realized?

She had him.

Cassian took a risk, slid his fingertips over her cheek, which was soft and smooth and warm against his doubtless chilled fingers. But she didn’t flinch from his cool touch. Rather, she leaned into his palm as he cupped her face.

“I know,” he said. And he did know, could see the knowledge of it in her eyes, as well. He didn’t much believe in the Force, and despite the kyber crystal perpetually around Jyn’s neck, she had had a hard life, was a survivor, with a practicality that ran so deep it had taken him, a heartless assassin to make her believe in hope again.

Sometimes, though… Okay, often, he felt like that blastwave had swept them away, disintegrated them on the submolecular level. And then somehow they’d reformed. But their atoms had been mixed up, and he was as much composed of her stardust as his own, and she of his.

It was fanciful. And completely unlike Cassian. The Before Cassian. But now, it was absolutely the way he felt. It was foolish to deny it. And from the way Jyn was looking at him...

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers, his lips feathering over hers as he hesitated, waited for any signal from her, acceptance, invitation, or rejection.

It was an exquisite, agonizing eternity.

But then Jyn sucked in a sharp breath, one of her small yet strong hands grabbing the front of his coat, the other the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. She pulled him into her, her mouth crashing against, hard and hot, and needy. Aggressive and tender at the same time. An inextricable mess. It was how they were. It was who they were.

It was perfect.

…

A little bit later...

“You have concerns regarding the mission, Captain Andor?”

Cassian had managed to catch General Draven in the rare moment where the man was actually in his office, sitting at his desk, reviewing… who knew what… intelligence, battle plans… food reserves…

“I do, sir.”

Draven looked up. Cassian had never questioned an assignment before. He’d always been such a good little soldier-spy. Even though it had been costing him his very soul.

Still, even with the feeling of Jyn’s kisses freshly on his lips, the presence of her burned into his entire being, questioning orders made him nervous. Almost as nervous as allowing himself to have wants, a sense of self beyond what the Alliance had given him.

“Well, what is it, captain?”

“I need a partner.”

Draven frowned in thought. “If I recall… the assignment is best suited for a single operative.”

Cassian swallowed but looked his commanding officer straight in the eye. “Then I won’t be taking this assignment. Or any others for Alliance Intelligence. Not unless I can work with a partner.”

Draven stood, did a quick pace behind his desk before he fixed Cassian with a hard stare. “You would desert the Alliance over Jyn Erso?”

Cassian wet his lips. Revealing such personal, emotional aspects to himself was… entirely against his nature. Jyn did not count. She was simply an extension of himself.

“I would choose her.” Cassian held the man’s war-weary, hardened gaze that still somehow seemed to have an iota of softness about the edges. “I have chosen her.”

We live together. Or we die together.

“She’s my partner.”

Draven sighed, but inclined his head.

“I’ll update the rosters. Make whatever alterations to the mission outline you view fit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t know if you should be thanking me, Andor,” Draven said, but an elusive smirk flitted across his face.

Cassian did not hide his smile as he left, to find Jyn, and to tell her she was the newest member of the Alliance Intelligence unit.

#cassianappreciationweek #fanfiction #Rogue One #rebelcaptain #Cassian x Jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso

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xiaonesis · 3 years

Text

GHOSTS WE SEE // CHAPTER 32

Rating: M (AO3 rating guidelines)

Pairings: F!Reader X Kuroo/Bokuto/Suna/Atsumu/Osamu/Kita/Oikawa/Ushijima

Genre: Reverse Harem, Slow Burn, Isekai, College/University AU, Fantasy AU, Worldbuilding, Angst, So Much Slowburn The Whole Forest Is On Fire

Summary:

When a volleyball was spiked into your head, you did not expect it to be powerful enough to send you into another dimension completely.

As you look for a way to return home, the powers and politics of this new world are each intent on keeping you for themselves for their own gains, purposes, and motivations.

Everyone wants something, and you are at the core of it.

The line between the world you know and the world you are discovering blurs.

Holding on tight to the ends of the strings that keep everything together, your mind, body, and heart unravel at the seams as the two worlds begin falling apart.

This must be how Spider-Man felt in Homecoming as he tried to keep two halves of a breaking ship together.

All chapters can be found on AO3 (link on pinned post) I recommend reading on AO3 as Tumblr messes with the text formats.

Chapter 32 // The Fellowship of the Ring

“No, Lord Kita. Nothing else happened other than the twins being the twins. Again,” Suna resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Their food theft has been settled with both the store owner and Crown Prince Oikawa, who has been most gracious in his understanding,” he continues dryly. “I, for one, would not have let them off so easily.”

Kita heaves a tired sigh. “Tell Atsumu and Osamu that I wish to speak to them later tonight, when they are done with cleaning the Everhorn stables.”

“Of course. I will also let the maid know to bring you your dinner-”

“No,” Kita interjects and Suna pauses.

Kita turns to his retainer and smiles softly, tugging with slight nervousness at his sleeves. “I will join everyone for dinner tonight. It will be impolite of me to withhold my attendance a second night.”

Suna doesn't say anything for a few moments as surprise takes hold of his words. Then he nods in understanding.

“Then I will see you this evening to escort you.”

Suna bows and retreats from Kita’s temporary chambers, closing the doors behind him to allow his Alpha-Leader some rest after a full day out exploring Seijoh with you and Kenma.

He makes his way back down the many long halls and flights of stone, returning to the guest study where he last left you to see Kita off. Why the royal family of Aoba requires such a needlessly large castle is beyond Suna’s understanding but he supposes if Inarizaki House had a castle like this, he would be able to evade the twins more easily.

When he enters, he finds you lounging languidly on the couch, body half splayed across it in rest. You make an effort to sit up when you finally notice his silent entrance, embarrassedly fixing the scattered cushions as you do so.

“Don’t bother. I have seen your ways when you were a guest at my home,” Suna says, taking a seat across from you.

“Wha-?! I wasn’t a master cleaner but I was no slob!”

Suna hums but does not respond. You are about to make a case and defend yourself against his insult when you see the twinkle in his eye.

Shitty Suna-

“I can never tell when you’re joking,” you pout, squinting at the fox-folk.

“Whoever said I was?”

You immediately throw a cushion at him.

Suna easily catches it without looking before placing it down neatly next to him. It’s honestly unfair how good his reflexes are.

Rolling your eyes, you huff and flop back onto the couch. “Did you come here just to make fun of me?”

“I do not have so much free time like the twins,” he blandly replies.

You stifle a laugh, sitting to face him properly. “How are you? It’s been a while since I...well, you know.”

“All things considered, quite well,” he starts, eyes flicking up at you.

“Did something happen in Seijoh today?” he asks, skipping the small talk and confusing you with the assumption that an incident of some sort had occurred.

As far as you know, only the Miya twins happened. Word travels quickly between those who were present for the Summit, passing from foot soldiers to realm leaders to other realm leaders in no time, after all. It isn’t very different from gossip filtering down school hallways.

Your head tilts in question. “No, not really. Why?”

“I see, it’s nothing.”

“Suna, I know you well enough that you do not do anything without reason.” Both the athlete and fox-folk.

Brows pinching, Suna gives in and answers, finding he has no energy nor will to invest in either a proper explanation or half-assed reason. What little energy he does possess has already been spent negotiating the twins' way out of jail.

“Lord Kita seems a little different is all.”

“Different? How so?”

Suna briefly ponders your question, recalling the moment Kita said he will be present for dinner tonight with their human hosts. It isn’t like there was a big tell or sign that screamed to the world that there is a change. But Suna knows Kita- his Alpha-Leader, whom he has followed and served for most of his life. He understands his little ticks, habits, tells, that gives Suna glimpses of his state of mind.

Sometimes, Suna thinks he knows Kita better than he does himself but Suna also knows that Kita is very self-aware of his own shortcomings, if not his strengths.

The Kita that Suna knew, the one before he met you, would never have stepped up to join humans in anything, especially not in their stronghold where hiding and escape was not a possibility.

A lot of things have been, are, changing with your arrival. Kita has been changing, slowly but surely, ever since the twins literally showed up with you on their doorstep.

His lips lightly lift; not a smile, but an acknowledgement, when he looks at you.

“Just a hunch.”

Your legs won’t stop bouncing.

They would stop when you take notice but after a few minutes, start right back up.

Shake, shake, shake. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

You can’t stop it.

The vice president of the volleyball circle is going on and on about funds, schedules- whatever. To be fair, you’re pretty sure that what they are talking about is pretty important to the circle, and to the de facto leader, Kita, who is listening attentively.

If your mum saw you now, she would slap your thighs and scold you for jiggling all the family fortune away.

You’ve been feeling like this for a while; jittery, not anxious but just...restless. It is similar to having too much adrenaline, or maybe caffeine. And not in an entirely good way.

It’s noticeable to even yourself that you are always gunning-perhaps way too much, even- to leave school, club activities, or any kind of social outings as of late.

All to get home.

To get to Hyquile as soon as possible.

You don’t know, you can’t pinpoint the source of this well of congested energy that only finds an outlet when you are in Hyquile. No, that’s not it...you kind of do know what is causing this restlessness.

You just didn’t want to admit it.

It began four days after your day out with Kita and Kenma in Seijoh, so two days ago in your world. You traversed to Hyquile that night and found that the meeting with Daichi was already over.

Like, for real?? Four leaders of their respective realms had gone to see Daichi at the arranged time and place, minus Bokuto.

Apparently, Bokuto found the first Summit meeting irritating to no end, having gone on and on in endless circles. So he delegated it to Kuroo to represent Owl Vale in tandem with the Nekoma Dominion.

In light of that, why he even made such a grand effort to crash the Summit in the first place escapes you. Best not to think too hard about what goes through Bokuto’s head.

They met Daichi at the restaurant where he had been dining alfresco when the thief ran by. The entire place was empty that day, save for Daichi and their group. Iwaizumi had taken the pains to have the owner clear out the entire place for His Royal Highness prior. Monetary compensation also made sure he kept it hush-hush.

It isn’t like they meant to go without you. Rather, it was you who did not make it in time as you were caught up with your own life, heading to bed later than you usually would when traveling to Hyquile.

You had wanted to be there when they met Daichi, since you were the one who made the meeting happen. You wanted to introduce the first friend you made in Hyquile who wasn’t someone you met because of your situation with her.

It’s silly that you feel this way. Completely illogical and you know it.

You shouldn’t feel miffed that they did not wait for you, there was no time to waste after all. Yet...

You feel left out.

(Like you were a young kid all over again, left behind by Atsumu and Osamu as they chased after volleyball)

(Like your parents uprooting you to Tokyo for your brother)

Your fingers curl in on themselves, crinkling your empty notebook page.

(You feel like an outsider)

It’s stupid and childish yet you cannot stop the feeling.

Everyone suddenly gets up from their seats and you sit up, belatedly realizing that the circle meeting is over. Gathering your things in a haphazard rush, you try to make for the door- eager to get home and the other world- but the calling of your name stops you.

You rub the back of your neck in embarrassment and turn to face Kita.

Is he going to say something about your leg jostling? It must have felt like an earthquake.

Kita approaches you, his own bag slung over his shoulder. “How are you? I noticed that you have been out of focus lately.”

As expected of Kita Shinsuke to notice, you suppose. It'd be strange for him not to.

When you stop to think about it, his Hyquile alternate Clumsy Kita is very perceptive too, au contraire to your nickname for him.

“Ah- yeah, I’m just...overwhelmed with...stuffs.”

A vague understatement.

“I hear that you’ve been struggling with your notes and homework?”

“...Did Suna rat me out to you?”

“I overheard him telling the twins.”

Shitty Suna-

Pushing the door to the clubroom open, Kita politely waits for you to leave before locking it.

Kita eyes you- not in the same manner that has cold chills running up the backs of people on the wrong side of his scrutiny- but it is similarly point blank and analytical.

It makes you want to wince, to hide, worried that if you keep eye contact with him too long he could somehow read your mind.

Of course, he’ll never be able to imagine something like traversing worlds or dimensions and alternates. Even if you logically know that, his gaze is so sharp, penetrative, it certainly feels like he knows what you’re thinking about. Explains why the twins often complain about Kita’s mind-reading superpower.

Other than that, the guilt you’ve carried since you woke from your coma still weighs heavy. You do not enjoy hiding things from the people around you, more so if they are only worried for your wellbeing.

A white lie is still a lie.

Yet, you can never speak about this to anyone. How can you?

No one would believe you. Even if they did...they cannot help you.

You do not want to worry your friends, and especially your family, any more than you need to. You doubt your parents, in particular your mother, have fully recovered from the scare you gave her with your coma even though several weeks have passed since you first woke up. It’s not something people can get over easily, especially when it involves your children…

Heck, it would probably affect you more too, if it had been a simple coma and did not involve your soul being pulled into an alternate world.

You only began to realize it lately, a change in your parents' social habits with you. It isn't a major difference, but compared to before being spiked in the head by a future Japan’s Cannon, your mother texted you a lot (well, a lot for her). Just the usual parental things- have you eaten, where you are, and what are you doing etcetera.

Your father hasn’t changed his habits much though he does call you alot more often, as if checking that you aren’t passed out on a random weekday evening. You understood this is their way of caring and worrying.

As for your brother...well, he’s the only one who hasn’t changed in his social habits towards you. Other than talking with you about it a few times after you woke up, he never directly brought it up again.

Maybe he didn’t know how to, maybe he sensed your awkwardness when people talked about it.

Either way, you find his lack of change...

So many things have changed for you and towards you since that day you woke up in Hyquile.

The one thing that has remained the same is the relationship between you and your brother.

(It’s comforting, familiar in a world and phase of changes.)

A hand touches your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Kita’s brow furrows with worry.

“Yes, sorry. I spaced out for a bit,” you avert your gaze.

“That’s exactly what I meant by you being unfocused lately,” Kita says, eyes gentle with worry. “You’ve been a great help with the volleyball circle, so if there’s anything troubling you, you can tell me.”

Kita stops walking as he turns to face you, displaying the honesty and intent in his words. You never would have doubted Kita’s sincerity to begin with, and you appreciate his offer but…

Your fingers brush your wrist, tracing the tree charm.

Since the thief incident, you made it a point and a habit to always be aware of where your bracelet is, Hyquile or otherwise.

Shaking your head, you waved one hand casually in the air. “I’m alright, really! I’m just struggling with the current coursework.”

Kita’s head tilts to the side in question. “Do you need help studying?”

You blink, momentarily surprised before your lifted hand moved to rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn't be. I planned on making sure the twins and Suna studied properly as well,” Kita informs you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a wry smile.

You don’t think you’re terrible at studying on your own, and you’ve managed to maintain a passing grade so far…

But that was when you didn’t have to juggle your studies, club activities, and social life with interdimensional travel to remedy a magical pandemic.

Kita waits for your answer patiently, and your eyes flick over him, momentarily seeing a much meeker Kita in his place.

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on you, how in Hyquile it is Clumsy Kita that would require help from others and even you. Whilst in your world, Kita is unbelievably perfect in everything he applies himself to.

If it had been foolish of Clumsy Kita to turn down the invitation to the Summit, then you will be equally foolish to turn down studying help from Kita Shinsuke.

You can’t ask for help in regards to Hyquile but you suppose you can accept it for your studies, at least.

You sigh begrudgingly.

“In that case, yeah, I will really appreciate it.”

From the Summit to the upcoming journey to and across the Uninviting Hinterlands, there has been no time for a break for the hardworking staff of the Blue Castle.

Servants run around preparing travel packs for a trek into a place they do not know how to pack for.

The castle cooks bustle daily trying to keep their pantry and serving dishes filled, baffled as to why freshly prepared meals went missing almost as soon as they are ready (Osamu has been sneaking into the kitchens with his illusion magic and hijacking the food).

There are daily notices of fire at the barracks due to Atsumu’s magic which did not complement well with the nature attributes of many things in Seijoh (seeing as Inarizaki is surrounded by a forest, you suspect Atsumu isn’t putting any effort at keeping things chill at all ).

Unwitting maids complained of chills in one of the hallways from mysterious mists filling the air despite sunshine (Kita, who found comfort in the mists, unconsciously creates them when he’s alone in his room).

Couches had to be dusted off twice daily of suspicious shaggy golden fur, raising questions amongst the staff that were appeased by Iwaizumi who lied about training a new hound (Terushima).

Rumors of a haunting circulated amongst the night guards of strange scratching sounds coming from the gardens on late moonlit nights (turns out it was Suna working on his talismans).

The troubled crease between Oikawa’s brows is near permanent nowadays.

Daichi has agreed to be the navigator for the group traveling to Crow’s Nest, whoever they may be.

Whether he can be trusted -both as a person and as a reliable navigator- remains to be seen but Ushijima is giving him the benefit of the doubt on account of you.

Kuroo has his reservations but is of the opinion that they can use him whilst remaining cautious.

Oikawa has his doubts too but when you asked, he says that he took a chance on trusting you too when you first arrived.

“We’re doing pretty well since then, no?” he had said with a boyish smile.

Iwaizumi gave him a lot of grief for trusting yet another stranger.

Bokuto does not trust him outright but then again, when does he ever trust anyone easily?

Many members of the Summit have their doubts about letting Daichi lead but most accept that it is better than no guide at all.

To be honest, you are now beginning to question if bringing in Daichi was a good idea, mainly because he has nothing to do with the astronomical task that the Summit members are undertaking to begin with but...he’ll be involved now.

If you hadn’t approached him...

There is still much you do not know about Hyquile, least of all the Uninviting Hinterlands, but based on what everyone has said so far including Daichi himself, it is going to be dangerous there.

Not to mention Tendou’s warning to you that night...your mind might be made but it doesn’t make you any less apprehensive.

Of course, Daichi isn’t providing his services without compensation and from what you heard, it is no small sum. Nothing that the Empire or even the Dominion cannot cover (...maybe not Inarizaki House though) but Goshiki had some choice words about the man when he heard what the asking price was.

“We’re endeavoring to find a cure to the Rot and uncovering the cause of it and t-this..-this avaricious, Everhorn-humping greedy, rotted, spirits-forsaken SOD is asking for a sum equivalent to the Eagle Crown’s jewels?!! Well, he can have MY JEWE- ”

You never knew the stoic Royal Guard had such a dirty tongue.

As to who will be going to the Uninviting Hinterlands, like with everything else brought up at the Summit, there isn’t a unanimous decision.

Right away there were already splits in opinions on whether you should even be going.

You, as the one with the ability to cure the Rot and whose perceived future has some meagre, unexplained connection to crows, it made sense for you to go.

On the other hand, bringing you, a non-fighter on what is expected to be a harsh trek, did not make sense.

Those in favor of you going:

You (duh).

Ushijima (hesitant but respectful of your decision).

Tendou (obviously; this entire thing is his making).

Kuroo (despite taking consideration of your origins from a safer world without magic, it is a logical choice).

Suna (similarly, it makes the most sense).

Akaashi (after how you handed yourself over to Aoba under his watch, he had a feeling you wouldn’t stay silent at being left behind anyways).

Terushima.

Those not in favor:

Oikawa (extremely worried).

Bokuto (extremely against you going).

Vicious Atsumu (also extremely against you going).

Frosty Osamu (not as extreme but thinks you’ll be an additional liability).

Kenma (this one surprised you but turns out he is really worried too).

Terushima (...).

Neutral:

Kita (thinks it is risky but he felt that you should get to decide).

Daichi (wasn’t given an opinion).

In the end, it made less sense for you to not go, so your side won that dispute by one vote.

Confirmed Party Members:

You.

Daichi: The Navigator.

It was quickly agreed between everyone though that a large group would complicate the journey. To keep things fair and balanced between all parties, each leader is only allowed to pick one member to represent their realm.

Who they will be, you do not yet know but you do not doubt that everyone will have made their decisions come the day of departure.

Kuroo had been aimlessly -or at least as aimless as someone of his nature can be- strolling through the many gardens of the Blue Castle, mulling over The Rot, the Summit, the upcoming trek through the Uninviting Hinterlands, when he came across you.

He stops in his tracks, watching you sit in the grass with that owl, Mori, hopping around you as you flipped a feather and stray zelkova leaves around in the air with magic.

Ah yes, he has heard about your practice rituals from Kenma.

The feather and leaves flop lifelessly to the ground when you look up and spot him.

“Kuroo!” You wave at him, face lighting at the sight of him.

Tilting his head in a silent greeting, he makes his way over to you, footfalls as silent as the impassive cat-folk himself.

Mori flutters up into the air at his approach, hooting at the Dominion leader familiarly.

“Do you know each other?” You ask, surprised at the way Mori flits around Kuroo.

“We’ve seen each other a handful of times over the years, on the rare occasions Akaashi brings him to Mt. Nekomata,” he responds, expression stoic even as Mori flies around him insistently, close enough to his face that if it was anyone else, they would surely flinch away. One might even call it annoying, though the elf owl is cute enough to get away with murder.

Lifting an arm, Kuroo allows the elf owl to perch on him, before gracefully lowering himself to the ground in front of you. The ends of his trailing red coat splay onto the grass, resulting in a splendid splash of color across verdant green.

When Kuroo settled with one knee raised and the other crossed under it, Mori hopped off his arm and back into yours.

Since Mori’s memorable prelude to his lord’s infinitely unforgettable gatecrashing, the elf owl has more or less been given passage to roam around the Blue Castle as your...pet, for lack of a better word.

You aren’t allowed to tell anyone who doesn’t already know that he is officially part of Owl Vale. And if anyone asks, usually the maids who coo at his ‘handsome, adorable, fluffy, charming, cute’ visage, you have a made up story of how you saved him as an owlet from a fox that would have turned him into dinner (inspired by Osamu’s constant ogling of the owl).

You stare at Kuroo, a mixture of comfort from his presence and uncertainty, what you do know and don’t know about his accusations towards Ushijima and the Empire eating at you.

For all his impassiveness, Kuroo took you in and gave you shelter when you first arrived. He did not look upon you with hatred or suspicion, only understanding, at the plight of a lost girl from another world. He opened his land and home to you, comforted you when you needed it, allowed you to cling to him like a child when you feared your own reflections.

He had been a steady pillar of solace, still is. You know you can depend on him for anything.

Which is why his unexpected outburst towards Ushijima, who is also a pillar of support you rely on, troubled you.

Kuroo nods at the feather and leaves scattered around you. “Show me what you can do. I heard from Kenma about your progress.”

Gathering your thoughts, you let your hands hover over the feather. Barely a beat passes before they begin floating, swirling easily in the air between your bodies.

“I’m impressed. You’ve changed a lot since I last saw you in the Dominion. You knew nothing about souls or magic then,” he comments. His head lightly tilts in approval, amber eyes glinting with respect and recognition.

For some reason, receiving acknowledgement from Kuroo made you supremely happy. If it had been the volleyball player instead, you would have merely rolled your eyes and threw jokes at him.

The Dominion leader isn’t the most expressive cat-folk and only says what is necessary. So to have his attention and acknowledgement, no matter how small, is a great compliment.

You imagine this is how Kuroo’s subjects feel, motivated to do their best for their magnificent leader, for even a moment of his time, which he barely has enough of for himself.

And he’s given more to you than he should have, ever since that day in his pagoda.

“But you’ve gone as far as you can with mere feathers and leaves,” Kuroo muses to himself, studying your current magic application. He shifts to a cross-leg position, shrugging his signature coat off his shoulders.

“Try adding this.”

Turning a palm upward, a small stone shakes and dislodges itself from under tightly packed soil, flying up to join the feather and leaves.

You try to take in the stone, to add it to the others you already have under control without pausing. But as soon as you channel your focus towards it, the feather drops and the leaves blow away.

“Wha-”

Kuroo nods, having expected this. “A stone is much heavier than a feather and will require more than what you’re currently channeling. But adding too much to accommodate the additional weight will result in the feather and leaves going out of your control. It’s a balancing act.”

Right, you remember Oikawa saying something similar to you before. To think you had been so pleased with yourself for managing feathers and leaves...you had been taking it too easy.

“As rough and disruptive magic can be at its worst, it is also delicate. You will need to balance how much you channel towards both sides simultaneously. Try again, with just the feather and stone.”

Pursing your lips in determination, you do as instructed.

Kuroo helps you adjust your focus and magic balance to levitate both the feather and stone, using his own magic to support you.

After a while, your hands hover in the air, stone and feather hanging side by side between them. White light pulse gently from you.

Kuroo’s large hands, glowing with a lustrous gold, envelop yours, barely a breadth of space between your skins.

Gold dances and merges with white.

You, and Kuroo, are brought back to the time in his pagoda with the chrysanthemum.

A little smile lifts your lips at the memory. His tugs up a fraction in one corner.

Peaceful silence circles your figures.

It is a nice moment. Warm, one you will think on again fondly...and you have to ruin it.

“Kuroo, did the Empire really kill your father?”

Gold fades and his hands drop. The stone follows.

The feather sways left to right, left to right, then settles on the fallen stone.

Kuroo pulls away from you, shoulders weighing with the burden your question threatens to dredge up, pushing at the tightly sealed doors of his heart and mind.

He has been expecting this question from you, if not someone else who witnessed his slip of control at the Summit.

“Back then...you were talking about your father, weren’t you?” you continue in a whisper, belatedly afraid that you might have possibly crossed a line.

Is it okay for you to ask this question of Kuroo? It’s not something that is easily breached for anyone, needless to say for him. But you want to know. Need to know.

Kuroo blames Ushijima, blames the Empire for the death of his father. To him, Ushijima and the Empire are one and the same; you cannot fault him for that, knowing their history. And surely there is more you do not know that you can only hope to uncover and learn during your time here.

Yet, you refuse to believe that the same Ushijima, who patiently taught children how to read and draw maps….is anything like the Empire in the eyes of the world.

Did Kuroo blame Ushijima merely because he is the Crown Prince of the White Eagle Empire?

You do not think Kuroo is one to judge others for their lineage. The middle blocker isn’t that kind of person either.

You just...want to understand, you think.

Emotions and thoughts are difficult things to dissect, to understand, even if they belonged to oneself.

Maybe a sentimental part of you is still unable to compartmentalize, unable to see past the fact that they are completely different from the ones you know who, despite their differences, are able to work together amicably as a team.

Perhaps it is naive of you to hope that their Hyquile counterparts could possibly be the same.

You stare at him, eyes wide and insistent, and Kuroo gives a breathless sigh.

After his unseemly display at the Summit, you deserve an explanation, he supposes. Considering your position it is only fair for you to know a little more about those who you are lending your help to. You, a visitor from another world willingly offering your help, of all people deserve to have your many questions answered.

“My father was to be the next ruler of the Dominion, after my grandfather Nekomata. But he was killed, body burned and unreturned, by the Empire on a peaceful mission to Aquila. My father sought peace above all else, even with the Empire. The cat-folk of today are partly descended from a human male from the then State of Date, as you know.”

“Empire missives claim they were feral from The Rot, leading to their extermination but without a body…” Kuroo’s eyes lower, brows muddling in doubt and hesitance. “Emperor Washijo was never known to be kind to non-humans, even when compared to his forefathers.”

“...I was unable to simply accept what the Empire deemed as truth.”

Memories of his father, kind and humble, always ready to play with him and Kenma, surfaced.

Kuroo loved.... loves, his father greatly. All the cat-folks did. Grandfather Nekomata used to joke to whoever would listen that Kuroo’s father would be a more popular leader than Nekomata ever was when he took up command. His father had a way of connecting with the people that Grandfather Nekomata or previous leaders did not have.

The duty of the ruling leader has always been the well-being of the Nekoma Dominion, diligently protecting their borders and ever looking for ways to further expand and secure their lands. But his father took that above and beyond.

His father saw the Dominion not just as mountain ridges and earthly borders, but as its very people. No matter how busy or tired, he always made time daily to amble down the narrow streets of Moggie Boroughs or to visit the old grannies running the bathhouses of Cat Alley.

Border guards and scouts are never forgotten, far away from home as they are; his father put in place the tradition, now adopted by the Dominion’s military, to dispatch regular care packages that bring a little bit of home to them during their extended deployment.

In the months that followed his death, Kuroo gradually stopped being a young lad still growing up.

He had watched his mother succumb to her grief at the passing of her forever love, her soulmate, withering away in tears that ran dry yet never ceased.

Kuroo did not have the power nor strength to stop those tears for her, having been lost to his own pain. In his weakness, he did not see the depths of her anguish, did not think that he should be with her. Did not think that his absence amplified her loss and loneliness.

No, instead he ran.

Hiding in the hollow caverns and echoing forests of Mt. Nekomata if only to escape the ringing of prayer bells sending the spirit of his father, burial rite chants encompassing the slums and mountains as the Dominion mourned a beloved leader for days and nights.

It was then that Kuroo developed a habit of covering his head and ears with pillows when he was in bed to drown out the haunting night vigils of monks and citizens, his mother’s anguished cries, and his own screams.

Once, in a moment of self-deprecation, his younger self wondered if maybe his hair turned out this way because of this.

Had he been there for her, would she have lived?

The Empire might have killed his father, but his own neglect killed his mother.

The double blow had been devastating to the cat-folks.

Oh, how Grandfather Nekomata, Kenma, and others close to him worried constantly, fretting endlessly. At the same time, Kuroo himself was worried -scared- for his grandfather, who lost a son and a daughter-in-law.

At his age, he should not have to bury his children.

Somewhere along the way, Kuroo switched himself off on the outside to protect himself and others. He did not want others to worry about him, yet he couldn’t force himself to smile. Over time, this temporary shield became his default and the norm for him.

It took all of Kuroo’s focus to keep his composure. Being physically here in the Empire, so close yet impossibly far away from where his father’s body was burned, never to be seen by family again, disturbed the sleeping mountains inside of him alongside oceans of guilt he holds towards his mother.

He is acutely aware of the tightening of his skin, the tension underneath his cheeks and jaw palpable even if he is able to effortlessly remain straight-faced.

He’s kept his emotions repressed for so long that Kuroo is not sure how to allow himself to be...himself again, whoever that may be.

How does one feel again without effort? What does flowing joy feel like, overt and unhindered? And what of sadness? Excitement or even embarrassment?

Kuroo cannot remember how to allow these feelings to naturally surface.

You listened to Kuroo quietly the entire time, allowing him to entrust his personal tale to you without interruption. You don’t know what to say either way, because what can you say? What are the right words, if any?

What you did not have in words you only had in actions, having reached out to take his hand when he began speaking of his mother’s passing, squeezing as if to reassure him you are there. You don’t know if Kuroo even realized you had taken his hand in yours, lost to his memories that have been kept at bay for years, amber eyes gazing into the distance at something unseen to you.

The way Kuroo cared for his people, taking everything onto himself…

He was emulating his father, his hero and aspiration. But his boyish respect and reverence mutated in the wake of his father’s death, followed by his mother’s, into this need to shoulder everything himself to protect all others.

“...Do you want revenge? Against the Empire?”

Kuroo tears his eyes away from ghosts newly arisen, finally noticing the soothing hold upon his hand.

When did he reach out to you? Or was it you, to him?

He sees your eyes shine with unshed tears, and he wonders why you feel sad at his story, how you can allow yourself to feel without walls.

His younger self succumbed to it. He is now unable to.

He doesn’t think he can anymore.

What happened at the Summit...was rare.

Kuroo surprised himself too, and its occurrence only reinforced, reminded him once more why he put in place such control. He could have dissolved the fragile and temporary peace the Summit brought about had Ushijima reacted unfavorably towards his uncharacteristic outburst.

Emotions cloud judgment, affects one’s performance, especially someone with his power and position.

Kuroo pulls his hand away from you, perhaps a little too fast.

Hurt flash across your features, but you bite your lips and he faces away.

Gathering his coat, he pulls it back across his shoulders as he stands, majestic red flaring in an arc before you; red walls that block him from you.

Revenge? He doesn’t know if that is what he wants. But he also can’t say with confidence that he won’t take the chance if given. There are too many factors to consider...

His head says no, but his heart says...

In yet another rare occurrence, Kuroo is at a loss.

He stills, the lack of an immediate answer troubling him. This doesn’t usually happen to him.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, allowing the cool air and scent of leaves to cleanse his thoughts.

When he reopens them, his face is blank once more.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. The dead should remain dead, as should the past.”

“Sigh anymore and I’m going to feel sad,” Daichi chuckles nervously next to you, leaning back on the bench. “Cheer up.”

You sigh again before mumbling an apology to Daichi, watching people bustle by on the central bridge where you and he often met.

Kuroo’s story and words keep replaying in a loop in your head, stealing your entire focus and energy. Whenever you see him and Ushijima in the same room, you cannot help but think about it with renewed force. It has you walking on eggshells when the two are together.

Perhaps you are thinking too much about it, and you most definitely are but...

You can understand Kuroo’s feelings towards the Empire, he has his rights...as do many of the other animal-folks in your vicinity. But Ushijima is a dear friend, considerate and thoughtful. You cannot help but worry for him and how he is coping with the twins’ daily ire, Bokuto’s daily ire, and Kuroo’s…

Why should Ushijima bear the sins of his forebearers? He isn’t like Washijo, he isn’t...

Sigh.

“Sorry,” you mutter, realizing you sighed again.

The man laughs, patting you on the back. “Care to share what troubles you? I thought you’d be happier, considering everything I have heard so far. I still can’t believe you’re not from this world…,” he trails off then perks back up with a broad smile.

“And, you found your navigator!” Daichi points to himself proudly.

“I wish I had your positivity,” you almost sigh but convert it into a smile when you remember Daichi’s words.

“It’s a learned skill. So, tell me what bothers you? It might help to let it out than stewing in your thoughts.”

You hesitate, finally shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. It’s...not something for me to share.”

Daichi hums with understanding. “I see. That’s fine then. I do not know what it is but if it is something you cannot change immediately, try not to let it consume you. It won’t do you or any of the others around you any good.”

“The others?” What do the others have anything to do with it?

“I just meant that if you’re down, you drag the others along with you. They are quite attached to you.”

“For all the wrong reasons…” you say, shuddering at thoughts of the twins and Scary Bokuto.

Daichi laughs, standing and extending a hand for you to take. “I have to go soon and we should get you back to the castle. I don’t think the others like me very much and I rather not earn their wrath for not sending you back to them safely.”

You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Thanks for keeping me company, Daichi. I really appreciate it. I needed this walk more than I thought I did.”

He grins with a wave, leading the way back to the Blue Castle. “Anytime.”

Only moments after you cross the bridge, you spot a mop of familiar orange hair in the corner of your eye.

Immediately, you call out to their owner.

“Shoyo!”

Shoyo’s shoulders twitch up at the sound of your voice and his name, and he turns around reluctantly. His face is pulled into a displeased pout but you pay it no mind.

By now, you are used to his less than enthusiastic reactions towards you but he never sends you away either. He’s quite adorable that way, and he makes for a great listener, much like Kunimi.

“It’s you again,” he grumbles when you are close enough. Crossing his arms, he squints at you. “What do you want now?”

“Oh, don’t be like that Shoyo. It’s been a while since I saw you around.” “It’s been barely a few days.”

“Hm, is it?” You giggle at his expression. If you had a little brother, you would want him to be like Shoyo.

But now that he brought it up, you’re going to leave for the Uninviting Hinterlands soon. You might not see him, or any of the others staying behind, for a while...

“Can you meet me at the central bridge tomorrow? I want to give you something.”

Shoyo takes a step back as if your inane question repels him. “Huh? Why would I want anything from-” His protest sizzle into garble when you reach out to ruffle his hair fondly.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.”

Laughter from behind pulls both your attentions towards Daichi, who backtracked through the crowds to you. “This is where you went! You just ran off suddenly before I realized it.”

You wince. “Urk, Daichi, sorry!”

In your excitement at spotting Shoyo, you totally forgot about Daichi. Shoyo’s hard to catch on the best of days and if you didn’t move fast, he is apt to disappear- orange hair and all.

“It’s alright. Who’s your friend?” Deep eyes flicker toward Shoyo, who stiffens underneath his gaze. Almost as quickly, his shoulders relax, chin sinking into his dark cloak.

“Daichi, this is Shoyo. Shoyo, meet Daichi! He’s passing through Seijoh, like you!” you introduce the two of them. You feel weirdly happy, introducing people you met like this, even back in Tokyo. There’s a type of warm joy that can only be found from connecting people you know. You weren’t present to introduce Daichi to the others, so this makes up for it.

Not only that, knowing Shoyo’s awkward, standoffish attitude towards people, he can do with some friends!

“Nice to meet you, Shoyo!” Daichi extends his hand for a friendly shake.

Hazel eyes stare at the hand before them, going back up to their owner and down again. “Nice to...meet you…” Slowly, Shoyo takes Daichi’s hand and the older man shakes it vigorously.

“It’s honestly great meeting your friends like this! Remember when I told you my traveling companions aren’t the best conversationalists? But through you, I’m meeting so many more people in this city. It’s not as lonely anymore,” Daichi laughs good-naturedly, hands on his hips.

His friendly vitality is addictive, spreading to you like flowing water whenever he spoke. You are honestly lucky to have met Daichi in Seijoh, both as a friend and for his help to bring your group through the Hinterlands.

Maybe it is this very vitality that makes Daichi a traveler, moving from place to place, unable to settle down. You can’t see anything bringing him down, and his easy sociability allows him to blend simply with others.

“I’m glad you feel that way! I was a little worried, truth be told, about...you know, dragging you in with the other group,” you told him, careful of unnecessary leaks in Shoyo’s presence.

“Oh, not at all. I was thinking of moving on from this city soon, and I doubt my companions will mind,” he reassures you. He turns to Shoyo.

“We’ve only just met but I have to get this one home and I myself have to run along. It's good meeting you, Shoyo. I’ll hopefully see you around.”

The corners of Daichi’s lips twitch. He isn’t smirking but he seems to find something funny that you are unable to see.

Shoyo doesn’t say anything in response, merely nods and turns his back to you, blending into the streets and people soon after. How he is able to move away from sight so effortlessly with bright orange hair, you will never comprehend.

You turn to Daichi apologetically on behalf of Shoyo. “Don’t mind him. It’s not you. He’s like that with everyone.”

“He’s like the one rebellious younger brother.”

“I don’t have a younger sibling but I know exactly what you’re talking about!”

You grin at each other.

The air is buzzing, a blend of tension, nervousness, excitement, adrenaline, coming together to crackle against your skin and jolt your heart.

It isn’t just you either. The others are feeling the same way.

A restlessness that spreads and seeps, akin to a contagion moving amongst you.

Each realm has casted their chosen champions on the journey to Crow’s Nest and the choices have left many befuddled.

Representing Owl Vale is Bokuto Koutarou himself.

He claims that it is because he does not trust anyone else in the group to get anything done.

Akaashi says it is also because Bokuto does not like governing and that this is a good chance for him to escape his responsibility, leaving his retainers behind to do his dirty work. Again.

This choice immediately has you teetering on your toes as you haven’t quite gotten over how terrifying and difficult it is to even converse with the owl-folk. And to have to journey through unknown lands with him?

The powers that be help you.

Bokuto Koutarou has joined the party.

Similarly, Kuroo has also volunteered to go.

There is no time to have Yaku or Lev journey from the Dominion to Seijoh, and Kenma is not the most prudent choice to send. It made sense for him to go as the Dominion will have Kenma and Kai to oversee everything in his absence. Not to mention that Kuroo is a proficient fighter himself and who knows what they might encounter on the journey. The group will benefit with someone of his caliber.

The knowledge that Kuroo will be with you on the journey is reassuring, and you’re glad that he will be...though you do worry about him, now that you know his tale.

The fox-folks were one thing but what worries you more in regards to Kuroo in comparison is that the fox-folks are clear cut in what they desire. Be it the twins’ hatred towards humans in general, Suna’s tolerant stance or Kita’s pacifism, it is comparatively easier to read and know what to expect from them.

But Kuroo is an enigma, a puzzle yet unsolved.

He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the peace, you are clear on that, but...you are also aware of just how much the leader of the Dominion is concealing within him.

Kuroo Tetsurou has joined the party.

The next one took you off guard completely…

Atsumu and Osamu.

You were so damn sure that it would be Suna but Kita shocked everyone, including the twins themselves, when he announced their names during the latest meeting.

Ad verbatim:

“Atsumu and Osamu are brave but extremely brash. There is much they need to learn about themselves and others. On top of that, they have committed a grave crime against the Dominion when they set fire to the homes of cat-folks.”

“That was ‘Tsumu-!”

“Oi, ya’ really gonna sell me out and save yerself!?”

“-So until the leader of the Dominion, Kuroo Tetsurou, deems them forgiven, they will lend their services to him and to the mission of this Summit, which is to bring an end to The Rot. Meaning, you will now serve Lord Kuroo and her in any endeavors they require.”

…

“ARE YA’ SHITTIN’ ME-?!!”

Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu have been forced into the party.

The next two both surprised and saddened you in that you’ll miss them for a while...

Oikawa and Ushijima will not be traveling with you, for obvious reasons.

Unlike Kuroo and Bokuto, Oikawa and Ushijima did not have as much freedom in leaving their respective realms in the care of others.

Oikawa is appointed regent for the bedridden King Irihata; to have the regent king absent is, without question, unacceptable.

Aloes Yuj was also greatly insistent on this, pushing furiously before Oikawa even expressed any interest in joining the journey (although he most likely wanted to, if the slightly forlorn smile he shot you was any indication).

Iwaizumi will be representing Aoba in his place.

Iwaizumi Hajime has joined the party.

As for Ushijima, he would not have been able to explain his extended absence from Aquila to his grandfather, Emperor Washijo, without raising suspicion. He has chosen Kawanishi, who also volunteered himself, to go instead.

Kawanishi Taichi has joined the party.

And last but not least, and to no one’s surprise, Terushima Yuuji will be going himself, as a representative of the dog-folks.

Of Hyquile. Not just the west. As he so claims.

He wasn’t even meant to join the Summit in the first place but at this point, no one has the heart to send him away.

Terushima Yuuji has forced himself into the party.

To keep the Emperor’s attention off the Summit group and their joint mission, Ushijima will return to Aquila but not before escorting the group to the Iron Wall of Date.

That’s right.

You’ll be making a stop at the part of the Iron Wall closest to the Uninviting Hinterlands to rest and restock before venturing forth.

The journey through the Hinterlands will be tough, and traveling packs are only packed with enough for a return journey to avoid it becoming cumbersome.

Although it is hardly the time for it, you are very excited to see the Iron Wall of Date up close. You’ve only seen it from afar as a black mass lumbering in the horizon so the opportunity to visit it is one you are looking forward to.

To think that you’ll see the Iron Wall of Date before you even see the Great Wall of China is honestly ironic.

And thus, the final party members are as follows:

You.

Bokuto Koutarou.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

Miya Atsumu.

Miya Osamu.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

Kawanishi Taichi.

Daichi.

Terushima Yuuji.

“It’s like we’re the Fellowship of the Ring. We even have nine members,” you chuckle, fingers rubbing together in nerdy glee when all of you stand together at the end of the meeting that decided the members. Lost to your own fantasies, you don't even realize you had been grinning to yourself, looking quite maniacal considering no one was talking to you.

The twins tilt their heads, befuddled.

“...The Fellowship?”

“Of the Ring?”

“What in spirits name is she muttering about? Who’s Boromir and how am I similar to him?” Bokuto clicks his tongue, yellow eyes narrowing at the sight of you mindlessly giggling and grinning all by yourself.

“I...I’m not sure,” Kuroo replies, beginning to worry about the unhinged look in your eyes. “I hope the stress hasn’t gotten to her.”

The night is quiet as the city and the world fall to peaceful slumber, awaiting the next arrival of the sun. In a small humble inn, located in the downtown area of Seijoh, night winds blow through a window left ajar- perhaps on purpose, perhaps not- on the highest floor.

The third floor.

In the room, Shoyo is sat on the ground with his back against the cold walls. The room is dark, the only source of light being the thin strip of moonlight cutting across wooden floors. Lamps prepared by the inn’s owner for the rooms’ occupants were ignored, left where they have been since they arrived.

The lack of light and warmth did not bother him, his cloak enough to sustain his body.

Compared to his homeland, everything about this city is too easy: the climate, the harvests, the people...

Shoyo looks up when he feels a familiar presence enter the dark room, window curtains billowing from shifting air.

Shoyo doesn’t need light to see, nor know, who the new company is.

“You’re early,” the figure, hidden in darkness, hums in approval.

“It’s because you’re always on time…” Shoyo responds quietly.

Footsteps echo against creaking floorboards, and the mysterious figure steps into the moonlight with purpose; an actor making his stage appearance. He breathes the night deeply, appreciating the darkness and silence of a city that is always humming with noise and life during the day.

He turns, and deep eyes illuminate with a silver glow.

“...Daichi, sir.”

Daichi smirks, clearly amused. “Shoyo, huh?”

Shoyo looks away, brows knitting tightly. If Daichi didn’t know his companion as well as he did, he would have said the younger male is embarrassed.

“I didn’t know what else to use.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. As long as it doesn’t compromise us…”

His neck cranes to look at his companion.

“...Hinata.”

“Of course.”

“Still, she speaks fondly of you. I did not think you would allow her to get so close,” Daichi taps his chin, eyes rolling up in thought.

Hinata is under no illusion that Daichi is seriously thinking over your relationship with him. He doubts the man truly cares. So he shrugs. “I don’t know either. Meeting her at the square was not supposed to have happened in the first place. I am unable to comprehend her motives.”

“Implying you’ve thought about it?” Daichi prods playfully but it is anything but. Hinata knows that.

“I’ve...considered it. Tried to analyze it. I do not understand her incessant need to befriend me,” Hinata pauses. “Or others.”

“Hm, well, so long as it-”

“-doesn’t compromise our mission.”

“Good to see that you understand.”

“Without question.”

Daichi sighs in exasperation as he looks around the room, searching for something. Or rather, someone.

“Where is he?”

Again, Shoyo shrugs carelessly. How would he know? He’s not his caretaker. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Thinking about it again, you’re not very cute,” Daichi mutters to himself, wondering how did he ever agree with you that Shoyo is anything remotely like a little brother. He must have lost himself to his role. “If he’s late again-”

“I’m here.”

Daichi pivots to face the newcomer, chastise ready on his lips.

“Kageyama, what did I tell you about being punctual?” Despite his displeasure at the latecomer, Daichi is impressed as always at his silent movements.

The one named Kageyama rolls his eyes. He leans against the wall opposite of Hinata, casually crossing one leg in front of him. He scoffs and crosses his arms haughtily.

“Does it matter? I’m here.”

Ugh, another one that isn’t cute. Not one bit.

“I told you two many times about the value of time and being on time.”

“I’m not going to waste my time waiting like Hinata.”

Hinata does not retort though he narrows threatening eyes on the other male.

“You don’t have to. Just get here at the agreed time,” Daichi says, not letting him off the hook easily. How can he trust someone who will not show up at the agreed time?

Many things require a fine precision of being executed at exactly the right second. In battle, a move taken a minute too soon or a second too late can turn the tides of events.

Things, big and small. A droplet spilled, a harvest missed. A late meeting, words overlooked.

They add up to create a person, an entity, an event, bigger than what one can imagine in that moment. Life taught Daichi that.

“Don’t be late again, Kageyama.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kageyama waves Daichi's warning off with a lazy wave.

“Did you find anything?” Daichi asks after a tense pause, deciding against antagonizing the younger Kageyama any further.

“No, the so-called national library had nothing, neither did the scholars at their academies.”

“Kageyama, you didn’t-”

“I didn’t kill anyone. They won’t even remember I was there. I made sure the drugs are strong enough. They’ll only remember having a little to drink, quite literally, considering they were out by the first sip.”

“I see. Keep searching for information anyways.”

“What’s the point? There probably isn’t anything.”

“It’s better than wasting our time waiting.”

Kageyama grits his teeth in impatience. “Just take her and force it out of her.”

“It won’t work. If it did, they would've found all of it by now. Apparently, they tried it, three years ago.”

“Tch.”

A thick silence blankets the room but is quickly lifted.

“So you’re going with them?” Hinata questions curiously. He heard about it briefly from Kageyama a few days ago when he saw him but Daichi hasn’t disclosed the details to them.

“An unexpected turn but not unwelcome,” Daichi answers. He paces around the room leisurely, swiping his finger along surfaces as if inspecting for dust. His nose wrinkles when his finger comes off grey after running along the corner table.

Wiping his hand off, he glances back at Hinata, then Kageyama.

“Our plans won’t change. But…”

“You two will be coming with. Tail us.”

Hinata looks at his leader as if he’s grown another head. “But if we’re found out…”

“We know the terrain better than anyone. Most you’ll have to watch out for are the loud owl and the cat. The two fox twins might pose a problem but they are easily distracted. Just keep your distances and you’ll be fine.”

Daichi smiles encouragingly at Hinata and the orange-haired boy looks up at him in a daze, amazed that this enigmatic man who has more criticism than compliments is praising him.

“You’re a good tracker, Hinata.”

If you enjoyed this or GWS, please do spare a reblog and/or a comment on AO3! Your support will really mean a lot <3

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu captains x reader #miya twins x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #suna rintarou x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #oikawa x reader #kuroo x reader #kita x reader #atsumu x reader #bokuto x reader #osamu x reader #suna x reader #ushijima x reader

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unpeumacabre · 3 years

Text

soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: chapter one

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 8k

<- previous

Wei Wuxian woke in darkness, and it was a darkness he did not recognise.

He sat up, groaning as the movement jarred his bones and made him ache in places he’d not known existed. There was something clouding his thoughts, draining his energy; after a few moments wherein he tried to get his bearings, he sensed the presence of a suppressing array designed to repress spiritual energy and sap his strength.

It was not a man-made array. Instead, it had the hallmarks of something far more ancient and terrible.

The amount of resentful energy in the air was so thick that he almost choked on it. In fact, if not for the suppressing array, he would have had trouble stopping the energy from churning through his body and sending him into a state of backlash.

As he stumbled to his feet, there was a crunch underfoot. Something sharp poked into his hand as he steadied himself against the ground. He felt for the object, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised he had stepped on and broken the jaw bone of a skull.

“Ah – “ reflexively he recoiled. Then he relaxed as he realised it was likely the skull of a deer.

As he blinked and looked about the room, slowly things came into focus. First he saw around him walls made of dark, dank stone. There was a sour, mossy smell in the air; the air felt thick with moisture, and he wrinkled his nose in response. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and there was a faint ringing in his ears, likely from the blow to his head he’d received to knock him out before he’d been dragged into this chamber.

“At least whatever took me left me mostly intact,” he muttered to himself, fishing a talisman out of his robes and lighting it with a brief spark of spiritual energy.

He looked down, and realised that the floor was littered with more bones – animal bones, human bones, and unidentifiable shards which were coated in a thin layer of something shiny. When he nudged one of the fragments, it made a squishing noise under his foot, and Wei Wuxian instantly regretted his curiosity.

This must be the lair of the human-eating monster, he thought to himself, and this is where it chucks the remnants of its meals…it must have deemed Mo Xuanyu too skinny and underfed to be worthwhile fare, and tossed me in here for storage instead. It’s not my fault his isn’t a body which builds muscle easily! Why, if I only had my old body…

As he continued to stew indignantly over the monster’s disrespect of his physique, he returned his gaze to the walls, and suddenly realised that there was a passageway carved into the wall, leading into the next room. With one last glance around the chamber he was currently occupying, he deemed there to be little else of note therein, and trotted over to the aperture in the wall.

As he walked cautiously through the passageway, feeling his way with his hands and trying not to cringe at the thin layer of sticky moisture which gathered on his palms, suddenly the corridor opened out into a large chamber. More bones crunched under his feet, and now he found he had to pick his way carefully across the floor without falling over.

Abruptly the faint light from his talisman revealed a purple-clad body on the ground, and Wei Wuxian tripped.

Thankfully, he caught himself before he managed to fall on the body, and once he had regained his balance, he squatted over the body and squinted balefully at the face of the unfortunate person.

Jiang Cheng?! Wei Wuxian exclaimed mentally. What luck!

- Or, lack thereof, depending on how you looked at it. It was supremely lucky that he’d managed to find Jiang Cheng – alive, judging from the steady shallow rise and fall of his chest – and with all limbs and his head still firmly attached. But also supremely unlucky in the sense that they were now alone in a room with both their spiritual energy severely depleted, and without other Yunmeng Jiang sect members/Lan Zhan as buffers.

“Oh well. The rice is now cooked; what’s done is done, and there’s no way around it,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’ll just have to deal with his bad temper when he wakes up.”

Wei Wuxian leant over Jiang Cheng and scanned his body. There were faint lines on his temples where dried blood had trickled down from a wound on his head, similar to that on Wei Wuxian’s own forehead, but there didn’t seem to be much lasting damage. His spiritual energy was worryingly low, however, and it could barely be felt through his pulse point. Hurriedly, Wei Wuxian yanked open the collar of his robe and undergarments and placed his hand against his chest.

Thankfully, the thrumming of his spiritual energy was still present – very faint and weak, but still there.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING,” Jiang Cheng said weakly.

“Aaaahhh!” Wei Wuxian yelped, falling backwards and dropping the talisman. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Why are you the one yelling? I’m the one who woke up to being groped by a goddamn cut-sleeve!” Jiang Cheng shouted, albeit a bit feebly.

“Even when you’re half-dead you’re still so noisy,” Wei Wuxian said peevishly. “I was just checking your golden core! As if I’d want to touch you. Gross. And I’m not a cut-sleeve,” he added quickly.

Jiang Cheng ignored him, lifting himself up on his elbows and attempting to get onto his feet. He slapped away Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand and managed to hobble upright on his own.

“My golden core,” he said suddenly, and looked up at Wei Wuxian with wild eyes. “I can barely feel it. And my senses feel dulled. I can’t think properly. What the hell’s happened to me?!”

“There’s a suppressing array in place,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Can’t you feel it? It’s suppressing your spiritual energy and sapping your strength.”

“Why don’t you seem affected then?” Jiang Cheng said, his tone mildly accusatory.

Wei Wuxian paused. “I don’t have a golden core, remember. And I’ve gone so long without one, I suppose it’s easier to get used to operating on lower spiritual energy.”

He kept his tone breezy and light, but even he felt that it was slightly over-played. Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched and he turned away.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Come on, Jiang Cheng,” he tried. “You know it doesn’t matter to me anymore. It’s an old wound, and I was the one who chose to give it up anyway. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

When Jiang Cheng turned back, there was so much guilt and anger in his eyes, Wei Wuxian found he could no longer stand it. He broke their gaze and looked around instead.

“We’re going to need weapons for defence,” he said, thinking out loud. “Spiritual weapons won’t work, since you’re low on spiritual energy, so Sandu and Zidian are out. Oh, how about this!” and he skipped over to the corner of the room, where a bunch of corpses were haphazardly piled on top of each other, covered in sparse cobwebs. A giant hairy spider crawled out of one of the skulls’ mouths and scuttled sideways into the shadows.

From their garb, the bodies had apparently been farmers or fishermen, and accordingly, there were various tools scattered on the ground next to them. Wei Wuxian picked up a few of the items and scrutinised them.

“Here, Jiang Cheng!” he called, and held them out. “Hoe, spade, pitchfork; time to play farmer for the day! Take your pick?”

Jiang Cheng grabbed the pitchfork without looking, his eyes trained on their surroundings and scanning the walls with what little light from the talisman remained. He clenched his fist, and Zidian crackled weakly, but otherwise there was no response, as expected.

“What do you remember before you were knocked out?” he said finally. “How did you find me here?”

Wei Wuxian was relieved to find that Jiang Cheng’s demeanour was back to normal.

He dropped the tools carelessly. “Hmm… I’ve been in Yunmeng for a while, and I went to – I met some Yunmeng Jiang disciples in Yunmeng and they told me you’d taken a group of your cultivators to the area outside the city where there had been a monster causing trouble and eating humans,” he said. “Since you’d been gone for quite a while, I figured it might be an interesting monster, so I came to have a look. I found the entrance to a cave in the area the disciples mentioned, but just as I entered, something knocked me out. Though I didn’t see what.”

“It was the same for me.” Jiang Cheng’s brow darkened, and his jaw clenched. “We must find the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who came with me – whether they be dead or alive.”

Wei Wuxian nodded grimly. “I came from another room in which there were also many bones and remnants of clothing. There must be other rooms in which they may be found.”

They made their way sombrely through the various passageways and tunnels into other rooms which also reeked of dampness and decay. One by one, they found the distinctive bright purple robes of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples, covering bodies with the flesh only recently gnawed off the bones. For all of them, Jiang Cheng knelt by their sides and covered their bones with their robes, and arranged their remains tidily as best he could.

As he stood up from the side of the last corpse of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators who’d accompanied him on his night hunt, his eyes were red with unshed tears. Wei Wuxian tactfully remained silent as Jiang Cheng took a few moments more to compose himself.

“We should get out and find reinforcements,” Wei Wuxian said at last, when Jiang Cheng’s colour had returned, and his grip on Sandu’s handle had loosened.

At Wei Wuxian’s words, he stiffened, and said suddenly, “What about the monster? It’s somewhere in here causing havoc. Who knows how many more people will killed in the time it takes for us to get back to Lotus Pier and fetch more people to help?”

“Our spiritual energy is so diminished, and we don’t have any useful weapons on us,” Wei Wuxian answered exasperatedly. “With this suppressing array in place, what damage can we possibly do to the monster?”

“Even if we bring reinforcements, they’ll be hit by the suppressing array too,” Jiang Cheng said stubbornly

“This creature is clearly a dangerous one, if our experiences have taught us anything, and one not to be taken lightly. We won’t be able to do much to it!” Wei Wuxian protested.

“Didn’t you kill the Xuanwu even while starved for three days, and heavily injured?” Jiang Cheng rebutted angrily. “Are you saying I’m not as competent as Lan Wangji?”

When Jiang Cheng was like this, it was difficult to deal with him. Wei Wuxian let his exasperation get the better of him. “Fine! Have it your way then!” he snapped. “For the record, I still think we’re going to our death. But since you’re being so pig-headed about it, we might as well try and find the monster and do what damage we can before we end up dying.”

They walked for a bit in a stony silence. The talisman, previously already on its last embers, soon shrivelled away into nothingness. Wei Wuxian wordlessly fished another yellow sheet from his robes and lit their way once more.

In the few moments in which darkness had reigned, Jiang Cheng’s expression had changed.

He quickly schooled it back to his familiar frown, however, and Wei Wuxian would have thought it a trick of the light, if he had not seen it plain as day.

“At least… let’s at least scope out the terrain so we know it better,” Jiang Cheng muttered, with a curious scraping noise, as if he were grinding his teeth. “Then we’ll know it better the second time when we come back with reinforcements.”

“… Are you feeling alright?” Wei Wuxian asked cautiously, with concern. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?”

“Shut up! Don’t make me change my mind!” Jiang Cheng said huffily, and walked a little bit faster.

Now I remember why Jin Ling’s princess-like temper seemed so familiar, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. He’s a carbon copy of Jiang Cheng as a child! No wonder, what with the way Jiang Cheng raises him.

Of course he would never dare to say such a thing to Jiang Cheng’s face, so they continued ambling on in more silence. Suddenly, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks.

“What is it?”

“I can sense something different,” Wei Wuxian said, turning his head from side to side as he attempted to trace the thing which had caught his attention. He closed his eyes and focused his mind.

It took him much concentration and mental capacity, but finally he sensed what had distracted him – a tendril of energy which differed from the constant thrum of resentful energy that threatened to overwhelm him at every step, the latter which likely came from the multiple corpses that they had left behind in the previous rooms. This new energy felt more similar to the force that sustained the suppressing array, but at the same time, curiously unlike. Wei Wuxian tilted his head to the side as he tried to sort out the tangled coils of energy in the air, into a more coherent map.

“I think I can sense the spiritual energy of the monster,” he said, after a few moments. “That is, if this creature is indeed the one that set up the suppressing array. Following its energy should lead us to its location.”

“There’s such a thick cloud of resentful energy. You can tell the monster’s energy apart?” Jiang Cheng asked in disbelief.

“Master of Demonic Cultivation, remember?” Wei Wuxian said, mustering up a grin. “I lived and breathed resentful energy for a while before I, er, before the siege on the Yiling Mounds.” He rushed on quickly before Jiang Cheng could become maudlin again. “It’s nothing to me, to tell apart different sources of resentful energy.”

“I’ve never before heard of a beast that was able to cast a suppressing array,” Jiang Cheng said, thankfully too preoccupied with the matter at hand to be easily distracted by talk of the past. “It must be a human-like monster then – but no, those were clearly the marks of an animal’s teeth on the bodies of my cultivators.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “My line of thinking was the same as yours. I don’t think this thing is purely beast-like nor human-like, and it’s probably a mix of both, such that it’s able to cast a suppressing array, and yet attack people with such ferocity and strength. We’ll have to trace the energy to its source to find out.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement from Jiang Cheng in response, they continued trudging on in a firm, painful silence. This was a foreign concept to Wei Wuxian; even in his time with Lan Zhan, that taciturn rock of a man, he’d been able to fill the void between them with his aimless chatter and the playing of Chenqing. But something between him and Jiang Cheng still felt too raw, too new and vulnerable, to risk damaging with his usual frivolous antics.

This is so awkward, Wei Wuxian thought. Should I make the first move? But he might yell at me again. Hang on, since when have I been so afraid of Jiang Cheng’s scoldings? Anyway, what would I even ask him? ‘How are the lotuses doing in Lotus Pier?’ Um, no…

Surprisingly, however, Jiang Cheng was the first to break the silence.

“How – ahem. How is Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d heard him right at first, but as he looked at Jiang Cheng incredulously, the question forming on his lips, Jiang Cheng flushed, and looked away.

“Oh! Er, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, loudly to cover up both their discomfort. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s Chief Cultivator, you know! Isn’t that amazing?”

Jiang Cheng muttered something that sounded suspiciously like I’m the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader, of course I know who the fucking Chief Cultivator is, but then he harrumphed and cleared his throat. Wei Wuxian magnanimously decided to let him off and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

“I thought you two were inseparable?” Jiang Cheng asked, darting a sideways glance at Wei Wuxian. “And yet you haven’t seen him for a while?”

For some reason, that particular question grated at Wei Wuxian’s skin, and the light of the talisman flickered in response to his annoyance. “Well, he’s busy,” he said airily, “and… and I’ll see him soon. I’m sure of it. As if he could go a day without my presence!”

“He seems to be getting on perfectly fine without you,” Jiang Cheng pointed out, detestably reasonable as always.

“With Lan Zhan’s poker face, how can you tell?” Wei Wuxian returned quickly. This time it was he who walked a little faster, just to be spiteful, and just because he could.

“You look like you’ve been tramping through the wilderness,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly switching the subject.

“I’ve just been living wild for a while. You know, living off the land, eating only fruits and berries, surviving by my abundance of wits as usual…”

“Hah!” Jiang Cheng snorted. It was not a nice snort, Wei Wuxian thought crossly, and in retaliation, he decided not to respond.

Jiang Cheng finally spoke up again, after a long while in which Wei Wuxian had been distracting himself with thoughts of a new classification system for demons of the five elements. “We’ve been going in circles!” he said, and his tone bridled with frustration. “I recognise that rock formation over there. I caught my hand on it earlier – look, my blood is still fresh on the stone.”

Wei Wuxian looked at the rock, and indeed, Jiang Cheng’s blood still glistened on its surface. He wondered how he could have gotten so completely turned around – hadn’t he just been following the tendril of malevolent energy? He could’ve sworn he’d felt it getting stronger, too, which should have meant that they were nearing its source. How was it that they’d ended up circling back to where they’d started?

“I thought we were following the energy from the creature,” Jiang Cheng said irritably.

“Shhh,” Wei Wuxian said, not paying attention to him. “There’s something else at work here. Something I’m not getting.”

Surprisingly, Jiang Cheng quieted down, and leaned against the wall. He did so surreptitiously, as if to escape Wei Wuxian’s sight, but of course he noticed.

Jiang Cheng must be more drained than I thought, Wei Wuxian thought, if he’s stopped arguing with me. Especially since he’s been here for a few days more than me already, and with no food or water. I must find a way to get us out of here - and quickly.

He mustered what little spiritual energy he had left, and focused. In his mind he pushed aside the suppressing fog that clouded his thoughts and distracted his attention, concentrating only on sensing the pulses of energy emanating from every wall in the passageway around him. There was the faint tendril of energy from the creature responsible for the suppressing array, yes, and overwhelming amounts of resentful energy pouring from the corpses of the creature’s meals, and underneath it all… underneath all that energy…

“There’s a maze array in place,” he realised suddenly, his voice echoing in the stillness of the corridor. “It’s cleverly buried under the other layers of energy in this cave, but it’s there. It must have been cast a long time ago, for I could barely sense its presence. And it was not cast by the creature maintaining the suppressing array.”

“That’s what’s confusing your sense of direction?” Jiang Cheng asked despairingly. “Then how are we supposed to get out of here with little spiritual energy and our only lead a complete dead end?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, mustering a small smile. “Don’t lose hope so easily, Jiang Cheng! We’ll find a way out. We just need a way to overcome the maze array – then we can follow the creature’s malevolent energy without being confused. We just need some way of maintaining our sense of direction.”

“What do you suggest we do? Is there any way to track our steps, perhaps?” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian tapped idly at the side of his nose as he thought, pacing back and forth in the confined space. Jiang Cheng’s eyes, lit up by the flickering light of the paper talisman, followed him back and forth.

“I could cast a tracking spell… no, but with my depleted spiritual energy, that wouldn’t last long… I have the Compass of Evil which I worked on to improve last week, but this creature doesn’t consume souls, and so it wouldn’t work… Oh?”

The unravelling hem of his ratty travelling robe had snagged on a shard of rock protruding out of the wall, and had caused him to pause in his steps. Wei Wuxian stared down at the little loop of thread curled around the stone protrusion.

Suddenly, an epiphany came upon him.

“I have an idea!” he said, excitedly, and began picking apart the hem of his robe. Jiang Cheng lifted himself off the wall and came over to inspect what he was doing.

“What’s that supposed to do?” he asked sceptically. “Is it just another excuse for you to go naked again? Oi, just because it’s just me down here with you - ”

“It was one time, and I was eight,” Wei Wuxian said exasperatedly, “and don’t tell me you’d never seen a penis before that! I don’t know why you had to act like a blushing maiden and try to stab me with your brush. We’re both men, aren’t we? Nothing you haven’t seen before!”

While he’d been going on, and Jiang Cheng had started spluttering and turning interesting colours, he’d managed to unpick the thread from his robe, and tied it around a sturdy stalagmite on the ground. He gave the limestone pillar a few experimental pulls, and it didn’t budge.

“Now we just have to follow the thread, and we’ll know which routes we’ve walked, and which routes we haven’t!” he said brightly, as he straightened up.

“That’s… actually a good idea,” Jiang Cheng said grudgingly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the stalagmite.

“I always have good ideas. Don’t you know?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning. “Come on, let’s hurry. I don’t know how many days have passed, but surely it’s been too long already. We should quickly find the monster’s hideout and then figure out a way to escape.”

It was indeed a good idea, if Wei Wuxian said so himself (and he did, multiple times, very smugly, so much so that Jiang Cheng started ignoring him again), and with its aid, they managed to find their way out of the maze of corridors that surrounded the rooms containing the corpses. Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh of relief as he finally felt the thick fog of resentful energy that had been giving him a massive headache, fade away into the background and eventually disappear.

Now, the passageways they walked were a little less damp, and a little less foul-smelling. There were even lamps embedded in the wall, unlit and covered with cobwebs, but obviously made by a talented craftsman. Wei Wuxian stopped to inspect one of them, and the style of its carvings and the technique of its forging marked it as a craft belonging to the dynasty of six centuries ago.

“Whatever inhabits this cave must be ancient indeed,” Jiang Cheng said grimly, as Wei Wuxian shared this insight with him.

They stopped abruptly as a carven wooden door appeared beside them, looming out of the darkness, leading into an enclave that branched off from the main tunnel.

The frame of the door extended high above their visible range, and as Wei Wuxian guided the talisman as far up as he dared without losing his tenuous hold on the charm, they realised just how large the tunnel was beginning to run. All they could see above them was darkness, and there was no observable ceiling. They exchanged glances, and with a mutual nod of acknowledgement, Jiang Cheng placed his palm on the door and pushed firmly.

It creaked open with a loud sound of protest. The noise made both of them wince and glance around sharply to see if the clamour had attracted any undue attention. But thankfully, even after a few moments of silence, they were still alone in the tunnel, with no foes in sight. Jiang Cheng pushed the door open all the way, and they peered into the darkness cautiously.

“It’s a library - !” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, his voice hushed, as the talisman floated into the room and lit up shelves upon shelves of crumbling, decaying books and scrolls. Jiang Cheng scanned the titles, trying to make out the words on their spines.

“Vegetarian Dietary Principles,” Jiang Cheng read out, “Journey to the West, Classic of Poetry, Classic – Classic of – Music?”

Wei Wuxian expelled a surprised breath and shook his head. “Whoever owned this library must have been a great patron of the arts - he’s even managed to acquire books which no one’s ever had a copy of before! It’s a collection to rival even that of the Gusu Lan library. But such a valuable hoard would usually be maintained zealously by its collector, not left to rot away in such a sorry state.”

The talisman settled on a pile of objects arranged neatly in the corner of the library, and Wei Wuxian felt his brows shoot up even further.

“A guqin, guzheng, pipa, dihu, yangqin – truly an impressive collection of instruments from all across China!” he said admiringly. “They’ve been left to gather dust as well, and they haven’t been maintained in a while. Things are becoming curiouser and curiouser indeed.”

“Perhaps the owner of the collection was eaten by the monster,” Jiang Cheng suggested.

“Perhaps,” Wei Wuxian said doubtfully. I feel that there’s something here we’re still not getting…

They left the library behind, unable to see much in the darkness and with their limited light source. Wei Wuxian had to light another talisman, for the previous one flickered and shrivelled to dust. Just as he did, his stomach let out a loud sound of dissatisfaction, and he automatically pressed a hand to his abdomen.

“I’m hungryyyyyy,” he whined. “Jiang Cheng, do you have any food?”

“Stop talking nonsense,” Jiang Cheng retorted sharply. “If I’d had any food, I’d long since have eaten it up already!”

“Ugh,” Wei Wuxian groaned, leaning dramatically forward as they walked. “I’m going to die of hunger. Who knows how many days and nights we’ve spent in here! It’s not like you have a set sleep schedule so we can count the days. We’ve probably been walking for a few days without rest already – and who knows how much longer it’ll take to get out.”

He felt his coat slip off his shoulder, and he looked down at it. Because of the unravelling string, his already-raggedy outerwear was falling apart, and it no longer resembled anything coat-like. Wei Wuxian shrugged it off and tucked it under his right arm, and was left only in his underthings.

“I feel the wind blowing through places I didn’t know existed,” he complained, shivering.

Jiang Cheng looked at him and immediately averted his eyes, a dull flush colouring his cheeks. “Shameless!” he spluttered. “What wind?! There’s barely any wind, we’re underground! Wei Wuxian, you’re truly shameless as always!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like the old Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian muttered under his breath. “One of him is good enough, thank you very much…”

Suddenly, there was an ear-splitting crash, and it was only their quick reflexes that caused them not to be buried under a large column of rocks that suddenly came pouring down on them. Both of them leapt to the side, and stared, bug-eyed, at the spot in which they had been standing just moments ago.

“Agh, my eyes,” said Jiang Cheng loudly, as the fog from the avalanche cleared, and piercing sunlight shone down on them from the large hole which had suddenly opened up in the ceiling of the tunnel, far above them. Wei Wuxian shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted blearily up at the hole.

…

“LAN ZHAN!!!!” he cried out happily, as he made eye contact with a very dear, familiar figure. Lan Zhan peered imperiously down at them, the sunlight making it seem as though his head was glowing.

“Speak of Cao Cao and Cao Cao will arrive,” Wei Wuxian said, bouncing excitedly up and down on the spot. “Didn’t I tell you Lan Zhan could be counted on to rescue us?* Huh? He’s reliable, isn’t he?”

*A/N: (he didn’t)

“Did you really have to invoke his name?” Jiang Cheng said grumpily, following his gaze upwards. “I always feel like he’s looking down on me, but now he’s actually literally looking down on me.”

Another figure appeared beside Lan Zhan and peeked cautiously over the edge of the hole. After squinting for a while more, Wei Wuxian realised it was Lan Xichen.

“Are you two alright?” Lan Xichen called down to them, his gentle voice filled with concern. “I’m afraid we went a little, ah, overboard in trying to get down to you two…”

“We’re fine, Zewu-jun, thanks for your concern!” Wei Wuxian hollered back up at them. “Won’t you come down and join us? We’re depleted of spiritual energy and unable to join you up there!”

Lan Zhan immediately flew down, but the moment he alighted and laid his eyes on Wei Wuxian, his finely-sculpted eyebrows shot up towards to his forehead.

“What – what happened to your outer robe?” he said, sounding faintly strangled.

“Oh – this? I used the string from my hem to track our progress through this cave,” Wei Wuxian replied cheerily. “There’s a maze array in place, although it’s quite difficult to detect, and with our limited spiritual energy there wasn’t any other way to stop ourselves getting lost. Jiang Cheng will tell you it was quite a clever idea. It must have been quite cold outside, Lan Zhan, your ears are turning pink! Here, rub your hands together…”

Jiang Cheng, predictably, ignored him and lifted his hands in a salute to Lan Xichen, who’d descended as well to join them. “Sect Leader Lan,” he said formally, and Lan Xichen returned the gesture. Jiang Cheng turned to Lan Zhan and repeated the gesture, a little more unwillingly.

“Here, take this,” Lan Zhan said, pulling a qiankun pouch out from his sleeve. Sticking his hand inside the pouch, he drew out an overcoat with the designs of the Gusu Lan sect and placed it securely around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders.

Wei Wuxian whistled in surprise and appreciation. “Lan Zhan, you came prepared! It’s one of your robes, isn’t it?” A thought occurred to him which made him laugh out loud in pure delight. “Ooh, Lan Zhan, are you embarrassed by my lack of clothing? You know I’m shameless, I don’t mind even if I’m just parading around in my underwear or even if I’m stark naked.”

“As you can tell, Hanguang-jun, he’s doing perfectly fine,” Jiang Cheng said acrimoniously. “The days of starvation and lack of spiritual energy haven’t done anything to dampen his personality.”

Wei Wuxian pouted. “Lan Zhan knows that,” he replied peevishly. “We killed the Xuanwu together under the same circumstances, remember?”

A soft laugh from the side reminded him of Lan Xichen’s presence, and he spun around to face him.

“Sect Leader Lan, what’re you doing here?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously. “I thought you were in seclusion. What brings you here?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I was in seclusion, but Wangji came to me today and told me of your and Sect Leader Jiang’s disappearance. He was quite distressed by the news, and asked me for help to track the two of you down. And when I heard that A-Yao – that Jin Guangyao had been seen in the area…”

He hesitated, and said no more. None of them pressed him further.

“How did you manage to find us?” Jiang Cheng asked quickly, directing his question at Lan Zhan.

“Jin Ling wrote to me when he found that you were missing,” Lan Zhan answered. “We followed your trail to this place. And I could sense Wei Ying’s energy coming from here, so we entered here.”

“You could sense my energy?” Wei Wuxian asked, bewildered by this new turn of events. “But – how? Plus the suppressing array – “

“Where is the human-eating monster?” Lan Zhan asked abruptly, cutting him off. “Have you already killed it?”

After a pause, Wei Wuxian shook his head, and relayed the events of the past few days to them. It turned out that Jiang Cheng had been missing for nine days, and Wei Wuxian for three – that explains why Jiang Cheng looks so exhausted, he thought to himself; nine days without food or drink will do that to you.

Lan Xichen passed them water in a flask and two bags filled with baozi, steamed buns, which Jiang Cheng immediately started scarfing down ravenously. Lan Zhan took the other bag and held up the flask to Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

“Drink,” he said softly. One of his hands came up behind Wei Wuxian’s back to steady him.

Wei Wuxian drank obediently, thinking, I am so loved.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Lan Zhan immediately fished one of the baozi out of the bag and held it up for Wei Wuxian to take a bite. The meat inside the bun tasted truly delicious to his starved palate, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out little ‘mm’s of enjoyment as he chewed.

Only when Wei Wuxian had finished munching on the baozi did Lan Zhan exhale and relax, although his hand still remained on Wei Wuxian’s lower back.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he said, smiling widely. Something about Lan Zhan’s presence always left him feeling refreshed. “I knew I could count on you. You’re such a reliable friend. No wonder you’re the Chief Cultivator, indeed!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Jiang Cheng said indistinctly, and Wei Wuxian whipped around to look at him.

(If he was being perfectly honest, he’d forgotten Jiang Cheng – and Lan Xichen – were there.)

The two of them were staring openly at him and Lan Zhan, the bag of baozi dangling loosely from Jiang Cheng’s hand and Jiang Cheng’s cheeks still stuffed with bites of baozi so that he looked like a squirrel. Lan Xichen’s smile looked like it had ossified on his face.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said in confusion. He looked at Lan Zhan for reassurance that he wasn’t the only one bewildered in this situation, but Lan Zhan seemed to be trying to do something with his face, alternately widening and squinting his eyes at the two other people.

Lan Xichen coughed. “Never – never mind, Young Master Wei,” he said, his smile back on his face, although now it looked a little bit forced. “If you’ve finished your meal, we should proceed with your original plan to find the human-eating monster. Wangji and I have spent only a few moments in this cave, but already I can feel the effects of the suppressing array. Wangji, you feel it too?”

Lan Zhan inclined his head, his face back to its usual expressionlessness. “It was not cast by a human,” he replied. “The energy is different. Staying here longer than necessary will result in full depletion of our spiritual energy.” He materialised his guqin and played a few complicated sounding notes. Blue light flared as he cast the pathfinding spell, and it formed a faint line on the ground showing the direction in which they were to go.

“We must hurry,” he said brusquely, “or my energy will fail and the spell will disappear.”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding decisively, feeling much more comfortable and at ease now that he was no longer alone with Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan was here at his side. As they walked, Wei Wuxian filled the silence with his usual chatter, speculating about the origins of the creature and how it could possibly have cast a suppressing array, interrupted only by Lan Zhan’s ‘mm’s of acknowledgment and the occasional offered insight.

If he was speaking a little louder than usual, it was only because he could feel the supreme awkwardness radiating off the two sect leaders walking behind them. It wasn’t coming off Lan Xichen, no – Wei Wuxian had previously turned around surreptitiously to check on the two of them and Lan Xichen had looked perfectly at ease and his usual composed self. Rather, it was Jiang Cheng who was blatantly trying to avoid everyone’s gaze, and who’d answered Lan Xichen’s initial attempts at conversations with curt, albeit polite, rejoinders.

That’s strange, Wei Wuxian mused to himself, as he chattered on to Lan Zhan about his theories regarding whether or not beasts had souls akin to that of humans, Jiang Cheng’s used to silence and isn’t often fazed. I wonder if something happened between him and Zewu-jun? Or maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe he feels left out of the conversation between me and Lan Zhan? But that’s not my fault! He’s the one being all grumpy and crabby. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly back to normal between us, but I’d thought after the Guanyin Temple events he’d started to hate me a little bit less…

“We’re here,” Lan Zhan said, stopping abruptly, as the faint blue line on the ground ended and they were faced with a large door.

This was different from the door that had led into the library, for it was carved out of granite and not wood, and gems were embedded deep into the stone in a pattern that radiated out from the centre, where two large knockers were located. The faces of two door gods glared at them out of the darkness, painted as they were on either panel of the door.

It must have been a glorious sight, Wei Wuxian thought to himself, when the lamps had been lit. But now the gems only gleamed dully in the limited light from the talisman, and the paint of the door gods was chipped and peeling. Now their stares looked mournful, rather than stern and majestic, as they would have been before.

Words were carved into the upper frame of the door, large, sombre characters in ancient text. They looked as if they had been etched into the stone by a great claw, the edges of the words were still clear and relatively unchipped by time.

“Cave of… Cave of Dormancy?” Wei Wuxian read with some difficulty, for he had not practised reading ancient scripts to any significant extent.

“There is a great well of yang energy beyond this door,” Lan Xichen said from behind them, his voice almost awestruck. Wei Wuxian concurred. As they had been following the path indicated by Lan Zhan’s pathfinding spell, he too had felt the presence of a boundless amount of yang energy emanating from some unseen force, that now apparently lay behind this door.

Even in his weakened state, it felt ponderous and overpowering; he could not imagine what it felt like for Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen, whose reserves of energy were mostly intact. True to his thoughts, Lan Zhan staggered slightly, and the blue line on the ground faded. Wei Wuxian dropped the ratty overcoat tucked under his arm, and steadied him with a hand on his elbows.

The faint crackle of Zidian echoed throughout the space as Jiang Cheng clenched his fist, and he strode forward, placing his palm on the handle of the door.

“Sect Leader Jiang, we must be cautious,” Lan Xichen said, and in his gentle voice it did not sound like a rebuke. Jiang Cheng spared him a sideways glance, then nodded shortly. It took the both of them to push the heavy doors open, and Lan Zhan levered himself out of Wei Wuxian’s grasp to peer carefully into the chamber.

It was the light that hit them first, and blinded them.

Jiang Cheng grunted in surprise and cast his head away, for he had been the first one to gain entrance to the chamber. Wei Wuxian pushed his way forward and squinted into the blinding light.

Once his eyes had stopped metaphorically bleeding, he made out lamps on the walls, larger than the ones in the passageways, and this time, these were lit, with a curious iridescent flame that flickered and danced even though there was no wind.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out more features of the room. It was a vast chamber, with the ceiling towering high above them, and every panel of the walls inlaid with gold and jade. Golden dragons snarled motionlessly at them from the corners of the room, their presumably-once-gleaming surfaces now flecked with dirt. Two thrones sat at the far end of the room – which was more like a hall – one enormous and golden, the other slightly smaller and carved in jade. A thin layer of dust covered every single object and surface in the room.

Except for the centre of the chamber, a shining golden pedestal, upon which lay a great slumbering long.

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind Wei Wuxian from Lan Zhan that told him he’d noticed the long as well. Very slowly, not daring to take even a single breath, Wei Wuxian stepped backwards and back into the passageway.

Once he was no longer in the hall, he spun around, his eyes open so wide he felt they were about to fall out of his skull.

“It’s a Shenlong. A heavenly dragon,” he hissed frantically. “The nine resemblances were present: the stag’s horns, the camel’s head, the demon’s eyes, the snake’s neck, the clam’s belly, the carp’s scales, the tiger’s paws, the cow’s ears, and most distinctive of the Shenlong, out of all the types of long – the eagle’s claws, of which there were five on each foot.”

Jiang Cheng’s were equally wide. “Is it… is it the real thing?” he managed. “Or is it a deformed copy, like the Xuanwu of Slaughter you and Lan Wangji fought?”

“He is a true Shenlong,” Lan Xichen spoke, and there was a subtle tremor in his voice. “He had the chimu atop its head, without which he may not ascend to the heavens.”

“That explains how he was able to cast the suppressing array, and the non-human aura of his energy, given that a Shenlong is a fully sentient being and not merely a mindless beast. But what’s he doing down here, though?” Wei Wuxian wondered aloud. “A Shenlong belongs in the heavens or in the body of water he governs, not under the ground where he has no access to the water which sustains him.”

Lan Xichen shook his head, his gaze equally uncomprehending. “Before we left the chamber, I observed that there were large lacquer panels on the walls with accompanying text, which likely depicted the Shenlong and his story,” he said quietly. “I did not get a close enough look at the words, however. But there is one thing beyond doubt – this Shenlong is unlike his more benevolent peers, and is responsible for the disappearances of the people of Yunmeng. We must find a way to observe both the Shenlong and the panels on the walls, which may give us a clue as to how to combat him.”

“According to the stories, it has superior sight and smell,” Lan Zhan spoke up. “It will be difficult to evade its notice.”

“It did not notice us when we first entered, however, and we were rather noisy,” Jiang Cheng said. “If we are careful, we should be fine.”

Given that none of them saw any other way to proceed, it was on that note of caution that they entered the chamber once again. Wei Wuxian kept his eyes firmly trained on the Shenlong, but even as they eased themselves slowly past the door and into the room, he did not wake. The lines of his magnificent, serpentine body rose and fell in tandem with his breaths, and the silky tendrils of his beard fluttered in the air that whooshed out of his nostrils. A pearl glimmered faintly from where it was nestled underneath his chin.

Wei Wuxian could not help but stop and admire his majestic beauty. It was truly a sight he’d never thought he’d see in his lifetime, for long were said to be mere figments of imagination, myths of the past.

But… I suppose, if there’s a Xuanwu, why not a Shenlong? It was a perfectly reasonable line of logic, he thought, and besides, unless he and the other three were having mass hallucinations, the proof of truth in those supposed legends lay before his own eyes.

It was only when he was sure that the Shenlong was deep in slumber, that he finally turned his attention to the four lacquer panels on the wall. These were clearly done by a great artist - like the rest of the statues and art pieces of the chamber - for the panels were carefully inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold leaf carved into the shapes of miniscule birds and flowers that fluttered in and adorned the background of the scenes. Below each panel were lines of ancient script, carved deep into the rock by the same great claw which had labelled this cavern the Cave of Dormancy.

The words were not clear to him, given his inability to read ancient text, but thankfully, the pictures were evocative enough that he was able to get the main gist of the story. In the first panel, the Shenlong perched atop a mountain, watching as the towns and people in his purview were washed away by strong wind and rain. In the next screen, he was depicted swooping downwards into the fray and picking off various unfortunate victims from the deluge of water below. His large bulging eyes, created with carven jade gemstones, glimmered malevolently in the light. Blood gushed from his cavernous jaws.

Then, in the next panel, a Fenghuang – a divine phoenix - had descended upon the scene, and was tussling violently with the Shenlong, her long, sharp beak digging into the flesh of the Shenlong’s leg where it was buried. The artist had captured their likenesses so perfectly that the extended claws of the Fenghuang seemed to leap out from the painting at viewers, and her vibrant feathers appeared soft and inviting to the touch.

The scene depicted in the final screen was set in a familiar location: here, in the Cave of Dormancy, the Fenghuang presided over the Shenlong, the iridescent plumage on her wings spread wide as she cast her shadow on the slumbering Shenlong. His long body was now marked heavily with the scars of battle and blood, and he lay in exactly the same position as he was in now, atop the golden pedestal, feet tucked under his body and tail curled round his head; a curiously docile posture.

The only difference between then and now, Wei Wuxian reflected, as he glanced back to the actual Shenlong, was the array of bones now scattered haphazardly around his pedestal – some animal, some human.

The old stories only tell of the Shenlong as a noble and wise creature, who bestows rain upon peasants as a water god, Wei Wuxian thought to himself. This Shenlong must be a rogue one, akin to the black dragon of Jizhou which was killed by the goddess Nüwa. This Shenlong must have brought calamity to the surrounding towns and abused his power to consume human flesh.

All this information he recalled from dusty textbooks and boring lessons on rainy days that seemed a lifetime away – well, he corrected in his mind, for him at least, they were a lifetime away. But there was no time to dwell on his sad past, now. The important thing at hand now, was to find a way to defeat this Shenlong, and stop it from killing any more Yunmeng people. The only thing was – how? Wei Wuxian could see from the grim look in the eyes of his companions that they were similarly nonplussed.

In the stories, there were few who actually fought a long, and even fewer who survived, Wei Wuxian thought, his brain working furiously. Of those few, most were deities or gods like the Monkey God Sun Wukong, or the Third Lotus Prince Nezha. Long have few weaknesses and many strengths, and it will be difficult to conquer it without external, godly help…

Then, all of a sudden, came the clear, sonorous ring of a bell.

Immediately, all four of them froze. Slowly their gazes turned, from the four panels on the wall, and landed on the Shenlong sleeping atop the golden pedestal.

Wei Wuxian’s last thoughts?

…

We’re fucked.

#wangxian #xicheng #upm works #upm #cql #wwx #lwj #jiang cheng #lxc #jc #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfiction #wei wuxian x lan wangji #jiang cheng x lan xichen #wei wuxian #the untamed #lan wangji #lan xichen

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ressyfaerie · 3 years

Note

Tyka request: I love bit beast merging so the idea that Tyson has been forced to merge with Black Dranzer has always floated in my head. Kai arrives too late. Boris and his Grandfather found a way to break Tyson's will to accept Black Dranzer, probably to save Kai's life and Kai can only watch!

I LOVE THIS. I am the god of angst writing, so when you ask for angst, I’m bringing A N G S T. Anything in * are Tyson’s thoughts!

I’ve now written it all and- I just had so much fun with it. This was the kind of ask I was born for. Thank you for sending this to me- I hope you know I’ve been working on this all day lmao. It turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. But damn, it’s good. I’m going to keep the start in regular format, and put the rest in a read more, I don’t know if tumblr will even let me post this much LOL, but let’s try it:

“Hello, Tyson Granger. Welcome to BIC”

“Call it what it is Boris, BEGA- round two.”

“You know better Tyson, The Beyblade International Congress is so much more.”

Tyson scoffed, he scrunched up his face in Voltaire’s direction.

He had one hand in his pocket, where dragoon would normally be. Instead, his hand held emptiness, there was nothing, and no one, to comfort him now.

The room security had led him into was windowless. It could have been the basement or the hundredth floor of the building.

Tyson had lost all sense of direction since Dragoon was stolen from him, the feeling was nothing out of the ordinary.

The world champion wore an expression no one had ever seen before. Determined, enraged, vulnerable, confused, he felt everything all at once, there was only one thing he was absolutely certain of:

He had to get Dragoon, and his friend’s bit-beasts back, at any cost.

“You two know why I’m here.”

Boris grew a porcelain smile from ear to ear.

“To finally join our team of course.”

Tyson laughed in response, “I never had any intention of joining BEGA, which means its shitty counterpart is out of the question.”

“This child has grown up since we last saw him.” Voltaire leaned more on his cane, inspecting every bit of Tyson’s body.

Tyson felt like some kid’s science project in their backyard. He shuddered, terrified to think the abbey boys lived like this every day.

“I hoped he would have grown-up, Voltaire. It’s been almost three years after all.”

Boris waved his hand. The security guards that escorted Tyson turned on their heels and marched out the door. Tyson was left alone with two old men, but he still felt danger.

The silence that ensued was deafening, the glares they locked on Tyson made the hair raise on his spine.

He now understood Tala and Kai’s fear of these men. The pure power they confidently exhibited by just standing there, was compared to nothing he had ever experienced.

Two men, three times his age- two men who should be in jail, serving life sentences- one man who raised and abused his best friend, one man who was his best friend’s flesh and blood.

Tyson took a deep breath. He stabilized his voice before stating his demand.

“Give me back my bit-beasts.”

The men let out deep laughs, starting out as low grumbles, and ascending into loud chortles.

Boris spoke first.

“You think you can just waltz into my high-tech facility- and I’ll just give you back what I stole? And stole so easily mind you-”

“So, you did steal them.” Tyson’s firsts were curled, his fingertips formed indents in his palms, he wanted to lash out in anger, but he knew better.

“Of course, wasn’t it obvious?”

“I have proof- I’ll get the police-”

The men laughed again, this time louder.

“I own the police.” A shadow fell over Voltaire’s face.

For the first time, Tyson felt true fear.

No bit beast- no battle- nothing could compare to this.

Tyson’s heart sunk, as he became painfully aware his overconfidence, could be his downfall.

Now, he was trapped.

“Would joining my team sound better if I told you you could have Dragoon back?” Boris’ voice was coated with honey, but Tyson knew better.

Tyson’s eyes shot in Boris’ direction. He squinted his eyes.

“Without making a deal with me, you and your friends will never see their pets again.”

“I’ll never make a deal with you.” Tyson spat.

“Pretty soon you’ll have no choice-” Voltaire cut Boris off.

“How old are you now Tyson?” His voice had changed, he leaned more into his cane.

“Almost nineteen.” Tyson grinned, “I’m an adult now. You can’t hurt me.”

The two men gave each other a look Tyson didn’t miss. Voltaire spoke first.

“What if we told you we needed your help.”

Tyson put up his shields immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “Help? What could I possibly help two billionaires with?”

“Something that only a blader as strong as you can.”

“No.” Tyson refused.

“Hear us out.” Boris took a step towards him, Tysons swore he heard a door lock behind him.

“We have a theory- if that theory is correct, we can change the future of the sport- no, the future of everything.”

Tyson’s interest was piqued, but that wouldn’t change his decision.

“The answer is still no.”

Boris took a step towards him, “what if we gave you your bit-beasts back in exchange?”

Tyson saw through Boris’ trap, it was a deal he couldn't ignore.

Tyson just stared back at him.

Voltaire interrupted, “we have found a way to merge bit-beasts with humans.”

Tyson felt his heart stop.

Boris grinned, presenting his hands in front of him, “the possibilities are endless Tyson, imagine- superhumans. Beyblading would ascend to a whole new level. The history of warfare changed, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

It was terrifying how a man could keep a smile while talking about changing the history of warfare.

“I’m not helping you experiment by changing people into weapons.” Tyson’s face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl, “what do you need me for anyway?”

“See, Tyson…” Boris continued, “the science has been researched for decades- but I’m fairly confident this process requires someone of a certain caliber…”

“Someone who already has a strong connection to bit-beasts.” Voltaire stated.

“Don’t you have tons of kids lined up in your arsenal? Why me?” Tyson’s voice grew louder.

“Ha! None of my boys are as strong as you and your team Tyson.” Boris chuckled before continuing, “you’re special, your connection to dragoon and other spirits is stronger than anyone on the planet. You are my missing puzzle piece, I’m certain you’ll be the right fit.”

“The other members of your team might work, but no one is like you.” Voltaire nodded,

“No. I refuse.” Tyson took a deep breath, “I’m not your pawn, I won’t help you.”

Silence.

Voltaire clicked his cane on the tile floor.

“I hope you are aware; if you don’t do this, we will make sure Kai will.”

Tyson swung his head in his direction, ready to scream if necessary.

“Ah, watch it Tyson.” Boris threatened the boy, Tyson’s chest heaved erratically.

“What do you mean?” Tyson said through gritted teeth. “He would never agree to this-”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Voltaire shook his head, then became totally still as his glare set on Tyson, “but I don’t need his permission.”

“You’re sick.” Tyson spat.

“It would be so easy.” Boris reached into his pocket grabbing a remote, he pressed a button, a screen rolled down in the large room.

The screen turned on, on it was a picture of Kai, and a ton of numbers Tyson didn’t understand, but what caught his attention, was a simple map, with a blinking red dot.

“We know where Kai is at all times,” Voltaire said in a low voice.

“If you refuse to help us, we will take him as needed.”

“That’s kidnapping.” Tyson pointed out the obvious fact, he should have known better, that stealing a person was one of the minor crimes Boris has committed.

“Not like I haven’t done it before.” Boris shrugged, as if he was talking about taking a candy bar.

Tyson swallowed, “he- he wouldn’t let this happen without a fight.”

“As expected. If he fights it, the process could easily mess up… Ideally we want someone who will work with us, but it’s not necessary.”

“I’ll find him. We will run away-”

“When I say we know everything about Kai I mean we know everything, Tyson.”

Voltaire looked to the ceiling, “We know when he goes for jogs.”

“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” Boris raised a finger in the air.

“We know when he eats, when he sleeps, where he sleeps.” Voltaire emphasized ‘where’ maliciously.

Tyson growled. Voltaire hummed.

“That’s right Tyson, he’s been staying at your place frequently.”

Boris tried to suppress a laugh, “we even know what happened last Saturday-”

“Boris!” Voltaire hissed.

Tyson’s eyes widened, “How would you know that!? We were alone, in my room, in my home!?”

“We know everything, Tyson.”

Tyson met Voltaire’s eyes with disgust.

“It seems like a win-win situation, Tyson. I’m giving you a good deal, when you know I don’t have to.” Boris folded his arms. “You go through with this procedure, we give you- and your friends their bit-beasts back, and we leave Kai alone.”

Tyson’s body felt ice cold.

“I want you to know Tyson, Boris is too afraid to admit it-” Voltaire’s voice was draped in darkness, “we aren’t letting you leave here today without doing something.”

Tyson stopped breathing.

Boris confidently waltzed to Tyson’s side, Tyson didn’t move, he was paralyzed with fear.

The purple-haired man’s face was inches away from Tyson’s now.

“You either take the deal, or have it happen anyways- but if you take the deal, world champion, you must work with us willingly.”

Tyson was his height now, but he still felt small.

Boris placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t- touch me.” Tyson shrugged him off aggressively.

“Last chance world champ.” Voltaire clicked his tongue, “what will it be?”

Tyson met both their eyes, looking back and forth, his breathing showed anger, his fists clenched in frustration.

He was stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to go. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He let his body accept defeat.

“Fine. I’ll take your deal.”

“Where did Tyson go anyways?” Max hummed to Ray while sliding his feet on the smooth wooden floors of the dojo.

“Is he with Kai again? They’ve been hanging out a lot…” Ray pointed out.

Kenny was sitting on the floor with his laptop open. “Tyson left just before lunchtime.”

“No lunch!?” Hilary snapped, “that’s not like him.”

“It’s not like him to miss practice…” Ray tried to hide the subtle worry on his face.

“I’ll try phoning him,” Max suggested, pulling out his rose gold iPhone.

“I’m sure he’s fine guys.” Hilary rolled her eyes, knowing the bluenette was always late.

“We can’t be too careful…” Kenny hesitated before saying his next words, “With Boris being back…”

The room fell quiet, the only sound was the ringing of Max’s phone.

“He’s not picking up.” Max hung up the call.

“Try Kai’s phone,” Ray smirked. “They’re always together now.”

Max flipped through his phone and put it on speaker. The phone rang a few times, they heard the click of it being answered.

“Hello?” They heard Kai’s familiar gruff voice.

“Hey Kai, sorry, are you driving?” Max spoke a little louder than usual.

“Yeah, but I have you on speaker, it’s fine.” They heard the sounds of the highway around him.

“Hey, is Tyson with you?” Ray asked, his voice shaking a bit.

“No, why?” They heard the sound of Kai’s blinker in the background.

“He disappeared before lunch, he's not here for practice yet.” Max eagerly awaited Kai’s response.

“That’s odd,” Kai remarked.

“Are you going to be here soon?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, I’m just coming down the road now. Have you tried phoning him?”

“I tried…” Max fidgeted with his open hand, “he didn’t pick up.”

“He always answers his phone.” The team detected a hint of worry in Kai’s voice. “I’m outside now.”

They heard Kai hang up the phone, without as much as a goodbye, but that was very typical Kai.

They sat in the same positions, wordless. They heard the front door open, the sound of Kai taking off his shoes. They heard the floorboards creak as he made his way down the hall to the dojo. The door slid open.

“Hey Kai!” Hilary tried to be cheerful, but she just sounded worried.

“Hey,” Kai responded. Without missing a beat, “where is Tyson?”

“No one knows.” Kenny stopped typing at his laptop to look up at the master blader. He readjusted his glasses.

“He left before lunch, he’s been gone a few hours.” Kenny had a hard time keeping eye contact with Kai, when Kai got serious- he got scary.

“It’s weird of him to miss practice…” Max fiddled with his thumbs.

Ray looked up at the ceiling, “not like we can do much practicing anyway.”

The room went quiet. They were all still in mourning over the unexpected loss of their blades. The day they woke up to discover all of their blades had been stolen, was the moment they realized Boris coming back now, in their late teens, was serious.

“I’m worried.” Kai admitted, he pulled out his phone, and began to phone Tyson.”

“That was fast, do you have him on speed dial?” Ray grinned trying to lighten the mood.

Kai responded seriously, “yes.”

They heard the phone ring a few times, before going to voicemail. Kai hesitated, before deciding to leave one.

“Hey, Tyson- It’s Kai. Get back to me soon, I’m getting worried.” He hung up the phone and held it loosely in his hands.

“Aw, Kai’s worried.” Hilary cooed.

“With Boris back, and our blades gone, we can’t be too careful.” Ray crossed his arms.

“What’s goin’ on here fellas?” Grandpa poked his head through the doors from the garden.

“Tyson’s been gone for a long time, he’s not answering his phone.” Kenny went back to his laptop, most likely trying to find out any information he could.

“When did he leave?” Kai asked Ryu.

“I told Kenny when he got here, right before lunchtime- Wait K-man didn’t you stay the night last night?”

The whole room went quiet.

“Yeah, but I was gone early in the morning,” Kai responded.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off by Ray.

“Was he in an alright mood?”

“He was fine.” Kai knitted his eyebrows in thought, “now that I think about it, he was in his head a bit.”

The ground collectively became agitated, everyone knew a moody Tyson could be anywhere.

“Did you do anything to piss him off?” Ray squinted his eyes in Kai’s direction.

“No.” Kai knew for certain he didn’t hurt Tyson. After all, they had a great night.

Kai tried to suppress a smile, remembering how they fell asleep beside each other watching movies in Tyson’s room.

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off again by Ray-

“Are you sure Kai? You know you have a habit of annoying him.”

“I’m absolutely certain. Tyson was fine when I left this morning.”

“Was he up? How did you know?” Ray interrogated him more than questioning.

Kai hesitated, he didn’t know if it was okay to tell them they slept in the same bed.

“You *stayed* the night!?” This time Max yelled it, so he couldn’t be ignored.

Everyone stared at Max, “Why did you stay the night? Where did you sleep?”

“Um-” Kai tried to retort back, but suddenly realized he didn’t know what excuse to make.

They caught his awkwardness, it was unlike the silver-tongued boy to not have a sassy remark.

“Family troubles. I stayed in the spare room across from Tyson’s. He got up to eat breakfast with me- He was fine.”

All lies.

“I’m going to check his room.” Kai turned around to go upstairs.

When Kai was out of earshot, Max coyly asked Tyson’s Grandpa, “Did he really stay in the spare room?”

“Ha! No, that boy has been staying here often, and those sheets have never been changed- or used.”

The group followed Kai upstairs like a lost herd.

In Tyson’s room, Kai was scanning it, looking for anything off.

The whole team looked around, but only Kai knew what was out of place.

“Hey Kai.” Ray giggled.

On Tyson’s vanity, yes- Tyson had a vanity, because of course he did. He had a thumb-sized picture of kai stuck to the edge of the mirror.

“There are no pictures of us, just you- what’s up with that?” Ray pretended to act jealous.

Kai ignored him. He gave Tyson that photo when Tyson asked for a photo of him. It wasn’t his favourite thing to look at. When he looked at it he would laugh, because it was, simply, so Tyson.

Kai’s eyes landed on his pillow, it was poofier than usual. He ripped up the pillow and tossed it to the side. Under it was a book. Kai knew it was out of place, he had never seen Tyson pick up a book in his life.

He opened the book and flipped through it, everyone watched him, knowing something was up.

In the middle of the book was a note, Kai pulled it out, and threw the book to the side.

‘I guess if you’ve found this, you’re looking for me huh?’

‘That means I’ve been gone a while, sorry.’

‘I guess you should know, if I’ve been gone a long time, something has probably happened to me.’

‘I’m going to see Boris. I’m leaving at 11am.’

‘He invited me. I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this.’

‘Especially you Kai. You’ve dealt this enough shit from that guy.’

‘I know he stole our blades, even if we don’t have proof, I know.’

‘I’m going to get them back, no matter the cost, and I don’t want anyone else’s help.’

‘I love you guys! I love you Kai.’

Ray snatched the note from Kai and began to read it.

Kai put a hand to his face in shock. His eyes started to water. He was terrified, his body didn’t know how to begin to process this, but he knew he needed to go.

“Where is he?” Kai had a voice of white anger.

“We don’t know Kai.” Kenny recoiled.

“Boris, where is he.”

Kai picked up the book and flipped through it.

“We don’t know where his base is Kai-” Kenny blubbered.

Kai threw the book against the wall at full force.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Ray flipped the note over, “there’s an address on the back.”

Kai ripped it out of his hands.

“I’m going-”

“No, you are NOT Kai!” Ray scolded him. “We’re going to go to the BBA, tell Mr. Dickenson, and call the police-”

“We don’t have the time for that!” Kai yelled at Ray.

The team was stunned, Kai had never been this angry.

He placed his hands over his face and pulled them down to cover his mouth. “I need to save him.”

“We don’t know he’s in danger-”

“I KNOW he is.” Kai was shaking.

Suddenly, Kai bolted out of the room with the address in hand-

“Kai!” Max called after him.

Kai frantically began to put his shoes on, the team barrelled down the stairs behind him.

“You can’t go in there without a plan, you moron!” Hilary screeched at him.

“Try me!” Kai yelled back.

“What’s going on?” Grandpa had come from the kitchen, Kai used the distraction to bolt out the door to his car.

He started the car as fast as possible and pulled out of the driveway. The team ran out to the street behind him, they watched him leave, worried they could lose both of them.

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your jacket, off- now.”

Boris pulled at the zipper on the front of Tyson’s jacket. Tyson sighed and pulled it down.

Boris helped him out of the jacket, he took it and wrapped it in his arms, it was oddly paternal. Boris looked him up and down, judging him, like he was looking for the best cut of meat in a shop.

He only wore a thin black muscle shirt now, and his dark ripped jeans, with the shoes he made Kai help him pick out. He was fully clothed, but he felt naked.

“Boris, what did I say about being creepy?” Voltaire scolded him, like a child.

Boris rolled his shoulder, still keeping his gaze on Tyson, “Sorry, can’t help myself.”

“Come into the lab.” Voltaire turned, heading for another door.

Boris gently pushed Tyson by his shoulder. Tyson followed willingly, worried what would happen if he resisted.

Inside the steel double doors was a dark room. The light turned on upon entry, to reveal computers, servers, chemistry equipment, and large water-filled tubes, big enough for a person, or a monster.

Boris threw Tyson’s jacket to a swivel chair, he turned on a computer, Voltaire stood beside what Tyson recognized as a large bey dish.

“I want to see my friend’s beyblades.”

“Of course.” Voltaire disappeared behind some servers, out of sight.

Boris clicked a mouse a few times, “huh, looks like Kai was in your bedroom. His heart rate has skyrocketed, do you have any idea why that could be?”

Tyson tried to hide his surprise.

*Could he have found my note? No- I don’t want him to come here.*

“I don’t know.” Tyson kept his eyes on the wall.

“Maybe he’s just doing something freaky.” Boris grinned.

“You’re disgusting.”

Voltaire reappeared with a black briefcase. He placed it on a table close to Tyson, but not too close. He opened it, to reveal Dragoon, and the rest of the blades delicately blacked in foam inserts.

“I want to see them.” Tyson reached his hand forward.

Voltaire slammed the case shut. “Not until you finish our task.”

Tyson scowled, all he wanted was to feel Dragoon in his hands again.

“Voltaire, come here.” Boris gestured to bring him over to the computer.

Tyson tried to follow, but Voltaire stopped him with an aggressive hand signal.

Voltaire leaned over the chair and inspected the computer screen.

“It looks like he’s heading in this direction.” Boris was deeply concentrated on the computer screen, clicking around fast.

“And he’s approaching fast.” Voltaire hummed, he rubbed his chin. “Stop the car.”

“Really?” Boris had a surprised expression.

“We can’t have him coming here can we?”

“Alright.” Boris began to type at the keyboard frantically.

Voltaire placed a chair in the middle of the room, he patted it, silently telling Tyson to sit down.

Tyson shook his head, Voltaire gave him an intense glare- Tyson approached the chair and sat down, making sure the men were still in his vision.

“Boris, are you done?” Voltaire demanded.

“Yes.” He reached towards a cupboard with glass drawers. He unlocked it and pulled out some medical supplies.

“What’s that?” Tyson asked, worried it was for him.

Boris swiveled over in his chair towards him. Voltaire grabbed a metal table with wheels and moved it towards Tyson.

Boris unwrapped a cloth to reveal four syringes.

“What are those? They better not be for me.” Tyson flinched as Boris picked one up.

“There’s magic,” Boris got a syringe ready, and grabbed a small damp wipe, “and then there’s science, today we will be utilizing both.”

He wiped the small cloth on Tyson’s bicep. He recoiled.

“Don’t be scared Tyson, it won’t hurt.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tyson was concerned, Boris got the supplies ready expertly.

“I used to be a doctor.”

Tyson’s focus lingered on ‘used to’.

“Don’t look if it bothers you,” Boris grumbled.

Tyson turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction as he felt the numb jab in his arm.

Kai had never driven faster. He swerved in and out of traffic to get to the building downtown. Flying down the highway with intense speed. He slammed his hand on the wheel.

“Fuck!”

He looked at the speedometer, it was going down, even though he knew he was accelerating.

“What the fuck?”

Kai felt his car lose power.

“No! No no no no no-”

The lights in his car dimmed, and suddenly the whole car lost life.

He pulled over to the side of the road. Slamming his hand on the radio as if it would help. He opened his door and got out kicking the wheels of the car in frustration.

He swore and cursed. He didn’t know enough about cars to know what went wrong, and he didn’t have time to fix it. He stared into the mass of buildings. He could make it.

He just had to run.

Tyon had four needles shoved into his arm in total. Boris refused to tell him exactly what they were, he only answered with ‘you wouldn’t understand even if I told you’.

Now, Voltaire watched the computer and Boris hooked up a few devices to Tyson. He wrapped a bracelet around his wrist, and something around his bicep.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Do I have to?” Tyson tried to give him a sassy retort, he might have been completely vulnerable, but he still wanted to keep his dignity intact.

“Yes.” Boris grinned, flicking the end of his shirt.

“No, you don’t have to,” Voltaire stated without pause.

Tyson narrowed his eyes at Boris.

“I have to attach something to your back.”

Tyson still wore a suspicious expression, but he did it anyway, he didn’t think he could feel any more naked than he already did.

Shirtless, he felt the cold of the lab prick at his skin. Boris attached a few small stickers to his back.

“There.” Boris smiled, looking Tyson up and down, “I’m done.”

“You didn’t have to take off my shirt for that.”

Boris nodded.

“How did I get stuck with a creep like you.” Voltaire squeezed the brim of his nose.

“I’m merging with Dragoon now?” Tyson’s skin prickled in anticipation of getting his bit-beast back, then he realized, his skin was prickling with a different sort of heat.

“Oh no- you won’t be merging with Dragoon.” Voltaire turned to look at Tyson.

“Dragoon is far too unpredictable, we haven't studied him enough yet, but there is one bit-beast who we know everything about.”

Boris turned to open a locked metal box on a table.

Tyson rose from his seat, staring at his forearm, his body felt- weird.

“What did you do to me?”

“Science.” Voltaire said just under his breath, “here.”

Boris held his hand upside down, Tyson held out his palm. He felt the familiar touch of a blade. Boris pulled his hand away, Tyson felt instant panic when he stared into his open hand.

Black Dranzer.

Tyson felt his whole world sway. His eyes felt heavy, but strangely, he felt strong.

“What did you give me? Am I allergic to it?” Tyson stared at Boris.

“No,” he laughed, “You’re fine.”

Voltaire gestured to the dish, “Tyson, launch it.”

Tyson felt the nerve endings in his hand, anything touching black Dranzer felt numb, completely void of power. He could see the veins on his forearm, sticking out more than ever before. He felt cold air enter his lungs, and exhale. Everything was enhanced. His world was spinning, but he felt invincible.

He could feel pulses from black Dranzer, the raw power emanating from it was toxic. Tyson could feel it begging to be used.

‘Use me, use me, use me.’

It pleaded with him. It felt addicting. Tyson now understood why Kai was so attracted to the blade, and he understood how hard it was to give it up.

He noticed Boris had been handing him a launcher for who knows how long.

Tyson took it, a blade and a launcher in his hands was his default state, but now felt foreign.

“Launch it,” Boris demanded.

Tyson turned to the dish near them. He stood in front of it. His pupils invaded his iris.

*The pure power of black Dranzer…*

He loaded it. He stood there, breathing erratically. He got into position.

Silence. Total silence. No sound existed, he forgot what it felt like to hear. He heard the screech of a bird in the back of his skull, and he let go.

A shockwave erupted as black Dranzer was released, finally, after years of being locked up. The equipment in the lab slid backwards, Boris and Voltaire almost lost their footing.

Tyson wobbled as he let the blade center in the dish, perfectly still, spinning so fast it looked stationary.

In front of him, he saw it, the dreaded bit-beast. It felt unnatural. Dragoon felt different, Dragoon felt right, black Dranzer felt… Sad.

*She’s not supposed to exist.*

“I can feel her.” Tyon felt tears roll down his face.

He held open his arms.

“I can save you!”

Black Dranzer screeched, with a powerful gust from her wings she soared into him. He felt a dark sludge seep into his veins, stopping his heart.

“AhK!” Tyson held his chest, suppressing screams.

Then, everything went black.

“Tyson!” Kai screamed in an alleyway behind the building he suspected Boris was holed up in.

He tried a back door, wiggling it frantically. His back was covered in sweat from running. It was locked, with no chance of it opening.

He tried another door, the same issue.

He could run in the front doors, but he would be noticed instantly.

“What’s that?!”

It looked to be an old laundry shoot, a lot of these old buildings had them. Before he could use his brain, he was scaling the shoot, it looked to be only a story and a half until it turned into the building.

He started climbing.

*Tyson, I’m coming. Just hold on.*

Tyson opened his eyes. Boris was beside him holding his shoulder shouting unintelligible phrases at him. Words meant nothing to him.

His head was pounding. He used his arms to hug himself, rocking back and forth.

“Don’t fight it Tyson. Accept it.” Boris whispered in his ear.

“N- No.” Tyson whimpered. His head felt like it had been split open.

His tongue felt different when he talked. His vision felt different, things felt… Wrong. He fell over to his side, letting the feeling overtake him.

Kai was running through the empty corridors. He had run past a training facility and dorms. He had viewed a map and determined where he thought Boris would have put a lab. He threw open a door to a stair corridor and flew down them, almost tripping. He just hoped he was right about the location of Boris’ lab.

He was right.

He found himself in a huge room, He stopped, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air.

In front of him were two steel doors. He knew Tyson was inside.

With every last bit of his strength, he ran towards the doors, when he tried to rattle the doorknob it was locked, he kicked it, once, twice, three times. He took a few steps back and thrusted his whole body against them. The doors ripped open, shattering the lock in between them.

Boris wasn’t a surprise, but his own Grandfather-

In the middle of the room, Tyson’s body was splayed on the ground.

“What did you do to him!?” Kai screamed.

He ran over to Tyson, Boris tried to stop him-

“Fuck off!” Kai hollered landed a fist into Boris’ stomach.

Boris keeled over in pain.

Kai stopped before kneeling down.

The most important person to him- he didn’t look like himself.

His blue hair, now black. His nails, ebony talons. On his back, were black wings. Kai felt nauseous.

“Tyson…” Kai collapsed beside him.

He reached under his lower back and pulled him into a sitting position. Kai brushed back his long hair. He didn’t know what he expected coming here, but not this.

“What happened- what did-”

“He merged with black Dranzer, and he- is beautiful.”

“You don’t get to speak Boris!” Kai screamed but wouldn’t dare take his eyes off Tyson.

Tyson’s eyes flickered open, they stayed half-open, Kai shook him.

“Tyson? Tyson, answer me, please.”

Tyson didn’t move.

“We just got started- You can’t- Don’t you die on me.” Kai’s throat was dry, he could barely make out words.

“Change him back!” The blader who was most well known for being emotionless now threw everything he had at the world. Tears streaming down his face, screaming at the people who held him back his whole life.

“We can, but we won’t right now.”

To hear his Grandfather say it, somehow hurt more.

“Change him back, right now.” Kai shook, holding Tyson close to his chest.

Boris managed to stand upright after taking the powerful blow.

“We will change him back when it suits us.”

“Mm- Kai?”

Kai stared into Tyson’s eyes, “You’re awake!” Kai kissed his forehead, thanking the god he didn’t believe in.

Tyson’s wings seemed to shudder when it happened.

“I’m fine Kai, don’t worry about me.” Tyson held up his hand to stroke Kai’s face, his eyes grew wide when he saw his own fingertips.

“It’s okay- don’t look at them look at me- hey- me, look at me” Kai covered his hand with his own and made sure Tyson was focused on him.

Tyson choked back tears, “I love you-”

Kai closed his eyes and squeezed his hand.

Voltaire took a confident step forward.

“We don’t want to hurt you-”

“Look at what you’ve done to him!” Kai screeched.

“We just want you to join the new BEGA.” Boris wore a cheeky grin, he knew he won.

Kai’s chest heaved, “I’ll never join you, never again-”

“You’ll find you have no choice Kiai.” His grandfather tilted his head.

Boris laughed, his evil sinister laugh, the laugh Kai remembered from the abbey.

“BEGA owns you.”

52 notes · View notes

bbnibini · 3 years

Text

Oh, Brother! (Lucifer ft. Baby Beel)

Summary: Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. (based on a headcanon request on our old AO3 request box)

Accompanying HC for this fic can be read here. This was originally a request. The old version is poorly formatted so I decided to repost this now that I am sliiiightly better at using tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances. You may also say that it is my inclination to exhibit such behaviour because of my personality. But while I make long-winded introductions that segues even further from the point I was making, let me, as my brothers say, "cut to the chase":

I have no idea what in Devildom is going on. Sets of eyes looked at me expectantly, and I did as I usually do when I am dragooned into unforeseen…problems.

"I see." I don't. But a white lie is what is required to quell the squall of chaos right now: debris of what looked like Leviathan's furnishings were strewn on the wet floor. Looking up from the living room where remnants of the ceiling were barely keeping itself intact, Henry freefell into my arms, a timely catch away from his imminent death. I turned to my pale brother, asking "Lotan?" in the calmest tone I can muster, and was only answered in more silence. I offered him Henry, which he took still looking down, and turned to problem #2.

"MC, may I have him?"

"I…"

I stopped and talked over them. "I'm not angry. Let me hold Beel."

"It's all my fault!"

Sigh. Why do they always do this? A surge of pain was felt on my temples, but I pretended not to feel it. "Why don't you help Levi clean up his room? Do you even know how to take care of a non-human child?"

"No, but!" they argued again. I listened. "You're not going to punish Mammon, aren't you?"

Punish is such a heavy word. I noticed how protective they were of my brother, almost to an extent where I feel like they perceive me in an unfavourable light. They were more carefree with them, but all yes and no's with me in comparison. I wouldn't say I'm envious. Rather, I'm baffled. Occasional pranks became the highlight (read: tragedy) of my day, often while I was poring over documents and settling political disputes on behalf of Diavolo. Partnered with Mammon and Satan, they were a force to be reckoned with; one I remembered being visibly annoyed by for interfering with my work. No one shall ever know that I might…have looked forward to those times. It was a puzzle to be pieced, an idle form of entertainment to guess which kind of tomfoolery they would attempt at me that they were foolish enough to think they would succeed in. Unfortunately, any victory they may have celebrated in the past were my fabrications that only the likes of someone as observant as Satan would notice.

"Procure a change of clothing and go while I'm still being merciful." I saw them share the same pallour as Leviathan, dragging him along while mouthing complaints under their breath. A curse perhaps, not bound by magic but of something else, directed at me, their usual villain. Such childishness that I let slide, as I was accustomed to being an enemy, especially when I know I was right.

Beel is finally in my arms, a docile child as cherubic as the little Beel in my memories. The pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together as I look around.

"Belphegor, wake up this instant! You're sleeping on a wet floor." You'll catch a cold, I almost felt myself saying but was able to hold myself back. "Unless you would rather be carried like the old days? I don't mind."

"Fine, fine. I'm up." They stretched out their arms to retrieve their twin and I shook my head. "I wouldn't leave such a delicate child to someone who couldn't even coordinate themselves properly. Go to sleep, Belphegor.

...and Satan, if you have the time for hexes, you would also have the time to clean up this mess."

"Tsk."

"I would see all of you in my office once this is all fixed.

Not a spot should be left unattended. Understood?"

"Yes, Lucifer."

I don't have time for this. So many documents are left unsigned on my desk. A meeting with the Chancellor, a hearing from the House of Commons, a response to Michael's ridiculous letter…

"Wuchy, angy?"

Beelzebub's upturned eyes looked at me adorably.

"Wuchy…" I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw most of them are either absent or pre-occupied. Clearing my throat, I noticed my voice was shriller than usual. "Wuchy…" I repeated and sat Beel on the plush sofa. "Wuchy is NOT angy…"

"Bee hangu" he pulled at my sleeve, turning my attention to his rumbling stomach. "Wuchy…Bee hangu."

I nodded. "I see. Does Bee want to eat?"

"Peas!"

"You want to eat peas?"

"No! Bee Hangu! Peas!"

"Ah, " I nodded again as I finally understood. "I apologise, Bee. You're trying to say please?"

I couldn't help but smile back when he did so in reply.

To my disappointment however, even the kitchen was destroyed, to the point that MC didn't want me to enter. It was admirable, I suppose that they were able to explain the situation to me while everything was still in a state of chaos.

It all started with a hexes assignment that failed miserably, turning Beel into an inconsolable toddler that caused Levi's room to be absolutely destroyed. Since nobody was capable of understanding Beel's speech, his childish tantrums got worse and caused the House of Lamentation to be in its current state. The only reason the situation subsided a bit was because of Belphie's interference. Where was Belphie in the first place? Was my question, and MC's shrug affirmed that he ignored my warning about sleeping in on the weekend. Again. I sighed.

"Sorry, Lucifer. Why don't you eat out with Beel for a while?"

"Bee hangu! Now!"

"....Bee, that's my glove."

"Bee?" (MC)

!!!!

"Beelzebub." I cleared my throat. "I shall heed your advice before Beel throws a bigger tantrum."

"Wuchy, hangu!"

"Yes, yes. Wuchy…heard you. MC, take care of the house while we're gone."

There was a ghost of a smile on their face, one they must have tried to hide from me earlier. "Yes," They snorted, and I silently warned them to open their mouth again. "Wuchy."

Ah. They still have the audacity to mock me. Me. Who was trying to turn a blind eye? Giving them a chance to fix their mess before anyone else finds out? I smirked back.

"If the house falls down…or if it gets destroyed any further…prepare to face your punishment . Alone."

Their silence was enough of a penitence…for now. Beel's stomach growled louder and louder each passing second, and my gloves are currently soiled with bite marks everywhere.

I bent down to meet Beel at eye level and pried my hands away from his nibbling. "What do you want to eat?"

His eyes sparkled at the question, and he started chanting something in gibberish that I pretended to understand. "Wook wook! Bee fawwit!"

Wook?

He...never said that before. Or did he? I decided to carry him in my arms once I noticed he was having difficulty keeping up with my strides. He shook his head several times as we passed every food stall and kiosk in the shopping district, contenting himself with chewing on the gloves I thought I had confiscated already.

It had been so long that I almost forgot that Beel was once a picky eater when he was little. Michael marveled on his "refined palate", telling me I should cherish my brother's talent (and consider giving Beel to him once he got older to train under his tutelage) but I vehemently refused. I was busy enough as a high-ranking angel and barely had the time to see my siblings, and the last thing I ever wanted was to part from them. I understood the difficulties of having an absent parent all too well, and I did not wish for my brothers to experience the same longing I had when I was the same age as them.

Beel was as docile and as sweet as I remembered him long ago, smiling and laughing in my arms, calling me Wuchy over and over, and seeking for his twin in adorable babbles of "Bewphie" and "Bwanky", which I responded in my usual way:

"Bewphie, sleep."

"Seepu?"

"Yes." I answered, prying away my damaged gloves from his mouth. "Bewphie told me you should eat so you won't wake him up." I pointed at his rumbling stomach, and little Beel automatically held it and felt the rumbling coming from it.

"Bee…wouwd (loud)?"

"Mhm. Bewphie can't sleep unless you eat something."

He must not have been able to distinguish his twin because of his current form, seeking perhaps a smaller counterpart of his brother just like the old days. After some more meandering around stalls, feeling full over the meals that Beel refused to eat, I racked my brain to figuring out the meaning behind his childish babble:

What on earth does wook mean?

I have never heard him say it before even in the Celestial Realm, nor did I ever recall teaching him the words.

"Wook! Wook!" Beel said excitedly again, grabbing my hair in his elation to turn to a man flipping Bat Wing pancakes in a stall. The line was atrocious, barely moving, arid and noisy.

"Does Bee want to eat that?"

I sighed in relief when he shook his head. "Wuchy, Wook! Wook Bee fawwit!"

Wait a moment. Does wook mean…

"Do you want me to look?" But look at what? At the elderly demon flipping pancakes? Beel shook his head again, seemingly lost at how to translate his thoughts and feelings into his limited toddler vocabulary.

"Wook...wook fuu fo Bee…" he squinted his googly eyes at me and made exaggerated hand gestures. "Wuchy….wook fuu fo Bee! Bee fawwit!"

The proverbial cogs in my brain started to turn as I came across an epiphany. Before I knew it, I was already holding my DDD.

It pains me to do this, but I cannot let Diavolo know.

"Hello, Simeon?"

Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. It was evident with Simeon's jovial expressions as he opened the door.

"It really is a baby! Can I hold him?"

Simeon's smile never disappeared, rather, his eyes narrowed as he turned to me to speak. "Luke is good with kids. He volunteers taking care of cherubs in Heaven."

"Mhm! I have Raphael's seal of approval!"

Sighing, I surrendered my brother to Luke, my traitorous brother who did not even cry or protest when a complete…stranger is now holding him in his arms.

"Meemwon!"

"Oh! I haven't heard that in ages! This sure brings back memories!~" Simeon planted a kiss on Beel's cheek and I couldn't help but frown. "Hello, Bee! It's big bro Meemwon!" Beel giggled in reply as Simeon planted smaller kisses at him, clearly enjoying the attention.

"You're getting into this, way too much don't you think so?"

"He's adorable!" Simeon reasoned. "But, isn't his stomach growling?"

"That's why we're here." I tried to maintain an aura of composure. "I need to borrow your kitchen. Is Solomon around?"

Simeon's eyes widened for a bit in understanding…then I heard manic laughter. Is this really how he should conduct himself in front of the children? I kept that opinion to myself and didn't say a word. "No, he isn't. Don't worry." He looked at me again and smiled reassuringly. "Feel free to use the kitchen. We'll take care of Beel~"

"Solomon--"

"...won't feed Beel anything even if he does come back. Just go before he throws another tantrum!" Simeon shooed me away from the living room, pushing my back to Purgatory Hall's fully furnished kitchen. It certainly had better equipment compared to Lamentation, which I can only attribute to Michael's influence.

Cooking was one thing, but feeding Beel another. He continued rejecting meal after meal after meal of my best dishes. His stomach only growled louder, and his mood became irritable even with Simeon's and Luke's aid. The ingredients I have purchased were almost gone, left only with a half-used bag of flour, milk and eggs.

"The best I can do with these are pancakes…

Pancakes?"

A memory flashed in my mind, taking me back to the Celestial Realm and our former residence there. Assuring the house help that I wanted to try cooking for my brothers for a change, I begrudgingly followed the recipe book Michael had given me and started with its easiest dish.

I attributed my failed attempts to Michael's unique, archaic wordings in his cook book and tried again. And again. And again. Numerous ruined frying pans and ingredients later, I was left with a shabby excuse of a pancake---charred at the sides, eggshells at the other. I waved my white flag in surrender and called for a food delivery instead, deflated. Some Morning Star I was. It was an hour before dinner and my siblings were peeking at the kitchen with their blinking, doe eyes.

"Wuchy...huwt?" Lilith looked up to me, looking like she was about to cry and I took her in my arms to comfort her.

"Lucy…" I corrected myself. "Wuchy isn't hurt. Just tired."

"Seepu?" Belphegor offered me his cow pillow and I shook my head. "Later after we eat."

"Fuu?!" I managed to catch Beelzebub with my free hand before he faceplanted on the floor as he rushed to me in excitement.

"I'm sorry, Bee. As you can see, Wuchy doesn't have anything edible he can feed you." I carried him in my free arm and showed him my culinary failures.

"Wuchy…fuu." Beel pouted at me. "Wuchy, whie. Fuu deww! (Lucy lied. There's food over there!)" He tugged my hair and glared. "Bee, eat!"

"Eat!" Lilith mimicked.

"Bewphie, eat?" Belphegor followed.

"No, children. As you can see-- Mammon, wash your hands first!--"

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Everyone was gathered at the table, eating my failures with smiles on their faces. Beel, who had been sitting next to me this whole time tugged me on the sleeve to ask for seconds. "Dis...Bee fawitt! Cwunch!"

"It must be the eggshells."

"Mhm! Wuv it! Wuchy?"

I felt him wrap his arms around my side. With a wide grin, he said. "I wuv you!"

Only to be followed by a barrage of hugs from the others, talking over each other as they gathered around me with their syrup-stained faces.

"Asmo wuvs Wuchy disssss much!"

"Bewphie...wuv!"

"Wiwi, wuv Wuchy moww! (Lilith loves Lucy more!)"

"I guess you're okay…but the Great Me is better!"

"...Levi l-loves Lucy too…"

I couldn't remember much of what happened afterwards, but I do recall telling the delivery man that he can have my order for himself. After that, I strived to become better at cooking so I can serve my siblings better meals.

Anyone would strive to try harder if they are ever subjected to that much smothering, I suppose. Still, I do think that after that, Beel began to eat everything happily, much to Michael's dismay.

"This looks horrifying." The plating of the pancake itself was one or two burns shy of Solomon's best attempts at cooking…I could not believe that out of every dish there is in this world, this horrible disaster is my brother's favourite food. I never really asked him about it. Perhaps I have forgotten and he happily ate everything I cooked because he had no choice. Still, it was no time to mull over such nonsense, especially if Beel's stomach is now resembling Cerberus' growls.

"Wook!" Beel's eyes sparkled as I placed the cooled pancakes down at the table, munching on the sweet treat happily despite the…eggshells. I tried my best to emulate my failed attempts from before, and judging from the elated look on Beel's face, I must have gotten his approval.

"Is that--" (Simeon)

"Don't ask." I shut him up before he could even speak a word. "And please don't ever say this to Michael. I wouldn't hear the end of it."

Simeon smiled impishly in reply. "Would you cook here again--"

"No.

But I suppose I owe you some hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies for letting me use your kitchen."

"Anytime~"

"I was talking to the chihuahua, not you."

"I'm not a chihuahua!"

Beel was sleeping peacefully in my arms on the way home. While still baffled at a startling discovery about Beelzebub, I hadn't much time to think about it as I was covered in confetti the moment I opened the door.

"Happy birthday, Lucifer!" (MC)

"Simeon took too much time! The ice cream's meltin'!"

"Lolololol I told you he forgot his own birthday! Beel was the perfect distraction!"

What. On. Earth. Is going on?

"Sorry, Lucifer!" MC bowed her head and looked up to me, looking apologetic. "We were trying to throw you a surprise party but…things got…well...wrong. But, everything's okay now!" They pulled me inside and showed me the feast they have prepared for me.

It was a smorgasbord of my favourites. From the appetisers to the desserts and wines, I recalled some of these dishes as my specialties. Satan's familiar handwriting was drawn over a buttercream cake with my name on it, along with a small drawing of me in a party hat along with everyone else. Everyone else was seated at the dining table including Diavolo and Barbatos, both of which I was trying to avoid the entire day.

Were they involved in this ridiculous plan as well?

MC seemed to read my mind and nodded at me shyly. "I did mess up with my homework, that much is true, but Solomon helped in undoing the spell! He was the one who suggested to turn Beel back into a toddler so we have enough time to prepare for everything!"

Solomon waved a hand at me and smiled. "They still didn't let me cook anything though☆"

"So all of the chaos…"

"...is us cleaning up our first attempts of party preparations." Satan begrudgingly replied. "Until of course, you came back earlier than expected."

"Now, now~" Asmo interjected. "What's important is that he's here and Beel's spell is about to wear off!♡ Now, Lucifer dear, why don't you join us and blow your candles?"

I have completely forgotten about my birthday.

I didn't see the point of celebrating it anymore, I suppose. Thousands of years of repetitions can bring ennui upon you. However, things have changed.

The House of Lamentation had a warmer atmosphere thanks to MC, and everyone was closer than ever before. The loss of a family and an inclusion of a new one opened up our hearts enough to heal and perhaps forgive ourselves a little for the years we have ignored its value.

Who knew such a fleeting human could be the catalyst of such unimaginable developments?

"Oh! Beel's back!"

"Yay~! Your seat's over there, Beel!"

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances.

However…nothing can ever prepare me for this moment.

"Lucifer?"

I turned to Beelzebub, now back to his normal form and he offered me a smile. "The pancake you cooked was really good. Can you make it again for me next time?"

I smiled back.

"With or without the eggshells?"

#obey me #obey me lucifer #om lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me drabble #obey me oneshot #shall we date obey me #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me mc #family fluff #first person pov

51 notes · View notes

anauthore · 4 years

Text

Escape From Halloweentown {Jack Skellington x Reader}

Summary: When a game of hide-and-seek goes wrong, you find yourself lost in the woods without a way home. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, you suddenly find yourself in a far bigger predicament than you ever thought you would be- and it's not just because you can't seem to find your little brother.

**Pairing: **Reader / Jack Skellington. A very slow burn fic.

NOTE: This is a full-length fanfic! If you don’t want to read chapter by chapter on tumblr, please use the following links to read in a different format / on a different website!

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Next Chapter

~PROLOGUE~

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Except it wasn’t Christmas, or anywhere close. Instead, you recited the familiar rhyme to your little brother for what felt like the thousandth time. Despite it being extremely out-of-season, this is the only bedtime story he would fall asleep to, and if it wasn’t A Visit from St. Nicholas, then it was out of the question. You knew almost every word by heart, barely glancing at the pages and instead opting to check every so often to see if your little brother had fallen asleep yet. You could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open, and even though he was on the verge of being whisked away to dreamland, he still held on to every last word.

“...happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

You whispered the finishing line and just like that, his quiet snore filled the room. You gently closed the book and sat it in the nook on the shelf that it came from. You tiptoed away as silently as possible, leaving his dinosaur night-light on and shutting the door before you let out a breath you’d been holding to avoid making any unnecessary noise.

You walked down the carpeted hallway toward your kitchen, opening the fridge and searching the mostly-empty shelves for something- anything- to eat. You settled on a half-eaten container of hummus and some crackers that had been left out on the counter for God knows how long.

You were 17, almost 18, jobless and living in an apartment with your father and little brother. He worked long days, barely ever home to spend time with his kids in order to support them. Despite feeling lonely most of the time, you appreciated it immensely because, in the end, it was WAY more than your mother ever did. Your apartment was what real estate agents tend to call “cozy”; nestled in between the edge of a good-sized city and a large expanse of unkempt forest, you often prowled around outside to be completely alone with your thoughts.

The night was bitterly cold, the outside air seeping in from the walls and up from the floor, causing you to shiver and wrap your jacket closer around your body. The house had no heating; your family relied on warm clothes and fluffy blankets to keep comfortable during the winter, and fans and cold showers to stay cool during the summer. Sometimes, you did wish that you lived with your mom, although you always felt guilty for thinking that. To leave your brother, your father… all for what? Central air and heat? A full fridge? You knew the price you’d have to pay, along with the weight of your betrayal, would be more unbearable mental abuse.

You shook off the idea, throwing your scraps away and entering your bedroom. It was smaller than your brother’s room, and way less decorated, however it was yours. You slipped under the covers and curled up, pulling your knees to your chest and shivering for a while before your body heat became equally distributed and warmed you, lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

You hadn’t realized you were awake, but you suddenly were. Your eyes were well adjusted to the darkness of your room by now, so you could make out the dark shapes of the furniture and walls surrounding you. Outside your window, you could see the deep blue sky, a star or two bright enough to outshine the streetlights planted on the side of the road. You rolled over, stretching, and got comfortable once more before you slowly fell asleep again, only this time, your sleep wasn’t as dreamless.

You woke once more, the same dark sky you saw from your window now consuming everything around you. There was a myriad of stars above your head, brighter than you’ve ever seen them before. A canopy of leaves swayed back and forth in an invisible breeze, seeming to beckon you further, deeper, into this unknown forest. The ground beneath you lurched forward, your legs moving as if they had a mind of their own. You felt evanescent; every atom within you buzzed with energy but at the same time, you were almost completely numb to the world around you.

Further down the path swirled shiny, white flakes, the delicate crystalline designs somehow able to be seen by your human eye. They called to you, whipping your strands wildly about as the chill got worse, the hair standing on end across your arms and neck.

A voice… a small yip- or yowl- penetrated the sound of the air flying across your ears. A dog? Or maybe something more dangerous… a wolf maybe? No, you reasoned, it would have to be a coyote. You walked farther into the storm, squinting and shielding your eyes against the cold when all at once the sky lit up as if the sun had risen: An almost unbearable baby blue tainted everything in shadow, and then-

You opened your eyes, your vision slowly unclouding to reveal the plain walls of your room, your hands gripping the blankets you'd covered yourself with as you felt your body jerk upon impulse. Your heart beat fast and loud in your ears, sensing danger, yet, as always, there was none.

* * *

School was a drag. The hours kept getting longer and longer, the gloomy overcast sky not exactly helping with the problem. You kept zoning out while teachers were talking, your lids bobbing up and down until something startled you or a classmate noticed and shook you awake again. You hadn’t been getting the best night’s sleep, though you tried not to stay up late and follow the advice almost everyone’s parents gave to them:

Stay off your phone. Avoid bright lights. Go to bed early. Do something tiring before bed.

Hell, you’d even tried drinking warm milk! Nothing seemed to be keeping those odd dreams at bay, and every night you’d wake up with your heart hammering in your chest as if you’d just ran a marathon.

Your friends didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong, and if they did, they didn’t say anything, so you didn’t bother to mention your trouble sleeping. They talked to you and carried on as normal, commenting on the upcoming tests and unfairly long homework sheets given to everyone.

“C’mon, it’s our senior year, AND fall break is almost here! It’s ridiculous that teachers are just loading us up with homework”.

“Well,” chimed in your other friend, walking beside you as Rebecca led the both of you, “senior year is supposed to be difficult. We’re going to college next year, did you forget?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and continued walking while Hailey laughed, shaking her head at the group’s antics. You smiled, but kept quiet, following the other two outside through the heavy metal doors into the school’s student-filled campus.

All around you people swarmed into untidy lines. They rushed to busses, ran to the parking lot, or sat idly by at the front of the school. You waved farewell before you parted from the now-duo and climbed aboard your bus, barely registering the ride home. From there you shivered in the mild breeze, waiting for your little brother to step off of a similar-yet-different yellow transport.

When he saw you, he grinned widely, trotting toward you as his bag swang side-to-side.

“(Y/n)!”

He barreled into you, wrapping his small arms around your waist before you pried him off and let him run up into your apartment.

“What was that all about? Did something happen today?”

Thomas shook his head, throwing his backpack down in your living room with the rest of the mess that lay there. “I just felt like hugging you.”

You mouthed an, ‘oh, okay’ before beginning to head down the hall to your room, but, not to your surprise, you found Thomas bouncing up and down behind you with each step as he repeatedly said your name.

“What?” you replied, used to his antics by now.

“Can we puh-leaasee play outside? Please please please!” He begged, throwing his body around the hallway in a dramatic, childlike fashion. You humoured him and sighed, the edges of your mouth threatening to turn upward into the hints of a smile.

“Fine. We can’t be outside for too long though, I have stuff to do.”

“Why not-?”

“Because I said so. We play a little bit now, or not at all.”

He huffed and mumbled an ‘okay’ before practically flying down the stairs and out the door, leaving you in the dust as you halfheartedly ran after him. Once you reached the edge of your building’s property, you glanced around, waiting for Thomas to suggest a game for you both to play for a while.

He asked if you would play hide-and-seek with him, but before you could agree, he asked something somewhat… dangerous… for an elementary school student.

“-but let’s play in the woods! C’mon, it’ll be fun, I promise!”

You mulled the idea over before complying to him- not because you were a good older sister, oh no, it was because he was incessantly tugging on the hem of your shirt and hanging off of your sleeves until your top threatened to come off.

“Okay, okay! But we can’t go far into the woods, it’s not safe.” You pointed to a mangled trunk in the distance. “You can’t go past that tree back there, alright? And no cheating.”

He nodded furiously and let go of you. You could tell he was just excited to be outside with someone other than the neighbouring kids. You couldn’t really blame him- the neighbours raised their children to be socially awkward and unable to chime in or have an imagination. In Thomas’ words, they were ‘boring’.

You turned around, facing away from the tree-line and started counting down from ten. You gave your brother some extra time to hide- after all, he was up against you, his eight-teen-year-old sister. You finished counting and yelled the famous “ready or not, here I come!” line before you began to search for his bright orange parka and shaggy (hair colour) hair.

You trekked into the forest, the leaves and twigs crunching underneath your feet as you looked back and forth for Thomas. Minutes passed, and you started to get concerned about the lack of his presence in the designated play area. He couldn’t have gone very far, being nine and of small physical stature. Still, you called out his name, warning him that he would be breaking the rules if he passed the barrier you’d set before the game started. There was no response, and you sighed, pressing on.

“Thomas! This isn’t funny, you cheater!”

You checked your phone- twenty minutes since the game had started and there was no sign of him. He couldn’t have gone far, but that didn’t stop you from worrying. You called out for him again, louder and more frantic this time.

“Seriously, we need to go back!” You paused for a moment before bribing him; “I’ll make you some cookies! Just come here!”

Thirty-five minutes. You had circled around, thinking maybe he didn’t go that deep into the woods, but he was definitely nowhere in the shallows of the tree-line. Your pulse sped up and you thought of your dad coming home to only you and the police- a search party crossed your mind, as well as the guilt you’d feel if you didn’t find him. Your mind ran a thousand miles an hour, trying to focus on the orange parka. Orange parka, orange parka, orange parka, orange… Orange!

There, in the distance, just past the twisted trunk of the tree you’d set as the barrier was a flash of orange and the tell-tale snap of twigs under someone’s quick, evading footfalls.

“Thomas, stop running! Get back here, now!”

You broke out into a sprint, dodging thick trunks and gnarled vines, following the orange parka that somehow kept getting farther away from you. You breathed hard, and despite wanting to stop and catch your breath, you pushed forward.

“Thomas! Thomas, plea- Ugh!”

Your shoe caught a root hidden underneath the entangled blades of grass and you lurched forward, catching yourself on your hands and your knee. You scrambled back up, limping a few paces before you wiped the damp dirt onto your pants and sighed in frustration. Somewhere in the distance, you heard the distinct giggle of your little brother. You called out again, but to no avail.

You had half a mind to just go home, but when you looked behind you, all you could see was trees. You checked the time. It’s been an hour since the start of the game, which was supposed to be fun, yet the stress of it all coupled with your sleep deprivation exhausted you.

Your pace was slower than it had been before, the overcast sky darkening as time stretched on. You didn’t see Thomas anymore, nor could you find your way back to the apartment’s property. You had been running in a straight line, hadn’t you? You didn’t recognize anything when you turned around, nor did you when you walked back.

You tried different directions, but again, it was useless. You hated to think about it, but you were lost.

You checked the time again, unlocking your cell to send an emergency message to your neighbour detailing your time in the woods looking for your brother and asking if he knew the way back home. Your phone buzzed almost immediately, however not with a message you’d wanted to receive.

Message failed to send. Will try again when service becomes available.

You cursed under your breath. No service, huh? That was great.

You couldn’t just stay here. If you picked a direction and just walked in it, you’d eventually find a way out, right? The theory was sound enough, and so, without hesitation, you began to walk.

Soon enough, the trees started to thin, exposing a well-traveled path bare of grass and debris. A wave of relief washed over you, and you quickened your step. The brown of the earth beneath you became exposed as you reached a small clearing surrounded by a circle of trees with what looked like doors plastered on the front of each one.

...Doors? You furrowed a brow, confused as all hell. You stood in the center of the clearing, and sure enough, seven trees stretched into the sky with seven differently-decorated doors facing you in the center, gleaming golden knobs and all.

Despite your utter confusion, you drew closer to the tree nearest to you, running your fingertips over the carvings and delicate handiwork of the unmistakable Christmas tree. You reached for the knob, thinking maybe it would turn and reveal a secret hiding place or- or something, but the knob didn’t budge a single centimeter. You tried again, in a different direction, but the attempt yielded the same result as before.

You walked to the next tree over, and the next from that one, and the next from that one, trying each of the doors only for them to all stay stoic and unmoving. You still admired the craftsmanship and time put into the designs, regardless of whether or not they were completely functional, settling in front of the Halloween-themed tree and idly feeling the divots in the pumpkin’s eyes and mouth.

The sun started to set, casting a very orange glow on you and the circle of trunks. The rays shone particularly bright on your back, and while the warmth was welcome, you stepped out of the way to gaze upon the carrot-coloured sky. After all, it looked like you were spending the night here.

The beams focused on the knob, the warm light reflecting all around you in an intense glow almost as strong as the sun itself. Golden flecks danced around your vision; there was something so beautiful about the refracted light that drew you closer, distracting you as your digits reached out and played with the shadows they made on the knob. Your fingers barely brushed against the golden sphere, the warmth filtering through your skin and pouring into the rest of your body without any semblance of notice, shocking your system. You pulled your hand away out of impulse, as if you’d been burned.

Your eyes didn’t leave the door, nor the knob, and although you hadn’t turned it- only touched it- it swung open, beckoning you, calling you.

And exactly who were you to refuse such a warm invitation?

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pendragyn · 3 years

Text

Darkness and Light

This is an excerpt of my WIP Ineffable Bastards (the entirety of chapter 3 lol) that I felt really fits with the 'Dark' and 'Light' themes of this year's Good Omens Celebration.

(sorry for the formatting errors, tumblr being tumblr. adding a readmore since it's 4k words, also the real angst is below the cut. Hopefully it works! if not you can read it all at AO3)

Chapter 3: Tuesday ∞ Unbinding

A brief stab of pain jolted Crowley awake, and they froze for a moment to get their bearings. The shop was wreathed in deep shadows, lit only by the lamp by Aziraphale’s desk, and the only sounds were of Aziraphale working on the manuscript and a clock ticking faintly in the dimness. The back of their neck tingled with uneasiness.

Ignoring the sensation, Crowley eased upright and bit back a curse, too distracted by the ache in their back to notice the pale tartan blanket they’d been tucked under. Ugh, is this couch made of rocks? They prodded at the cushion, but it was as lofty as the day they had miracled it into being some thirty years earlier. At least, they assumed it was still only thirty year ago. Just how long did I sleep for?

As they could both go days without shifting a muscle, only knowing it was night wasn’t a particularly useful metric. Crowley had slept for the better part of a century after all, though that had been on purpose, while this... They checked their watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on the face so checked their phone’s time instead, and still had to squint and rub at their eyes before the time and date finally swam into focus. Midnight. Just hours, not days.

They stood and stretched to try to relieve the ache in their back, but if anything that only made it feel worse. While demons might not be able to instantly heal themselves the way angels could, they did heal at a far faster rate than humans did, and weren’t exactly prone to chronic back pain, or any pain at all, if injury wasn’t involved. It was becoming obvious that something was very wrong, but Crowley still hesitated to bring it up.

Haven’t I dragged them through enough? They turned to watch Aziraphale, highlighted in the darkness by the glow from the lamp. They were wearing their favourite old cardigan instead of their coat, which was as informally dressed as Crowley ever saw them in recent memory, and looked like nothing more than the contented bookshop keeper they played at being. They looked serene, happy even, and utterly enthralled by their project.

Just tell them about the spells and go,Crowley decided. “Aziraphale?”

“Hmm?”

“How long ‘til you’re done?”

“Just… there, finished. Perhaps we could go get dinner at the café while things dry?” Aziraphale suggested hopefully, looking up from the manuscript and blinking a few times when they saw how dark it was. “Oh, I was at that a while, wasn’t I? Dreadfully sorry.”

Crowley shook their head at the apology. “It’s after midnight.”

“Oh, they’re long closed then. Well. Perhaps another time.” There was something in Crowley’s expression that made a lump of dread form in the bottom of Aziraphale’s stomach. They dragged their eyes away to focus on putting things away, not wanting to waste any of the precious materials through carelessness, while a million things clamoured in their mind to be said. It felt like everything was going wrong again and they hurried to fill the silence. “I do hope I did right in not waking you earlier? You seemed quite exhausted and…” I didn’t want you to go. Aziraphale swallowed the words down and gave Crowley a smile. “I do have to concede that you were right about today, well yesterday now, I suppose. It did turn out to be a rather good day after all.”

Crowley blinked, taken a little off guard by the admission, and tried to figure out how to broach the subject of the alarms. “Oh, er, yeah? I mean, yeah, it was good. But I, er-”

Aziraphale ploughed on, almost afraid to know what Crowley was going to say. “Having my hands occupied helps ground me, I’ve found, helps me sort through things that otherwise seem too big a mess. Not that we’re out of this mess, I know, but taking the time to let things settle really helps me put things into perspective. I just need a little breathing room sometimes and-”

“And alarms.”

Aziraphale looked up in confusion. “Alarms?”

“I mean, I, uh, I set up some alarms around the shop while you were working, to warn you, us, of intruders. Passive alarms,” Crowley hastened to assure the angel when they frowned, “nothing dangerous. Just… You know, in case.”

Aziraphale was momentarily at a loss for words. They felt it would be inexcusably rude to ask what had motivated Crowley to do such a thing, though that was the second thought that came to mind. First was just how nice kind an act it was. “I… that is, well, that, that was very kind of you. I hadn’t even considered, but I suppose it is best to be prepared for retaliation of some sort. But you… you’ll have to at least let me treat you to dinner to repay-”

“No.” Aziraphale’s face fell at the blunt denial but Crowley explained, “I mean it’s too late. Now. Tonight. But…” Crowley hesitated. Although things hadn’t gone the way they hadn’t even let themself admit to hoping for, they knew Aziraphale would want to help them if they needed it. Another sharp stab of pain decided them. Whatever they were dealing with, they had to deal with it soon, and the shop was not secure enough in it’s current state. “How would you feel about going to the flat? I’ve got plenty to tide us over and, I, uh, I’ve got something I need your opinion on.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale quickly stood up and grabbed their coat, but made a token protest, wanting to give Crowley an out of their clearly impulsive offer. “But I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“’Snever an imposition, Aziraphale, to share a meal with you,” Crowley murmured, moving towards the door when Aziraphale looked up in surprise at their serious tone. “’Sides, you’ve been slouched at that desk too long.”

Aziraphale trailed along behind them and tried to puzzle out what was really going on. “As long as you’re quite sure, Crowley.”

“Always.” Crowley could see Aziraphale’s confusion but ignored it, slipping into the driver’s seat and clasping very tightly to the wheel while the angel got in the passenger’s side. The ache was getting worse and a headache was beginning to pound behind their eyes. Unsure what else to do, Crowley sped off towards the safety of the flat.

Aziraphale watched Crowley with a small frown of concern, but could tell from their expression that they weren’t in the mood to answer questions. As it was, the strange foreboding itchy ache in their back was distraction enough, and when a surreptitious healing failed to alleviate the sensation, a worrying thought popped up. If this isn’t a physical injury, then it must be metaphysical in nature. Could this be from what we did? From what happened? Did I… could I have absorbed some of Crowley’s… demon-ness while borrowing their corporeal form? Or been poisoned by some remnant of the hellfire? Or from just being in Hell at all? But that means-

Aziraphale risked a glance at Crowley. The demon pressed back against the cushion and shifted uncomfortably in their seat, like there was an itch along their spine that couldn’t be reached. -Heaven or the holy water or my angel-ness contaminated,poisoned, Crowley in the same way. Oh, oh no. I didn’t even think to do more than a cursory cleansing before we switched back! What to do, what to do? They whirled through a dozen ideas but just as quickly discarded them all as unless, a knot of grief forming over their heart.

There must be something! But nothing came to mind. They wiped at their stinging eyes, refusing to let the tears fall and returned to twisting the golden ring on their pinky, before they were struck by an idea. Maybe I can fix this.

“Hey.”

Aziraphale jumped when Crowley spoke, quickly shoving their balled up fists into their coat pockets, and tried to smile reassuringly when Crowley frowned. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Just wondering where you were. We’ve been parked for like five minutes.” Crowley tried to tease, to keep up appearances should anyone be observing, but the aching itch was making it almost impossible to think. Another stab of pain had Crowley pressing a hand to their throbbing tattoo with a hiss. When they pulled their hand away, there was a smear of blood on their fingers. Shit. Outta time.

Aziraphale’s heart dropped at the sight and they instantly reached out, but Crowley shook their head and shoved out of the car before they could attempt a healing. Aziraphale hurried after them, up to the flat, jumping a little when Crowley slammed the door shut behind them and set all the locks with a snap. “Crowley-”

Another jolt of pain sent Crowley reeling back against the door but they shook their head again when Aziraphale reached out to heal them, their bleak expression showing they also knew it wouldn’t be enough. They were out of options and the little voice said, Last chance to fix it. Now or never. Crowley pulled off their glasses and spoke the words they never thought they’d say again, to the only being they’d ever trusted enough to say them to. “I desire a boon, Aziraphale.” The Celestial words crackled with power in spite of the pain in Crowley’s voice.

Aziraphale couldn’t help the shocked gasp that escaped but didn’t hesitate to reply in kind. “Ask and be heard, Crowley, I attend you.”

There was so much that needed to be said, that Crowley desperately wanted to say but the ceremony didn’t allow for deviation and the pain was worsening. They stared into their best friend’s wide golden-green eyes and hoped they would understand. “I seek to mend all rifts and reforge our bond.”

After everything, they still… Aziraphale nodded, eyes stinging with tears, and it took a second to swallow down everything they couldn’t say to be able to say the proper response, “Such forged has lain quiescent but was never sundered. By our efforts combined shall these rifts be mended.”

It was never unspoken. They never broke it, even after... Crowley’s eyes burned with tears they’d been cursed to never let fall and they offered their hand in agreement. “Shoulder to shoulder?”

Mind brimming with words there was clearly no time left for, Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand and spoke the final phrase. “My wings to yours.”

Occult power swept through them, renewing the bond and knocking the breath from both of them. Unable to wait a second longer, Crowley bolted through the flat, stumbling into the spacious marble bathroom mortared with every type of magic against scrying and magical attacks and filled to the brim with all manner of tropical plants. Their own little replica of the Garden.

With a ragged gasp Crowley activated the spells and let their wings flash into being. The ink-dark feathers repelled the warm light shining down from the false sky-lights, and they flapped, once, twice, but neither the spells nor the movement did anything to ease the sensation that was going from searing itch to freezing ache. Desperate, feeling as though they were suffocating inside an icebox, they flung off their clothes and slapped on the water, wings spread wide as droplets began to pour from the ceiling.

Aziraphale paused only long enough to set a very unpleasant surprise by the door for anyone who tried to break in before following the sound of running water through the sparse bedroom to the gleaming bathroom. “Crowley?” They were horrified to find Crowley shivering under the downpour, hair and feathers drenched, blood seeping from the mark on their temple. They dashed to catch Crowley before they could collapse to the floor, unfurling their own wings to shelter them from the downpour. “Hold on! Talk to me!” Knowing it was futile Aziraphale tried another healing anyway, swearing when all that changed was the rapidly worsening ache in their own back and wings.

The sound Crowley made was both bitter laugh and heartbroken sob. “Sorry, angel. Guesss they found a way after all. Sssshould’ve known… they wouldn’t… let us get away.”

Aziraphale cradled Crowley close, shaking their head in denial, mind full of recriminations. Do something you stupid angel! Anything! But they couldn’t think past the pain of their heart breaking. “Crowley, please-”

“Never meant… t’hurt… you.” The burning frost was pervasive and growing, seeking the soul embedded within the living vessel that trembled from the freezing cold searing pain. It seeped through muscles and around bones, piercing eyes and lungs and heart, which failed under the onslaught.

“NO!” Aziraphale’s wail turned into a roar of rage and anguish when Crowley’s lovely eyes went dull and sightless. For the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale didn’t hold back, didn’t toe the line, didn’t do what was expected of them, and power the colour of a bronze sword sharpened with noonlight coruscated around them and their rapidly greying wings. “You can’t take Crowley from me again! I won’t allow it!” Those quick clever hands darted towards the now obvious source of Crowley’s torment, into inky feathers gone heavy and grey with icy embers of sanctified hellfire. “Fuck. You. All.”

If either side had seen Aziraphale at that moment, they might have understood why they were the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

Crowley was wreathed in pain and loneliness and despair, on the verge of losing themself to the agonizing emptiness, when a brilliant ray of golden-bronze light slashed through the void from a glimmering horizon that hadn’t existed until that moment. They wasted no time hurling themself towards the familiar shining beacon until it overwhelmed their senses with light, and eventually the light resolved itself into the fixture in the ceiling of their bathroom. They soon became aware of the feeling of Aziraphale’s hands raking urgently through their feathers and swamped with the terrible understanding that it was already too late, slurred, “Azsheraph, no...”

But Aziraphale was implacable and continued to extinguish the freezing embers clinging to Crowley’s feathers. “I must.” They ignored the pain of handling the sanctified hellfire and the building cold fire of Heaven’s unholy judgment, only giving in when they sensed the last of the embers vanish in a pathetic puff of smoke.

Crowley marshalled enough energy to move just in time to break Aziraphale’s fall. “Wha-, Aziraphale, did they-” The angel nodded, eyes pressed shut as a shudder passed through their failing body. “No no nononono.” Thoughts still muddled Crowley had sense enough to do one thing.

snap

Water, stopped, midair, crystalline and gleaming in the odd light of out-time.

Aziraphale reached up to press a shaking hand to Crowley’s right cheek, the tips of their fingers resting over the still bleeding hellish brand on Crowley’s temple. Too much left to say, to do, to make up for. Time enough for just one last thing...They stared into Crowley’s lovely eyes, irises blown wide with shock, and as their last desperate heartbeat passed, breathed out, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale was gone before Crowley could respond, having used the last of their power to remove the binding mark on Crowley’s temple, and Crowley’s face crumpled and contorted with fury and despair, eyes burning like a star gone nova. “You can’t leave me, you bassstard, not now, not after all thisss!” They called up power from the core of their being, power they didn’t even know they had, and dragged lightning-edged talons through Aziraphale’s ice-rimed feathers, shredding the unholy acidic coating while leaving the feathers untouched. “I won’t let you go! Not like this! Aziraphale! Don’t go! Stay, bless you, stay!” The words devolved into snarled half-spoken curses and pleas as their assault against the Heavenly whatever-the-hell-it-was escalated into a frenzy.

“Ha!” Crowley yelled with sense of triumph when the last of the shreds fell away and dissolved with a ‘pft’, but triumph vanished when Aziraphale’s eyes remained closed, and the fragile corporeal heart remained still, persisting only because of the timelessness of the moment. No no no no no, spiralled in Crowley’s mind as they kissed those blued lips, pushing breath and life back into the dying vessel, reaching with the entirety of their being into the accursed void that Aziraphale had just pulled them from, ready to follow them back into oblivion if need be. Aziraphale!

The crushing emptiness of the void that held Aziraphale was suddenly filled by welcoming darkness, lifting the hopeless despair that they were lost within. Crowley! A shimmering auroral veil unfurled and a hundred million distant lights glimmered into view, warm and gloriously alive, and they flew towards where they sensed Crowley until the darkness resolved into just the familiar dimness held beneath closed eyelids.

Time slammed back into place, no longer held at bay by Crowley’s exhausted power, and the former demon cursed and sputtered as the suddenly far-too-hot-for-comfort water poured over them. It took a bit of flailing around to turn off the taps and afterward Crowley sat slouched against the wall, wings half unfurled and quivering as they tried to catch their breath.

Aziraphale laid utterly still as they regained their senses, drained beyond anything they could ever recall. They finally found the energy to suck in a slow shuddering breath and croak, “Crowley?” A shuddering sob of relief escaped when Crowley took their hand.

“I’m here, Aziraphale.” The reformed angel’s eyes opened, revealing they had shifted to blue-green, and Crowley realized that drowning in them wasn’t half bad really, all things considered. The itch and that building sense of doom were finally gone. ”I’m still here.”

Aziraphale blinked to clear their vision, and took in the sight of poor bedraggled Crowley wilting listlessly against the tile wall. They looked about as bad as Aziraphale felt, but they were there, wonderfully, blessedly alive. “Glad to hear it. You had me quite worried my dear.”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort out a laugh and helped Aziraphale sit up when they struggled against clothes and wings saturated with water and the glutinous but inert ashy grey residue. “Yeah, same. I’ll be very cross with you if you ever do that again, angel.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale gave them an exhausted but triumphant smile. “But you started it.”

“Me?! I-! Wot-! You-!”

The fondly exasperated sputtering of a Celestial Serpent at a loss for words warmed Aziraphale’s heart as nothing else could, and laughter, joyous in a way the former angel realized they hadn’t felt in a very long time, bubbled up, silencing the former demon’s protests. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Don’t you even think about trying to find out!” Crowley scolded, voice breaking, and caught Aziraphale in a nearly-crushing hug. Aziraphale tiredly hugged them back and Crowley rested their forehead against Aziraphale’s for a moment before pulling away to glare. “You barmy bastard, what were you thinking!?”

“Couldn’t let you go, my dear. Very selfish of me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale murmured, stunned to see tears running down Crowley’s face. “Had to try.”

“You feather-brained do-gooder, you died! You died and I couldn’t save you!” Crowley crushed them in another hug, only easing up when Aziraphale squeaked. “Sorry, sorry-”

“But you did save me,” Aziraphale whispered, needing to tell Crowley what had happened, feeling the memory already beginning to fade. “It was so painful and dark and cold. It was beyond darkness, beyond… I was so afraid, so alone.”

Crowley held them tight, heart breaking. My fault. “Aziraphale...”

Tears welled, offset by a fond smile. “But a million stars exploded into being and I was in the Garden, and I sensed you and I wasn’t afraid any more.” Aziraphale stroked a finger over Crowley’s nearest wing-edge, considering as bits of sodden ash flaked away and disintegrated into nothingness. “I heard you call my name.” Another gentle touch, more ash dropping away from inky feathers that seemed to have gained an odd sheen. “My wings to yours. Always.”

Crowley frowned, pulling away from Aziraphale’s touch, unable to deal with the feelings those words and gentle caresses were stirring up. “C’mon, let’s get you warmed up.” Crowley banished their wings back into the astral plane with a spatter of displaced ash and water and the slight frown on Aziraphale’s face melted into a surprised gasp when Crowley lifted them up.

“I can walk.” Aziraphale held on tightly to Crowley’s shoulders and banished their own wings, though it took far more effort than usual. “...Probably.”

“You’re exhausted. And you just died to save me. Let me do this for you,” said Crowley gruffly, only moving towards the bedroom when Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley gently set Aziraphale down by the bed. “Let me tend your feathers, eh?” they urged, shrugging into a certain plush robe under Aziraphale’s heavy-lidded stare before carefully helping them from their ruined clothes. “Made rather a mess of them, I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much will to resist temptation. What had happened on Sunday felt like a dream, a lifetime ago, and it had been so very long since Crowley had helped care for their wings... It had only ever been Crowley. They nodded as Crowley helped them into the nightshirt they’d used just a few nights earlier, and bundled them under the covers and clicked on the electric blanket. “T’would be lovely, thank you.”

Crowley clicked off the lights, grabbed a towel and once they had unfurled their wings, started gently grooming the grimy feathers, smirking as Aziraphale went boneless with a heavy sigh. “Relax any more and you might just fall asleep for once,” Crowley teased, but there was an ache over their heart. It had been a very long time since they had allowed themself to tend Aziraphale, and after the all too brief interlude before they’d gone to play with fire, Crowley had feared they’d never have the chance to do it again.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale hummed in agreement, too tired to even bother with full sentences any more. Apparently dying took a lot out of a being, once the adrenaline wore off. “Feels lovely. Hadn’t had them out... since forty-one.”

Since the church, since they’d gotten utterly drunk on cursed cider and each other in the shop’s back room and — Crowley’s gentle grooming faltered for a moment, but Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Why not? Thought it was a big deal upstairs, grooming each other?”

“Dangerous.” Aziraphale rubbed a knuckle against Crowley’s leg, wanting to soothe away the bitterness in their voice, thinking about the communal grooming gatherings that were the most boring but also ridiculously fraught office parties in creation. Out of self preservation Aziraphale had created a ‘show up, make nice, make excuse, vanish’ routine that had kept them from ever having to reveal their wings. Being dismissed as inconsequential occasionally had its uses. “You know. Awful. Nosy buggers. Better with you, even without...”

“Aziraphale.” There was a world of meaning in that one word, and they lapsed into silence in the dimness. Crowley gently tended Aziraphale’s wings from top to bottom, confounded by the strange residue that sublimated from cold sandy grit to smoke in their hands. The wings felt normal, well, as normal as the corporeal manifestation of a Celestial being’s power could feel, but every once in a while the oblique light from the doorway would strike them just right to make them seem gold instead of white, with a faint sheen of what might be iridescence. But it was dark and Crowley didn’t want to look too closely, nor think about any more surprises.

By the time Aziraphale’s feathers were back in order Crowley felt as though they were buzzing with energy yet at the same time exhausted. “All done,” they murmured, and Aziraphale furled their wings away into the ether and curled sleepily onto their side towards Crowley with a few mumbled words of gratitude.

Crowley sat in the dark for a long while, doing their best to not think as they listened to Aziraphale’s quiet even breathing that spoke of true sleep. Eventually they slipped from the bed and dressed and retreated to the office. With a snap they miracled up a couch and turned on the TV, letting themself be lulled into a thoughtful stupor that eventually slipped into sleep.

Start at the beginning> Chapter 1 | Chapter 4 < Next Chapter

#good omens celebration #goc2021 #good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale/crowley #BAMF Crowley #BAMF Aziraphale #angst #angst but it turns out okay I swear #they kinda die #but they also bring each other back #trust me ;}#long post #readmore #Ineffable Bastards

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kmpac · 3 years

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Noona No More

➸ 18+

➸ Summary: You are a stylist for the biggest group in the world, which has some decided advantages, but it also has some definite distractions. The biggest of which being Park Jimin. After a performance goes slightly wrong, you get your chance to tell Jimin exactly what you think of him and turns out he has some things to say about you too.

➸ Word count: 6K

➸ Pairing: Park Jimin x stylist noona

➸ Genre: Slight Angst, Smut, Fluff if you squint

➸ Warnings: Jimin crying (it broke my heart to write it!), some foul language, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (because, of course!)

➸ A/N: I have been on tumblr for a while, but haven’t ever shared anything I’ve written. Being a mom in my 30s, it has been literally 15 years since I actually wrote anything, but I’ve been inspired by Jimin lately. My sweet ultimate bias. I just adore him. With the encouragement of some ARMY friends, I decided to share this. We will see what happens and if anyone reads this. Lol. I have never written warnings before, as this is my first time writing smut. I’m so sorry if I forget something. If you see anything I should add, please let me know!

Being a stylist for BigHit had some decided advantages; working for a company that cared for its employees and paid well not being the least of which. But BigHit was also full of idols who were not prima donnas, which from your 10+ years in the business had taught you was an incredibly rare feat. The worst thing you had to deal with was boys falling asleep in the styling chair or wanting to play in front of the cameras that followed them everywhere. No, you had it really good, you couldn’t deny.

That did not change the fact that being a stylist for Big Hit, and primarily being assigned to BTS had some decided disadvantages as well. Primary among these disadvantages was one – Park Jimin.

Jimin was the kind of person that would sit quietly making polite conversation with you making you feel seen and important and not like a prop in his everyday life. But he was also the kind of person that would brush just slightly too close to you as he stood from his chair and would cutely say “excuse me” with a knowing smirk as you blushed from ears to toes. In other words, he was dangerous. He was charming, sweet, sexy, funny: all the attributes to make any woman weak at the knees. Unfortunately for you, having a crush on your gorgeous idol subject was not an option if you wanted to keep your job. Not only were you required to be professional in order to carry out your duties, but it was also the road to heartbreak, and you knew it. Idols weren’t allowed to date openly, and for BTS it wasn’t only impossible with their superstar status, but was impossible due to their schedules. You knew well the hours they put into their work and had more than once blow dried and curled their hair as they fell asleep standing. They worked hard, but play was something foreign to them.

So when Jimin would flirt just before a show, you assumed it was only to get into the mindset of his stage persona, not to personally give you a heart attack. It was the only form of comfort and a wakeup call that you could offer yourself.

That was until one particular day when your whole world turned upside down.

You were backstage at an award show, curling Jimin’s hair as his sleepy chin dipped to his chest. His lips were puffy and adorable as usual and his makeup was flawless so you could barely see his cute freckles that you wished the makeup people wouldn’t hide. His complexion, too, was a bit too light, but you always attributed that to a broken sense of the beautiful in this country. Pale did not always equate to beautiful and tan could be gorgeous, like Jimin’s own natural honey skin tone that made him look like candy you could eat. Come to think of it, it was probably safer for your sanity that they did adjust his complexion, if that thought was any indication of your fragile state of mind around this man.

“You will be needing another dye job soon,” you said casually as you assumed his half asleep mind wouldn’t even register it.

Without even opening his eyes, he uttered, “will you do it, Noona?”

“If I’m the stylist on duty, of course.”

“You are the only one who is gentle. I always feel like my scalp is on fire when anyone else does it.”

“You exaggerate. And I don’t do it any different than anyone else.”

He looked up then as you were midway through a curl of the iron and grabbed your wrist, “promise you will be the one who does it, Noona.”

You were distracted by his eyes that were so much more than the colored contacts he wore. Even those couldn’t distract from how jaw dropping and gorgeous his eyes were, especially as he had some of the most honest and forthright eyes you had ever seen. This man didn’t do secrets.

“I will try,” you offered, though you knew you would do nothing of the sort. Dye days were the worst because you spent hours upon hours with one boy exclusively and you couldn’t handle that with Jimin. He was your Achilles’ Heel.

“Thanks, Noona,” he said as he closed his eyes again.

You hated him calling you Noona. It made you feel old. Sure you were both adults, but you had 7 years on him and such matches just didn’t happen in Korea. Not that it mattered, anyway, you reminded yourself as you turned to grab the hairspray, because Park Jimin would never look at you that way even if you were his age.

The boys rushed out of the room in a whirlwind shortly after with last minute checks of wardrobe, makeup and hair as they went to perform. It was always a mad house just before stage, and the boys were jumping around and singing to warm up their voices, and overall getting hyped up so they had the energy they needed to go full out. There were a lot of people there to see them, and they never disappointed.

The moment your life turned upside down though, started just as you were backstage, putting away most of your equipment and cleaning up any mess left backstage as you and your fellow stylists watched the boys performance on the monitors in the dressing room. The boys were performing Dionysus to perfection. Every move was as accurate as in rehearsal, even with the jet lag and exhaustion of the boys. They were used to it, they would say, but you always felt for them. Jimin was front and center doing his incredible solo spotlight as the boys made a V formation behind him to “Where the Party at” when it happened. Jimin’s voice squeaked and it came out rather profoundly on the monitors. The boys rarely made mistakes of any kind, or if they did it was largely overlooked by the audience, but there was no hiding this moment as he was the focal point.

You could tell by his face for that split second that he was shocked by his voice, but then he went right back to being the exceptional performer he was born to be. You forgot about it entirely until the moment the boys finished the performance and came back down the hallway to the dressing room. You were all crowded into one of the bigger rooms at the show, but even still it was hard to shove everyone in who accompanied the boys, but any crowd was quickly forgotten when you saw Jimin’s face.

He was puffy around the eyes and slightly red. His face was contorted with a grimace and there were definite tear tracks on his face. Tae had him under his arm, practically dragging him into the room. When he made it inside, he completely lost it. He started crying in earnest and fell to the floor against a wall as he shucked off his 3 million Won jacket and cast it in his makeup chair.

The makeup artist assigned to Jimin made no show of emotion as she took her kit and went to sit beside him on the floor to clean him up. She turned back toward you, who was still standing shell shocked in the middle of the room, and asked you to grab the dabbing paper from her station. You quickly went to her side and offered her the materials, which she quickly put to work. The boys would no doubt be called to stage at any time to accept one of their millions of awards they would win tonight, and there was no time for tears. You sat beside him as he attempted to get control of his emotions. RM was hovering as his stylists scurried around him and Tae was shouting praises to Jimin to cheer him up, but nothing seemed to help.

“Noona,” he said and your focus went back to his face and you saw he was looking at you as his makeup artist reapplied his eyeliner in a hurried fashion.

“Yes, Jimin?”

“I messed up. Did you see it?”

“See what?”

“Don’t joke,” he said as he adjusted his position and you tried not to make eye contact. You didn’t want him to know that, yes, you saw him, and yes, you noticed the mistake, because admitting it meant everyone saw it, everyone heard it. You wanted to distract from that, but you didn’t know how. You were quickly shuffling through a million statements you could make that would give comfort without making him feel worse, when you felt his hand slip into yours discreetly. You looked down and then straight into his eyes. What you found there had your heart beating wildly out of your chest. Such an open look of desire to be comforted, to be heard and understood, and it conveyed only a desire for honesty, and though you couldn’t ever verbalize how you knew that, you still KNEW.

You took a deep breath and looked around as all the boys and their stylists began to shuffle toward the door. Before long it would only be the three of you in here if you didn’t manage to get him up and out the door on time. His makeup artist was still going about her work with such wicked accuracy and precision that you marveled at her talent.

“You messed up?” you asked as your eyes were still on the makeup artist, “Who cares?”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you knew there was no going back. The makeup artist stopped her work and Jimin completely froze staring at you.

“You aren’t perfect, Jimin, and you aren’t made to be. Sometimes you are so insanely talented that I think the whole world forgets that you are just a guy. Just a man. And that’s ok.” At this you made eye contact with him and grabbed his hand more fiercely. Jimin was looking at you with a guarded expression, but his eyes were alight with tears or something else – you couldn’t tell.

“You know that, right? You know that you are perfect in your imperfections, even when you mess up?”

He blinked back at you but didn’t speak. The makeup artist looked at you and stood to leave the room to give you a moment. You couldn’t say why she did that, but some cosmic intervention must have made it happen, because as soon as she left you realized that you and Jimin were the only ones left in this room filled with half full garment racks, makeshift beauty stations and piles in every corner of the room filled with people’s belongings.

“Do you really think so?” He asked, bringing your attention back to his face.

“Think what?”

“That I’m perfect, even when I mess up.”

“Of course, I do! Life is messy, and it never goes according to plan, but that’s what makes it beautiful, people are the same.”

His eyes looked down in disappointment, but he wasn’t crying anymore so that was something, although that look made you confused as you felt like you were getting through to him, if not for that expression.

“You know, I failed my final exam in beauty school the first time.”

“You did?”

“I sure did. And if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?”

You laughed at the open look of curiosity on his face, “My dream had always been to work for YG and I probably would have stayed there forever, but because I failed and my spot was taken I bounced around from job to job with company after company until no one would take me on except Bang PDnim. And now, all this time later, I’m stylist to the biggest group in the world. How is that for No More Dream?”

He smiled at you then and even chuckled lightly under his breath, but his eyes never left your face.

You looked into his open honest eyes for only a moment and yet it could have been days for how your heart began to beat out of your chest. It was one of those defining moments in life. As you looked into his perfect eyes, it was as though you were tied together in that moment, where two souls were speaking though your bodies were silent. It was not something you could verbalize and you didn’t want to. Time didn’t exist in that moment.

That is until you heard the bell alerting them of a commercial break, which would allow them the moment to go back to their seats on the stage. It woke you up and reminded you that you were still sitting on the floor with a pop star who needed to get to his seat before the gossip started. After his mistake on the stage, he didn’t need people speculating that he was backstage crying (even though it was true).

“Ok, let’s get you out there,” you said as you went to grab his bicep, which was surprisingly firm and strong for such a skinny man, but you had no time to think on it, as he interrupted you with your name. He never called you by your name.

“Wait,” he looked at you again in earnest and you felt the blush rise on your cheeks as you waited for him to say whatever he would say.

“I know you hate being the center of attention, and getting any kind of praise, but…thank you”

“You’re welcome, Ji-“

“And…I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but…” he looked behind your back at the door that now contained no one, “If this is my only opportunity, then…”

You had no idea what he was talking about and were about to turn around and head toward the door, no matter his requests for you to wait. He had to go.

But before you got fully turned toward the door, he grabbed you by your wrists and spun you to the wall behind the open door so you would be secluded, and then crashed his perfect plush lips on yours. You had often imagined what being kissed by Jimin would feel like. Soft, gentle, like pillows against your mouth, because his lips were so fluffy looking.

This was not that, though. He was rushed for time, so his lips were tight and brutal against your mouth. In a second, when you went to take a breath, his tongue was in your mouth stealing your hastily taken breath with the greed of his. His hands were in your hair, and his solid front was pressed firmly against yours. You were taken so off guard you forgot to respond to his kiss, to take advantage of running your hands through his hair that you had just styled a few hours previously and still looked gorgeously coifed. Instead you were practically paralyzed against the wall with hands at either side of your head, but as the heat of his body seeped into yours and the semi hardness in his pants connected with your softness, you gasped in pleasure suddenly.

The sound shocked him out of his trance and he stepped away apologizing profusely to you. Instead of listening to him wrongfully assume you weren’t into him, you decided to show him just how much he was wrong by grabbing him by his neck and merging your lips back together. Like two people starved of each other you grabbed and pulled and pushed with a fiery passion and one of your legs lifted off the floor to wrap around his waist as you rubbed your center against his front seeking friction from the only man you ever wanted between your legs for as long as you live. He growled and took your leg off his waist and set you back on your feet in a show of great restraint.

His head hit your chest as he tried to catch his breath and gain control back. The bell was ringing again to say the commercial break was over.

“Fuck,” he grunted out toward the floor as his face continued to be hidden from you. “I have to go back out there.”

“I wish you didn’t, but you are right and the others will be back soon,” you said referencing the other staff.

“Please know,” he said as he lifted his head and made eye contact with you, “this isn’t just physical for me.”

You took a shaky breath through your nose to gain control of your beating heart, “Same here.”

He smiled at that, wide and with his gorgeous eyes.

“I thought I was too old for you.”

He chuckled as he wiped his pants off from sitting on the floor, “I thought I was too young for you.”

He turned to leave as you heard familiar voices approaching.

“We aren’t done here,” he said as he pointed at you and then ran out of the room, just as the others returned to the room.

You stood at the door and watched him go. At the last minute, he turned and smiled at you and like the tease you always knew he was, he licked his bottom lip and bit it.

You knew you probably looked like a love sick puppy as you leaned on the doorway watching him go with a light blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help it.

Just before he went on stage, though, you ran out to him calling his name. As your cover you fluffed his hair that needed no fluffing, but to him you whispered, “Don’t call me noona anymore.”

He tried to hold in his laugh but leaned down as his eyes scanned the backstage to make sure no one was looking as he whispered back, “you got it baby. I’ll see you after.”

Then he winked and was gone.

_____________________________________________________________

You did your level best to focus on the performances and your cleanup of the back room until the end of the show that night, but you couldn’t help but relive that kiss over and over again in your mind. You had kissed Park Jimin! The most famous idol in Korea. The literal It Boy of the country, probably of all of Asia. He was beyond beautiful, talented, kind, funny, and did you mention gorgeous? You kept stealing views of his perfect flirtatious eyes in the monitors as you packed up your belongings and shuffled to load the Big Hit vehicles for the end of the show. Every time you caught his eye, you felt like he was looking straight back at you (which was silly since you knew he was just looking into the camera to make eyes at the fans).

After the show everyone was exhausted and piled into the black tinted windowed vehicles to lead them back to their hotels. BTS got a private floor of the fancy hotel designed for performers and the famous actors who presented the awards. You on the other hand were staff, and not just staff, but support staff, not managerial staff, like Sejin who stayed in the hotel with the boys so he was on hand in case of emergencies, and not like the body guards and personal assistants to the group. You were just a stylist. Suffice to say, you didn’t expect you would see him again tonight when you went back to your budget hotel down the block from the venue. Jimin had promised he wasn’t done with you (the thought of that statement made something in your lower stomach twist, even as your legs rubbed together), but surely the circumstances being what they were, that would be impossible.

You were winding down for the evening after washing your face and brushing out your hair and were about to put on a sleep mask and turn on some late night TV program to fall asleep to when your door rattled as a heavy hand hit the door. Like any self-respecting Millennial, you were immediately terrified at the prospect of an unexpected visitor, and ironically, your mind was so full of his kiss that you were beyond astonished and taken by surprise, when you opened the door to Park Jimin in the flesh. You would have pinched yourself to wake up from your obviously delusional dream, but then he started walking in through the door without invitation.

You backed into the room surprised as he threw the keys in his hand on the table and started shucking off his boots as he closed the door with his leg.

“You drove here?”

He nodded.

“How did you even find where I was staying?”

“I’m clever, and Sejin isn’t as protective of his planner as he thinks he is.”

In a moment, you were in his arms. If he had given you time to consider the state of the hotel room, with your belongings strung out across the bed, including your bra and underwear you planned to wear the next day, and your cosmetics strewn across the countertops and tables, you might have been embarrassed. Instead, he was like a man possessed as he took advantage of your surprise, like he had done that afternoon at the show, as well. In a rare moment of confidence, you wondered if he had imagined being with you like this as many times as you had imagined being with him.

His mouth encapsulated yours like he was afraid you would run away if he stopped. You were so incredibly consumed, you didn’t have one thought of stopping him. It was like a dream come true. And having him in this intimate environment that smelled like you and was filled with your things after the previous night’s stay, you felt your whole body come alive.

His hands were in your hair, but his arms were so tightly wrapped around you that every inch of your body felt sealed in his arms. As he walked with you in his arms toward the bed, you only had time to think about how good he smelled, like citrus and some kind of flower. In a word, he smelled delicious. And his body was so solid against yours, and hair and skin were so soft, which you knew because you couldn’t stop your hands from devouring him even as your mouth was completely drowned in his lips.

And GOD his lips. Were there two such lips anywhere else in the world that tasted, felt, and looked this beautiful? Not that you could see them right now as your eyes were rolled back in your head in ecstasy, especially as he drove his stiff shaft into your clothed center. You moaned wantonly and he pulled away to stare in your eyes. His face flushed and lips swollen, even more than usual, as he lay you down on the bed and leaned over you.

“Is this ok?” he asked and you sputtered out a yes in reply as his smiling face fell to devour you once again.

His hands began to loosen the ties on your robe and he slowly ground his heavy anatomy into your clit, which only furthered the fire in your belly.

“Please,” you started chanting as he ripped your robe open and quickly took up residence on your unclothed chest like a man starving. You whined wantonly, who could blame you? You had to remind yourself again that Park Jimin was the one currently running his perfectly pointed tongue over your pert nipple. As he did he moaned in a voice so deep you would have believed it was someone else if not for the evidence before you. His hands were soft as they ran across your sides and your ribs and gripped with his ring clad fingers on your waist. You found yourself growing wetter by the second as you imagined him bruising your hips with those ring clad fingers. It was a thought you often had when you watched his fingers wrap around his microphone when he performed.

“I can’t control myself,” he said, bringing you out of your trance. “If you don’t want this, tell me so now.”

“I want this!” you practically screamed as you lifted your hips to grind against his clothed member. He practically growled in response as he pulled away and stared at your unclothed body. He started to slowly remove his jacket and unbutton his white button up shirt. For your part, you lifted onto your elbows to drink him in, as you pulled your robe from underneath of you and threw it across the room. You were still wearing your underwear (thank god they were cute ones) but your upper body was bare and your hair was draped in what you hoped was a seductive way. He was biting his lip, meanwhile and slowly untucking his shirt from his pants as he, one arm at a time, removed his shirt. It was so hot and sultry, you felt another gush of liquid between your legs as you moaned. Jimin, for his part, seemed to grow more bold and flirtation the more you seemed to enjoy yourself. With the grace of a dancer, he stood to his full height as he finished shucking off his shirt and tossing it across the room. Until that moment you had been fully concentrated on his eyes, but you couldn’t deny that his perfectly sculpted stomach and chest were a very welcome distraction. You had never seen anything so perfect before in your life. From his honey skin, soft and smooth and free of blemish, to his dusky nipples that made your mouth water, you were ready to eat him alive right then and there. You lifted to do just that as you took in his muscular stomach and his sexy tattoo. Your hands followed the trail of your eyes and it took no time to dig in to the feast laid before you.

Your tongue was currently swirling around his perfect nipple, when a particularly high keening noise left Jimin’s mouth. His enjoyment encouraged you to be even more bold as your hand found the front of his trousers. He took a big inhale as your hand connected with his member. The softness of his balls as you brushed them made it even more extreme of a contrast as your hand connected with his engorged manhood. It made your mouth water as you imagined taking it into your throat.

With that thought you pulled away to make quick work of his pants. Jimin was vibrating, practically, with anticipation as his hands joined yours in removing his slacks. His belt flew across the room, and his pants and boxer briefs came off in one shot like lightning. Your eyes again devoured the man, and for the rest of forever you knew you would never see anything as beautiful as a naked Jimin. He blushed slightly as you took him in from head to toe. He knew what he looked like, but obviously was not used to being appraised so fully. His blush only increased his sexiness, so you decided to tell him.

“You are literally the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

His smile could have outshined the sun and in that moment you promised yourself that you would make an effort to be vocal with him to keep that smile on his face.

Now, with only your underwear as a barrier, you both finally realized the gravity of the situation as things got more serious. You began to crawl backward on the bed, as he went on hands and knees to chase you up the bed. You bit your lip and whined at the intensity in his eyes, and he growled at your wanton behavior.

In a second he was back on you and now his unclothed dick was the star as he rolled his hips into your center. You were already so close, it was embarrassing, but you didn’t even care. You wanted him: carnally, emotionally, in any way he would give you himself and you would thank him for any shred of it.

“More baby,” you heard yourself beg, “please, more! I want more, Jimin!”

His lips met yours as he gripped onto your lower lip and bit it, causing you to whine again.

“What do you want from me, Jagiya?”

Your eyes shot open at the use of that word, but it only brought a warmth in your heart as you answered his question.

“I want you to make love to me, Jimin. Please…”

He wasted no time as he descended down your body with open mouth kisses. His pillow lips making you so crazy you thought you could probably just come from his kisses, but he went too quickly down your body and before you knew it he was biting into your underwear to pull them down your legs.

You lifted up to watch and what you saw made your heart explode and your lower lips vibrate in anticipation. There before you were the eyes of a man possessed as he stared straight into your soul and his mouth wrapped around the lace of your underwear.

God he was sexy. He always had been, but nothing had prepared you for this. He hadn’t even brought you to orgasm yet and you were already certain that he was a sex God.

As your thoughts swirled with his perfection, his glorious lips took up the position of your underwear as he slowly but surely wrapped his perfect lips around your throbbing nub. Your panting intensified and you found your hands fisting in the sheets as he began to suck. In between sucks, he would moan about how wet you were for him and instead of being embarrassed you felt sexy and powerful. Jimin had the incredible ability to make you forget his status in a moment of passion and only feel how much he worshiped you. Or at least that was what he did to you.

His fingers meanwhile, found your entrance and as your lips quivered he plunged a ringed finger deep into your hole without warning. You whined loudly as you threw your head back in ecstasy against the pillows. You felt him moan into your nub as you did so, which only intensified your internal struggle. You began panting his name as he continued to assault your nub with licks and sucks as his curved tongue would periodically flick out and tease your lower lips, whilst his first finger took a completely different rhythm, driving into you with abandon. The contrast of feelings and intensity brought you to orgasm faster than you thought possible. With a gasp, and a sharp inhale, you felt your silent scream as it racked your body with shivers. As you came down, and the sensations began to settle into over sensitivity, Jimin’s tongue licked up your liquid heat like it was ice cream. He even sucked on his first finger from ring to tip as he sighed into it at the taste of your release.

You think you might be in love.

In no time he was climbing up your body and smiling at your ecstatic face. You were so fucked out, you had no thought to be embarrassed. Instead you hooked your legs on his perfect ass and pulled him into you.

“Put that perfect dick in me this instant,” you told him as you were out of breath.

“As you wish,” he giggled. With no hesitation he drove himself into you harshly, causing both of you to exhale a fluttered breath. His forehead made contact with your own in an intimate gesture as his perfect lips pouted out to connect with your lips in a feather light kiss. You could have cried at the intensity of his gaze as he slowly began to pump in and out of you.

His dick WAS perfect, as you had said. Just the right size, not too big, not too small, and thick to stretch you in all the right places. And more importantly, he knew how to use it. He lifted one of your legs to drape across his shoulder as he ground himself deep inside of you. You had always been completely convinced that the G spot was a mystical imaginary body part, made up by women who couldn’t tell the difference between an internal orgasm and a clit instigated orgasm, but you stood corrected. As his hips rolled in a movement you had often seen when he was on stage (though admittedly, had never seen quite like this!) you felt that foreign fire burning beneath his pressure. You were about to explode again as Jimin’s hips quickened. You watched his stomach muscles clench and pull taught over and over as his wave motions grew quicker by the second and his moans grew in intensity.

“Fuck, I forgot a condom!” He shouted even as his motions grew more rapid.

“I’m on the pill. Shut up and fuck me!” You panted as you met his movements with your hips.

“God, you feel so good, Jimin.” He moaned at your praise, so you continued practically in a whine, “you are so fucking sexy, I want all of you! I’m so close again. Your dick is perfect! You are amazing! Oh my God!”

And just like that you both grew silent as you crashed over the abyss together. Your high pitched squeal came out even as your lips quivered and squeezed him of every last drop. He meanwhile groaned into your neck as his cock spluttered out the last of his cum into your waiting heat.

It took a while before you regained your breath enough to speak and when you did, you instantly felt embarrassed at the openly affectionate look on his face.

“I couldn’t wait to have you. As soon as you said it wasn’t just physical for you either, I’ve thought of nothing else.”

“I guess I should have trusted you when you said you would find me after,” you laughed, as you brushed his hair away from his face as he fell down beside you. His member was slowly decreasing in size, but you made no effort to remove him from inside of you.

“You should always trust me when I make a promise,” he said with intensity in his eyes, but immediately turned shy, like the humble duality king you knew him to be. “I hope it is ok that I came here.”

“Obviously!” you said much too quickly and much too loudly, causing Jimin to giggle and whisper ‘cute’ under his breath.

“I didn’t plan to come here just to attack you, but then I saw you and I couldn’t resist.” His eyes were on fire and completely set on you.

“I’m glad you did,” you said with a blush as you looked at your hands as you covered your face, “I’m afraid I would have been a mess if you hadn’t broke the ice, so to speak.”

“Why?” He asked earnestly and you almost laughed at how clueless he seemed.

“You have to be kidding.” When he didn’t respond, you sat up and looked him straight into his eyes as he lay back against your pillows. “You are Park Jimin, Lead Vocalist and Main Dancer of the Biggest Band in the world. It Boy of Korea, and literally the sexiest man alive.”

He smiled cockily at that last comment and asked you if you really thought so, but when you quieted him, he turned more sober.

“I get it. But all those things mean is I’m completely unavailable. My life is my job. I don’t have a lot I can offer.”

You tried to contradict him, but he stopped you with a hand on your mouth.

“Despite this…I find myself wanting to risk it all to be near you. I’ve been trying to get your attention for months, ever since you took a more primary role on my styling. I won’t lie to you, you are beautiful, gorgeous even, but I try my best not to pay attention to beautiful faces when I know it isn’t a good idea to get involved, but then you say things to me that completely change my outlook on something, or heal me with just a word, and I can’t help it…”

You were frozen in a seated position on that bed. Your cheeks were on fire at hearing this confession, and you opened your mouth to return the praise, but he stopped you with a kiss.

“Will you let me call you Jagiya? Can I be with you despite all the challenges?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stopped you again.

“Before you answer, please think about it. We won’t be allowed to have a regular relationship. Not only will we have to be secretive with the outside world, but we will have to be secretive with the company as well. It’s never explicitly said, but I’m not publicly allowed a relationship, and in the eyes of the company this means – they don’t want to know about any exploits we have. As such, even at work, we will have to keep it a secret. Are you ok with that?”

Even with these challenges, you didn’t even hesitate when you accepted him, just as he is and promised to have him in whatever way he was able to give you.

With that he smiled like a man truly content, and his eyes swam with unshed tears, as he fell down beside you in bed. His chin upon your shoulder, as his lips coasted across your neck.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate again.

To say the least, you didn’t sleep much that night. Nor would you again for the foreseeable future.

#jiminie #park jimin #park jimin x reader #park jimin ff #stylist noona #my ultimate bias #park jimin duality king #old lady writing fanfic

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cheezritsu · 4 years

Text

Taiwa 2014

Summary: It’s been a long time since Tsukishima has traveled back to his hometown, Taiwa. The last time he was here, he was moving out. But even still, there’s this unsettling feeling that he never truly left. Everything that ever mattered to him, Karasuno, Yamaguchi, his family, they were still here, like always. So why did it feel like something was missing?

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei X Reader

Word Count: 9.7K

A/N: I’m bringing what’s probably one of my favorite fics over to tumblr. crossposted on AO3 if you prefer the format. Also pain; lots of pain.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sitting in Yamaguchi’s car with the windows down, messing up the left side of Tsukishima’s (too long) hair, he recalls one of the reasons he left Miyagi.

He has resigned to not lean his arm outside, because the grey exterior has super heated to an ungodly degree, and he’s sure there’s a 1st degree burn that will be agitated the moment it slides against a volleyball court. He joked that Yamaguchi was trying to sabotage him, that maybe if they weren’t best friends he’d actually be upset.

But it’s not like Yamaguchi can block out the sun. He didn’t remember Miyagi summers being so damn brutal, especially not in June. The sun beamed down on them as if God had a laser pointer on Yamaguchi’s Acura LX, which seemed pretty harsh even if the car was old.

Sendai fades into the background, and the buildings get shorter and shorter like they’re descending stairs. Telephone wires criss cross the highways overhead, and incoming traffic gets a little congested. Yamaguchi leans back, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“It’s always like this now. Everyone’s moving out of Tokyo and coming up north and for what? So they can hike up grocery store prices?”

“That’s awfully prejudiced of you, Yamaguchi. Why would they raise prices if they don’t know how to cook?”

Yamaguchi laughs. “Tokyo boys ain’t shit.”

“Careful,” Tsukishima gives a close lipped smile. “Your country accent is slipping through.”

“Yours is all gone.”

“I never had an accent.”

Yamaguchi hums when he grips the steering wheel, jerking the car left as he changes lanes. “Sure.”

Tsukishima keeps his mouth shut, as if sealing the evidence.

The rip of motorbikes replaces the stalled car engines as his hometown becomes a highway exit. Like it’s been anything other than that.

Tsukishima reels as they start to pass familiar landmarks. He never realized it was all so close together; it seemed like trips that used to take hours were now whizzing past at the blink of an eye. It couldn’t be Yamaguchi’s featherfoot on the gas, either.

Suburbs isn't the right word to describe Taiwa. Hinata used to ride his bike uphill both ways to get to Karasuno, and all of his friends were spread out across the large expanse of undeveloped land. Animals likely outnumber the amount of residents in the town. When Kuroo used to call the team country bumpkin crows, he wasn’t exaggerating.

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, and Yamaguchi’s gaze flickers over. “What’s got you so upset? You just got here.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, then catches Yamaguchi still trying to look at him. “If I tell you, will you keep your eyes on the road?”

“As long as you don’t tell me something that’ll make me crash the car.”

“Just don’t crash the fucking car?”

“Spit it out, Tsukki!”

He grumbles at the old nickname. “I get enough of Koganegawa calling me that, thank you.” Date Tech’s school used to feel hours away; how long would it take under the wheels of this thing?

“Everything’s just. Closer than I remember.”

“Closer?”

“The places, I mean. The town feels smaller.”

A snort. “Sure is, hot shot. I see you got acclimated to Saitama real nice.”

There’s something charming about the northern drawl of Yamaguchi’s words he knew he’d hate coming out of his own mouth. “It’s not the same.”

Yamaguchi’s chuckle tapers into a sigh. “Neither are you.”

The blocks become residential, and houses he used to know are obscured into oblivion. The people that bike by are different, the parked cars are newer, while some faces are just older in a way that settles like lead in Tsukishima’s stomach.

And then he sees it: the house with wood paneling in the front, white everywhere else. Atop the stone pillars are the plants still taller than him, even though he’s upwards of 195cm these days. White undershirts catch the summer breeze on the clothesline, billowing like flags. Cross-hatched metal gate, a new car in the driveway. Faded pink door.

Your house. With a for sale sign in the window.

Tsukishima nearly breaks his neck as Yamaguchi passes it without so much as a glance.

“Did you see that?”

“What?” Yamaguchi checks his mirrors. “Did I see what?”

The houses blend together once again. Everyone on the street carries on like Tsukishima hasn’t been shot through the chest. He slumps into his seat, listening to dogs barking and the laughter of children as everything goes accordingly.

“It’s nothing. A kid fell off his skateboard. It looked pretty awful.”

Yamaguchi hesitates, but doesn’t question it. He minds his business, even when Tsukishima’s scowl falls into something a little more melancholy than usual.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tsukishima frowned from his post at the front desk, annoyed how your presence alone could stir...things in him.

It had been a long time since he’d seen you at the museum. Perhaps that was good for his job security, but when he saw you walking up to him in a wool blazer that looks like a mirror image of the one he had on, he couldn’t help but admit he’d missed you. He didn’t know where you’d been, and he wanted to ask, but you flashed him the 460 yen entrance fee before he could speak.

“I’ll take the 4:15 personal guided tour.”

He schooled his face to keep it flat. “How many times have I told you—”

“It’s your last day, what are they going to do, fire you?”

The sarcasm was dry, and there was no twinkle in your eye. Tsukishima sighed, taking the money and putting it in the register. His replacement, a quickly scouted kid that was barely his shoulder height, tapped away on the computer next to him. “Hey, Hiroto.”

The boy was obviously younger, probably still in high school by the way his eyes widened when his senpai called for him. “Yes, Tsukishima-sama?”

You lean against the counter. “Sama?” you mouth, lips curling into that smirk he hated to love.

“Take over the front desk for me. I have a tour to do.”

Hiroto squinted in confusion, but as soon as Tsukishima slid out of the booth the kid immediately took his place. He looked so nervous and unsure, and you, still leaning over the counter, sent him a wink.

“Don’t worry kid, just make sure you turn this over.” Your fingers toyed with a plaque, tipping it over so it read Closed. Then, you cupped one hand over your mouth, whispering close to his ear.

“This guy sucks at customer service anyways, and they kept him for a whole year.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes at your loud-as-all-hell whisper, pulling your arm.

“Leave the kid alone.”

“I’m just giving him some friendly advice!”

“You’re going to give him a lot more than that if you keep with the “friendly” attitude.” Hiroto looked absolutely mortified, standing like a wooden plank at the front desk. You hummed.

“How old is he?”

Tsukishima ignored your question. You looped your arm with his. “I feel like college students keep getting smaller and smaller these days.”

“That’s because you hung out with giants.”

You walked through an ornate archway into an octagonal room filled with glass cases of samurai memorabilia. The armour room had only a few stragglers left, all of them in silent contemplation. Against the archway, an employee Tsukishima recognized gave him a long glance as you two strolled past, but Tsukishima was more preoccupied with looking at you. He would sneak glances at your reflection in the glass, concerned by the indifferent frown you sported. Maybe it was the exhibits; samurais and swords were never your thing. But there was something he couldn’t put his finger on that made him anxious.

You either didn’t notice him staring, or you didn’t care. Waltzing through the halls like you were the guide, you two stepped into the completely secluded painting wing. Sharp angled walls jutted out to create more surfaces to hang the portraits. You tilted your chin, studying them like an art critic.

“Are you going to miss working here?”

Tsukishima shrugged. “It was fine. Gave me a use for my degree.”

“You regretting college now that you’re a superstar athlete?” The words are punctuated with tiny jabs to his arm, but they lack conviction. “Kinda seems like a waste, huh?”

Tsukishima frowned. The implication that the past four years spent being in your care and watching over you were suddenly useless didn’t sit right with him. “It’s not like I didn’t like it.”

“I know,” you sighed, moving onto the next painting. “It just seems like a detour now, doesn’t it? I mean, you’re a pro-athlete.”

There was a stress on how you said “athlete” that didn’t slip past him. He realized what was so off: you weren’t imitating the goofy poses of the long dead samurai anymore. Your all black outfit, once chic, seemed like you were in mourning. The heel clicks of your loafers brought his eyes back to you, where you stood with your hands grasped behind your back, pulling your fingers tightly.

Tsukishima drew up to your side. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

You whipped your head around like you’ve been caught. “What’re you talking about?”

He snorted. “You’re a bad liar, you know. Your accent is your tell.”

“Shut,” you started to say, though it lacked a hard T and it made Tsukishima laugh. “Shut up.”

It almost feels normal between you two. Almost.

“It’s been weird, you know,” you started, voice barely a whisper. You looked like you were talking to Date Masamune’s portrait when you said “I’m back at home, and you’re not there anymore.”

He didn’t know why you were saying that. He should have kicked himself in the ass and given you some kind of reassurance, but he was frozen, mouth agape with an unasked question.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Tsukishima always thought your profile should have been on these walls. You looked regal, even with your eyes fixed on the ground and an ashamed smile. “Who woulda thought two kids from Taiwa would be all the way out here, hm?” Your chuckle is self deprecating. “And now you’re gunna be playing for a Division One team in Saitama. Fuckin’ hot shot.”

You finally turn to him, head cocked with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m glad you’re getting out, Tsukki. It’s what you wanted, right?”

He can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with this image. Sometimes, it appears to him in dreams, your smile warped and faded like an overexposed photograph. The right words are floating in the ether above him, elusive, mocking. But he is destined to say the wrong ones.

“Yes, it is.”

You looked into Masamune’s eyes once again, like you could read the brush strokes and find the answer to the universe in them. “You deserve it, you know. Miyagi never suited you.”

The irony was lost on him, as were most things in the moment. Your presence had now soured his mood, but you hooked your arms through his like nothing was wrong.

“C’mon, this is the last time I’ll ever step foot in the place again; tell me something cool.”

You didn’t say “probably.” Tsukishima dwells on this now more than ever, because his response never addressed that. “Did you know there’s an anime series based on the Date Clan?”

Your laugh; that’s what he was more focused on. The way it lit up your face, and how you said “seriously?” a little too loud for the dead silent museum. Tsukishima hasn’t been back to Sendai City museum either, because this memory is pristine, and it’s the last one he has of you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tsukishima’s family is still the same.

His mother has kept her hair short for the past fifteen years of her life, and Tsukishima might have a childlike tantrum if she’d cut it otherwise. But when Yamaguchi pulls up to his childhood home, she steps out of the house with her signature bob, sans a couple more grey hairs.

The way golden hour makes his mother look ethereal never ceases to make him smile. She gives Yamaguchi a one-armed hug as he carries Tsukishima’s luggage inside, and Yamaguchi kisses her on the cheek like a better son would.

All Tsukishima can do is stand in front of her with his hands behind his back, head dipped with a bashful smile as his mother cocks her hands on her hips. He feels sixteen again, fidgeting with his fingers when she comes closer, giving him a smile that could coax anything out of him.

“You never stop growing, do you?” She has to stand on her toes to brush back his fringe. “Even your hairs’ gotten longer.”

“Can you cut it for me? I only trust you.”

A smile. He’s suddenly even younger; twelve years old, standing in front of the house and holding up the award from the science fair. His mother is so brilliant that the sun goes away, shamed by her beauty.

“Of course, Kei. Come on, your brother’s waiting.”

Nothing’s changed in the house. Muscle memory brings him to the kitchen, where the table is set for four. Yamaguchi sheds his jacket, but Akiteru swoops behind him, snatching it from his hands.

“I’ll take that, Tadashi.” He’s as smooth and polite as ever, grinning the megawatt smile he inherited from their mother. Akiteru may be a full head shorter than Kei now, but the slap his older brother gives him still makes him lose balance.

“You done growin’ yet, you little jerk? Huh?” Akiteru has grown less doting in years gone by, much to Tsukishima’s own (disgusted) dismay. Akiteru stops, looking him up and down before that teasing grin distills into something prideful. In a flash, he is pulled into a tight hug, the pats on his back more tepid and loving. Tsukishima leans in for only a moment, and then Akiteru holds him at arms’ length.

He suspects Akiteru will say something sappy, but Yamaguchi’s jacket is thrust into his arms. “Be a good friend and put away Tadashi’s coat, will you?” He gives an infuriating wink before helping his mother in the kitchen.

Tsukishima turns, even if only to hide the sentimental smile that graces his lips. When dinner is finally ready, Tsukishima sits beside Yamaguchi, facing his mother, and suddenly he is nine years old again; Yamaguchi is over for dinner and Akiteru will no doubt embarrass him, but it’s okay because mom cooked their favorite. Time stands still and the sun doesn’t set, not for them.

It’s almost enough to make him forget. Almost.

“Did you know the (Surname) house is for sale?”

Yamaguchi blinks, but his mother doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you saw?”

“It’s the one on the way here, with the pink door. It’s hard to miss.” Tsukishima keeps eating like its normal conversation--isn’t it?--but Yamaguchi’s eyes are trying to x-ray his skull.

“It’s been up for a little while, hasn’t it Aki?”

Akiteru, who’s sixth sense is his little brother’s emotions, clears his throat. “Probably since March.”

“They’ve been wanting to get rid of that house since (Name) left.”

Hearing your name out of another person’s mouth sends a ripple through Tsukishima, like he’s been punched in the stomach. Akiteru and Yamaguchi don’t miss the way his breath hitches, how he drops his utensils to crack his knuckles.

“It’s probably too big for them anyways,” he says, returning to his meal, head bowed so he can’t see their prying eyes. “They’re getting kind of old.”

“It’s been so long since it was full, hasn’t it? Their older daughter moved out over a year ago, I think.”

His mother’s words buzz in his ears as the conversation dornes on. Akiteru steers it away from the house, asking about Tsukishima’s appointed condo in Saitama, but he only gives one word answers through the fog in his mind.

Suddenly, he is eighteen, time fast forwarding as his glasses change and his hair gets shaggier, and you, like his mother, brush it out of his vision. Yamaguchi sits on Akiteru’s left because Tsukishima scowled at the idea of you sitting next to his brother. It’s not like it even matters, because you aren’t his: everyone in the room is showering you with attention and you have to divide yourself four ways, giving them individualized smiles.

“--(Name) really broke their hearts when she left.”

“Huh?”

As it turns out, eighteen wasn’t so long ago. His mother smiles fondly at a memory. “She was a firecracker, wasn’t she? Used to walk around like she owned the place. Her older sister was always more respectful.”

“Wasn’t her older sister in a rock band?” Akiteru reminisces.

“Yeah, but which one was constantly skipping school and getting caught with boys?”

“Younger sibling privileges. They get to do whatever they want and never get punished.”

His mother laces bridges her fingers, then leans her chin down. “But everyone still loved her, didn’t they?” His mother’s eyes are far away, like she was in the same moment as her son. “I miss her.”

Tsukishima doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he has to force the words out of his throat. “Why’re you all talking like she’s dead? She just lives in...wherever the hell she got whisked off to. Who knows?”

The entire table halts, staring at him. Akiteru and Yamaguchi share another secretive glance, and Tsukishima’s forehead throbs.

“Whatever, can we just talk about something else?”

Another reason Tsukishima revered his mother: she knew how to deal with him. “Of course dear,” she says, her voice never even missing a beat. “You haven’t even told us about your last match!”

“It was televised,” he drones, but Yamaguchi gangs up on him

“It was your first time playing against the Black Jackals, though.” Despite his years of practice, Yamaguchi still has some hesitance when he changes topics. “Was it satisfying blocking Hinata’s spikes? I bet you liked shutting down Miya Atsumu.”

There’s a twitch to his lips as he gives Yamaguchi a grateful glance. The rest of dinner goes off with little conflict, and Tsukishima groans when Akiteru pulls out strawberry shortcake and the alcohol that pairs poorly with it--beer.

“I’m not drinking that.” Tsukshima means it, too, leaving his brother and Yamaguchi to their own devices. His mother cleans up easily with the extra set of hands, and while they chat over booze, he drops his things off in his old room.

It’s the same as when he left. His old books are still on the shelves, the dinosaur figures covered in a thin, disrespectful layer of dirt. His first Karasuno jersey still hangs next to his door, swinging idly when he enters.

It, like Taiwa, feels small. Perhaps it’s because his bed is still full sized, and his feet hang over the edge. His suitcase doesn’t really fit anywhere, and when he sits down at his desk, he can barely fit his knees under it. He feels like he’s in a dollhouse, or worse; a museum.

The last time he was here, he was moving out. But even still, there’s this unsettling feeling that he never truly left. Everything that ever mattered to him, Karasuno, Yamaguchi, his family, they were still here, like always.

So why did it feel like something was missing?

There’s a knock on the door he didn’t remember closing. When it opens, the light from the hallways creeps in, and Yamauchi peers inside. “Why are the lights off?”

“It wasn’t dark when I sat down.”

Yamaguchi pushes the door open with his back and when Tsukishima sees why, he lets out a snort of disbelief. “Where did you dig that up?”

The Kahlua bottle has a layer of grime on it bleach probably couldn’t cut through. It’s barely half empty, sliding across the desk into Tskishima’s waiting hands. How his friend was able to balance the bottle, a beer, and a glass of milk between his fingers was beyond him; perhaps it was the years of volleyball under his belt.

Tsukishima isn’t light handed when he pours his drink, clicking the glass with Yamaguchi’s beer and relishing it with a long sip.

“You looked like you needed it.”

“I’m fine,” he hides his lie with another sip. Yamaguchi isn’t fooled in the slightest.

“I didn’t know they’d bring it up.”

“You guys can stop using euphemisms, you know.” His amber eyes are dull when he looks over his glasses. “She’s not Beetlejuice.”

Yamaguchi laughs. “I suppose she won’t appear if we speak her name three times, but she’s frightening all the same.”

“Frightening isn’t the right word,” Tsukishima thinks, staring at how the liquor and milk swirl galaxies in his glass. Maybe if he looks hard enough he’ll find the right word to describe you, but the thought stays unfinished.

Leaning on the wall, Yamaguchi turns his head to look out the window at the last vestiges of light. “Sometimes I think I see her in the convenience store; you remember the one we used to eat at after practices in third year?” Tsukishima nods at the memory. “I’ll just be standing in line, and then out of the corner of my eye, there she is. Like a hallucination.”

Yamaguchi’s glazed eyes come back into focus, smiling sheepishly. “It’s stupid I know. It’s just,” he stares down at the floor, shifting his weight. “I know she hated Taiwa, but I thought she loved us.”

The drink has gone sour in his mouth. Tsukishima sets it down with a heavy thud, looking at Yamaguchi with a blank expression.

“I guess she didn’t.”

Yamaguchi frowns, then tilts his head back to finish his drink. “I don’t know why I thought I’d talk to you about it,” he humorlessly scoffs. “It’s been what, five years?”

“You’re the one seeing her in grocery stores. She got what she wanted; she left this place, married her rich CEO husband, and forgot about us ‘northern folk,’” Tsukishima exaggerates the accent he fought so hard not to maintain. “I’m not going down memory lane with you. Not this one.”

His tone drips with finality, and Yamaguchi pushes himself off the wall. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he says, leaving the Kahlua bottle on the desk. “But don’t act like you didn’t want her to stay, too.”

Yamaguchi leaves him alone in the dark. His footsteps pound down the staircase, and as they cease, Kei slouches into his chair, defeated. He tops off his drink, taking a miserable sip while his feet push the office chair side to side.

He spins idly, and the years unravel at the seams.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Not so suddenly, he is twenty years old. It’s not a milestone, not in Japan, not anywhere in the world, and yet, you wanted to celebrate.

The day after his birthday was a lot more memorable than the actual party. Not because he was black out drunk, but because when he came back to your apartment after getting a fabulous nights rest, he was greeted with not just you, but your three overnight guests.

“What the hell happened to them?”

It was both luck and a curse that the MSBY Black Jackals were in town for a match. The few members that knew Tsukishima had come over for his birthday party, and the morning after they were face down at your kitchen table. Instead of their usual lively antics, they were slumped with hangovers, groaning in harmony.

“You’re too loooud Tsukki!” Bokuto yelled, making Atsumu Miya hiccup.

“Bokkun, please shut the fuck up,” he whispered, that melodic Kansai dialect shriveled and dry in his throat. His presence had been most shocking, but the way he called him “the snarky middle blocker” proved that he truly did remember him.

“Language,” Hinata’s tiny voice squeaked out and you chuckled behind your hand.

“They’ve been like this all morning. apparently they can’t head back in this condition, so,” you held up a frying pan. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Yer an angel, sweetheart,” Miya said, drawing himself up from the table. “If you had any painkillers you’d be a god.”

“You better get to worshipping then,” you pointed to the cabinet. “Bottom shelf, all the way against the wall.”

“Marry me,” he joked, and Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at your laughter. There was something about how your hair was pulled back with a headband that made him want to possessively kiss your forehead, but he held himself back.

“What?” You said, and he realized you’d been staring at him too. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“There’s nothing picture worthy here. Except maybe those two.” He jabbed a thumb to the duo rolling on the floor. “Might keep it for blackmail.”

“You can’t blackmail people who don’t get embarrassed,” you reminded him, beginning to crack eggs into a bowl. Everything looked so effortless when you did it; even Miya was impressed by how you whisked together the eggs in a homogenous scramble.

“Gosh, is there anything you can’t do?”

“Basic mathematics, hold her alcohol, go five seconds during a movie without crying,” Tsukishima ticked off his fingers. “Need I continue?”

“I can’t stand you, so there’s another thing,” you bit back, and Miya laughed behind you. You hummed.

“You’ve got a pretty voice, Miya-San. Where’re you from?”

He raised an eyebrow at your compliment. “Well ain’t you sweet? I’m from Hyogo, darlin’, more specifically Kawanishi.”

The stove made that loud tick tick tick! as the flame flickers to life. It’s like that scene from Howl’s Moving Castle, and Tsukishima is enraptured at the sight of you pulling apart strips of bacon and placing them in the sizzling pan.

“Kawanishi,” you muttered, and Tsukishima knew that longing, tired voice of yours. It always broke his heart. “Is it big?”

“Not really; maybe ‘bout less than 200 thousand people.”

You scoffed. “Where I’m from, that's huge.”

The setter cocked his head. “Ain’t you from Sendai?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the last consonant. “I’m nobody from the middle of goddamn nowhere.”

“It’s not like you had to bike uphill both ways to get to school!” Hinata piped up from the table. “At least you lived closer to Karasuno than I did!”

“Ah, is that how you know this guy?” Miya jutted his chin toward the taller blonde. Their gazes met momentarily, and through Miya’s whisky brown eyes, Tsukishima saw a black hole of hunger. He looked back down to you as you drained the bacon onto a paper towel.

“Yup.” You were proud when you said it. “Tsukki and I have been together forever.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were dating.”

Tsukishima didn’t correct him, but you did. “We’re not not dating. Hell, to be honest we don’t even go that far back. We’re both from Taiwa, which isn’t really weird because it’s a huge place, even though there’s barely thirty thousand people in it.” A fond smile played on your lips, and you fixed Tsukishima with an adoring look.

“Thirty thousand people, and I lived walking distance from you. And you never even knew I existed.”

If he wanted to kiss your head before, the urge was stronger now. He licked his lips, putting the feelings aside. “What do you want me to do, apologize?”

“Hmm, no. I think I’ve harassed you enough to make up for it.”

That little smile on your lips said it all. You busied yourself with cooking once again, and Miya looked between you two like there was something tangible. If there ever was a red string of fate tied to your pinkies, it has long since been severed. But in this memory, the two of you danced around each other in the kitchen with ease, plating breakfast for five like husband and wife.

Actually, it was just four. You returned to cleaning the apartment, quite a monumental task with all the drunk volleyball players you’d had over last night. Tsukishima had dipped after everyone was either safe at home or tucked in on your couch, and daylight was not kind to the aftermath.

“This is why I didn’t ask for a party,” he said, watching as you tossed beer cans into a trash bag.

“You should be grateful she threw ya a party, string bean,” Miya said in between bites of toast. The eggs on his plate matched the blonde of his hair, and Tsukishima can never unsee this. “Even more so that it was a rager.”

“Yeah! (Name)-san has always been so nice to you.”

Tsukishima choked on his drink. “You must have gotten the memory knocked out of your head with a receive, shrimp. That woman has never been kind to me.”

“I threw you a whole party!”

“I am once again asking when I told you to do that.”

He could hear your petty insults drift away as you walked out of the living room. There was only the sounds of utensils scraping against plates until you stomped back in, holding up a box that filled your arms. It’s wrapped up perfectly, because you were always good at that; in second year of high school, every member of the volleyball team brought their Secret Santa gifts for you to wrap. You charged everyone five dollars, except for him.

When you got closer he could see the dinosaur stickers you’d placed sporadically across the surface, and Miya snorted with laughter when you unceremoniously dropped the present in Tsukishima’s lap.

“Happy birthday, asshole,” you spat, but he could see how the corners of your mouth tipped up in a suppressed smile, getting wider by the second.

“Well? Open it Tsukki!”

“Yeah, I wanna see!”

The peanut gallery beside him banged their hands on the table, and Miya groaned, clutching his forehead. “I’m begging you two to stop.”

Tsukishima let them carry on in their torture for a little while longer, liking the sight of the setter gnashing his teeth. When it became too much for even him, he opened the gift at the seams, careful not to rip the wrapping paper. It was pretty cute, and he smiled at the visual of you sitting down on your bedroom floor and strategically placing the stickers, your head bouncing to a playlist he’d shared with you.

When he lifted up one long edge, he caught a glimpse of the gift, and his breath hitched. He gazed up at you in disbelief, peeling it all back to reveal the turntable in all its glory.

Tsukishima is a pro-athlete now; he could afford music systems that cost more than a regular citizen’s car, and yet he still proudly displays this exact one in his Saitama apartment, and he always gets compliments from the girls he brings home. Above the wall, in a frame never to be touched, is the first record you ever gave him; the one he will find out momentarily was sitting under the box. But he wanted to drink in that particular moment, the moment his heart stopped completely.

The other three leaned over to get a better look at it, oohing and ahhing at the sight. Tsukishima was too busy memorizing your proud smile, your hand on your hips, and how the constriction of his heart resembled love a little too closely.

“Because you’re always lamenting you don’t have one. Just so you know, the only presents you’re ever getting from me are vinyls.”

He should have hugged you. He should have told you how much it meant to him, but he just assumed you could see it on his face. Maybe he expected too much from you.

But he did say, “Thank you, (name).” with the most sincerity he’d ever used, and you’d smiled like you knew he loved you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tsukishima knows he does not have enough money to buy a house, and isn’t even interested in buying one, but that doesn’t stop him from putting on his (second) best clothes and working through whatever the hell he’s going to say to the person who opens your (old) front door.

It’s the second dumbest thing he’s ever done. The neighborhood is bustling today, and a couple people do double takes as he strolls by with his headphones up, cap tilted low. He’s aware he kinda looks like he’s undercover in a Marvel movie, but there’s only so much he can do; height is a curse, he keeps telling people, but they never listen.

He blends in enough not to get stopped, which may be yet another curse, because then he’d have time to recollect his thoughts and ask what the fuck he thought he was doing walking to your parents house in the middle of the goddamn day like they didn’t have jobs. Had his brain finally conked out now that he was a jock for a living?

Maybe so, because the faded pink door was finally in sight. From the street he could see it clearly: a realtor’s number under the brilliant bold FOR SALE, like it’s yelling at him to leave. But his eyes drift, catching the little details of your house.

Everything in his memories has shrunk and distorted, but not this place. It’s still as clear as day: the red brick steps up to the door, lined with potted plants your mother had a talent for growing. The iron gates have rusted with time, and they stand much shorter now that he’s 195 cm. The bushes were trimmed into weird rounded shapes, both indicative of the neighborhood, and still odd in your front yard. The second story balcony had the same sheets—the same fucking ones from high school! Tsukishima had to laugh.

And then his laugh tapers off as he realizes they’re yours. Purple with little moons and cartoon bunnies on them. The sheets from Sailor Moon! Your whine is an echo in his ears.

He’s just standing there, hands in his pockets as the memories bombard him one by one, crowding his brain, making him lose his—

The front door opens, creaking like a horror movie sound effect. Tsukishima steps back, watching in terror as a figure comes into view, checking his pockets before lifting his head up and seeing a man—a fucking giant—standing right outside his house.

“Hello?” he greets cautiously, stepping closer.

Tsukishima holds in a breath. Your father has gotten old; almost all the hair on top of his head has thinned and greyed, like a samurai in a black and white movie. He’s still wearing the same uniform from the manufacturing plant he was employed at back when you were in high school, his (your) surname stitched on the pocket. He holds a lunchbox in one hand, the other curled into a defensive fist by his side. Intimidating as always.

That is until he squints, and then his eyes light up with recognition. “Tsukishima? Tsukishima Kei?”

With equal hesitation, Tsukishima walks up to the gate. Your father pushes it open, and when he walks down the steps to be on even ground with Tsukishima, he laughs at how much shorter he’s become.

“My god,” he whispers it like he’s staring at a ghost. Tsukishima feels too aware of his long legs and arms, holding them behind his back when he bows respectfully.

“(Surname)-san,” he says, and your father’s eyes twinkle. “It’s been a long time.”

“So it has. How have you been, boy? I hear you’re playing for Saitama now.”

The recognition has him reeling. It’s too much, he shouldn’t have come. His stunned silence makes your father laugh.

“No need to be modest about it! We’ve been following your progress, you know.” He sounds proud, as if he was talking to his own son. “I always brag to my coworkers that a pro-athlete used to come to my house. Three of em, really! How fortunate you’ve all been.”

“Thank you,” he says stiffly. “It’s been such a long time.”

“How is your mother?” She must be awfully lonely without you two boys in the house.”

“I’m visiting her now. She told me your house was for sale?”

Your father was never an idiot. He looks up at the for sale sign, something heavy settling on his shoulders. “Both of my daughters have moved farther away than we intended,” he sighs, although there is no particular sadness in his tone. “I’m proud of them both, really, although (Name) has less filial piety than her sister.”

“She was,” Tsukishima cannot use the word that comes to mind in front of your father. “Something.”

Your father barks out a laugh. “That’s the polite way to say she was a pain in the ass.” Tsukishima’s posture visibly relaxes. “You couldn’t tell her nothin’. Sort of a shame she’s someone’s housewife, ya know? She would have done great things.”

This time there is a wistful quality about his voice, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. “You know, you haven’t been here in a while. (Name)’s mom would love to see you. You were her favorite of all (Name)’s friends, I think.”

A paternal pat on the arm makes all thoughts of weaseling out of this fly out the window. Tsukishima ascends the steps, the top of his head brushing just underneath the archway.

“They don’t make houses for your height, I’m afraid.”

“I’m used to it.”

He wasn’t sure why he expects the inside will be any different. There’s no new furniture, the walls are all the same color, even the books your parents kept out were arranged the same way from nearly five years ago. The only difference is you’re not running down the stairs to save him from the embarrassment of talking to your parents.

“Honey?” your father’s voice calls out as they round a corner. “You’ll never believe this: there was a professional athlete just standing outside.”

You mother looks over her small glasses from where she’s sitting, her brows furrowing, then raising as she places her hand over her mouth. Much like his own mother, time has been kind to her, the only signs of aging appearing in the grey that grew from her back roots.

“Oh my-” she’s standing in front of him with an awed look, and Tsukishima remembers that you and your mom have the same face, just older. He once thought he’d get to see you this age, maybe even in a house like this. His eyes fall to the floor, because your mother looks like the future he can no longer have.

She holds his arms like she’s going to lift him, her lower lip trembling. “Look at you! So tall, still so handsome. (Name) was an idiot for never making you my son-in-law.”

It used to be embarrassment that pained him. Now it was bittersweetness filling his mouth as he thought of something to say to that. “Yeah, she was” feels a little too familiar, and not at all cognizant of his broken heart.

“Oi,’ your father warns. “Enough of that, yeah?”

“Oh,” she swats her hand in his direction, then looks back up to Tsukishima with praising eyes. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”

Tsukishima rubs his arm, giving her a strained grin. He didn’t expect your parents to reopen the wound he’s done his best to forget. Time is supposed to heal all, but you are a fever that’s never broken.

“I came by because I saw the house was for sale.”

Your mother’s face softens. “Oh, you must have so many memories here. Gosh, you haven’t been here in a long time.”

“Years” your father pipes up.

“Years. You should head up to (Name)’s room, you might find something in there.”

This simultaneously piques his interest and fills him with existential dread. “Is that alright?”

“You’re probably the last person in Taiwa that has attachments to this house besides us.”

The sobering reality of that statement makes him drag his feet up the stairs. He looks back down, and he feels like he’s staring backwards in time. Every step forward is another year, and suddenly he’s anxious like he’s entering a girl’s room for the first time.

Your presence, though missing, is overwhelming. He remembers condensation from something dripping onto the hard word floors he’s standing on now, your heart patterned socks mopping it up behind him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was still up over the horizon, late July prickling Tsukishima’s bare arms with the last vestiges of heat. Your white dress shirt was speckled with little dots of red like a blood splatter.

“You look like a homicide victim.”

“You look like you swallowed blue paint.”

Convenience store slushies were actually a terrible way to beat the heat. They condensed and made the cup soggy, meanwhile the ice in the drink melts immediately after it leaves the machine. But Tsukishima wasn’t going to say no when after ten minutes of begging, Hinata proclaimed he would buy him “his last slushie of high school.” Tsukishima had just clicked his tongue, telling the excited middle blocker, “As long as you’re paying,” so he wouldn’t see how red his ears were.

Hinata and Yamaguchi chuckled at your little back and forth, while Kageyama slurped his drink with a seriousness that didn’t suit the moment. Bathed in sunshine, you all looked like bronze statues: immortal, eternal and infallible. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but Tsukishima still liked the analogy.

“You would think after spending like, every waking moment together these two would be nicer to each other.” Hinata hummed.

“I thought graduation might make them sentimental,” Yamaguchi sighed. His hair was long back then, decorated with multicolored clips you had strategically placed to match their uniforms. Tsukishima has told his friend once and only once that he liked this hairstyle on him the most. He doesn’t know if it’s because he has the happiest memories associated with it or not. Not that Tsukishima would ever say that.

Yamaguchi pulled his little ponytail taut. “And to think, I wanted them to get their happily ever after.” How a person could look so much like the tear drop emoji, Tsukishima would never know. Your disgusted grunt broke his thoughts.

“Ugh Yama, please,” you begged, throwing away your slushie like he’d spoiled your appetite. “Will you cut it out with this fantasy of yours?”

“What? Wouldn’t it be nice if my two friends got married?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

“I’d divorce him and steal all his money.”

“Now you’re entertaining the thought.”

Hinata jumped excitedly. “I think it’d be really cute! You guys are going to the same University right?”

Tsukishima bristled, staring at his shorter teammate with contempt. “That means nothing.”

“It means you still have time!”

Tsukishima hated the gremlins optimism, but in that moment, with the sun painting a strip of light across your already brilliant eyes, he’d had the fleeting thought that Hinata could be right.

(He can’t kid himself. It wasn’t a passing thought; it was all consuming, like a tsunami. He couldn’t sleep, because he would dream of domesticity, and your next words cemented how unrealistic this was.)

You waved your hand at Hinata. “I’m not the marrying type, Hinata-kun.”

(A complete lie, but back in 2014, he’d believed you.)

“Besides, what’s so exciting about marriage when Kageyama’s going to be a famous athlete by next year, hm? And you’re off to fucking Brazil.”

All eyes shifted to the quiet setter, still casually drinking his slushie. When he opened his mouth to speak, his mouth was comically purple.

“Marriage isn’t any less significant than being an athlete.” He’d said, sounding very much like the student counselor. Then he grimaced. “But you two would be an unholy couple.”

You broke into piercing laughter. The sound still rings in Tsukishima’s ears. “Kags, will you join me and Tsukki in an unholy matrimony?”

“You want me to get married to you two?”

“No, idiot, she wants you to officiate the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“I-“ Tsukishima shook his head. “Good fucking question. I’m not marrying you.”

He wonders from time to time if you’d been serious back then. It didn’t make any sense when you were third years, but in retrospect, maybe, just maybe you were hinting something. That sun-made sparkle in your eyes glittered with dimension, and underneath the mirth was something Tsukishima never understood. He thought he would have more time to.

“My original point still stands,” you said, exasperated. “You’re all going off to do great things, and I’m just going to Tohoku.”

“Oi,” Tsukishima chided. “Don’t make it sound so inconsequential when I’m going there too.”

“You're literally going on a full ride with your volleyball scholarship,” you rolled your eyes. “So, no, it’s not inconsequential. It’s just not the same.”

Tsukishima will not be able to fully read you until freshman year of college, so he didn’t catch your downturned lips or how you tried to blink away welling tears. He just thought you were malfunctioning. “You’re being weird.”

“It’s not weird to miss your friends.”

“AHHH! (Name)!” Hinata jumped high enough to nearly kick you in the head. He looked at you with teary eyes and you’re astonished, even though you’ve known him for three years. “Don’t miss us! Don’t be sad!!”

“We’re not even gone yet,” Kageyama grumbles, and you grasped at your heart, confusing him.

“Kageyama...do you care about my feelings?”

“What about his response gave you that idea?”

The black haired setter clicked his tongue. “I’m just saying, we haven’t graduated yet so you don’t have anything to be sad about right now.”

“I can’t believe the Kageyama Tobio is giving me a pep talk,” you dabbed at your eyes dramatically. Kageyama flicked water onto your face, and you giggled.

“Hey!” He was relentless, so you hid behind Tsukishima who didn’t have a quick enough reaction time to be mad at you. Not that he would say anything about the way your hands touched his sides, sending a jolt down his body. His face is probably as red as a slushie.

“Kageyama, when you’re rich and famous I’m going to send all the embarrassing pictures I have to the paparazzi.”

Yamaguchi laughed at the mental image. “That would take an hour long special.”

“A two part hour long special.”

“You’re a fake friend,” Kageyama said, and you prop your head on his shoulder.

“That would imply that I don’t love you all, and that could never be true.”

You used to say such brash things so casually. Kageyama, with his congested emotions, bloomed into a furious blush. Hinata mocked him, pressing his wet hand against his heated face, much to Kageyama’s dismay. Chuckling at the freak duos antics, you shuffled into Tsukishima’s side, who simply looked on with indifference.

“You’re such a sap, (Name),” Yamaguchi notes, and you gave him a brilliant smile, more golden and beautiful than the sunset at their backs. The only thing Tsukishkma laments is that the smile wasn’t aimed at him.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Tsukishima walked ahead of everyone, slurping aggressively on his slushie, trying to quell the jealousy that erupted in his chest. He didn’t have the right to feel so possessive over a friendly declaration, but it still worked its way into his heart.

Suddenly you were beside him, leaning forward to catch his expression. “What’re you hiding from?”

“Who says I’m hiding.”

“Ya know, Tsukki, you shouldn’t be jealous,” Your grin is troubling and sweet, because you’re a walking contradiction. Here and gone all at once.

“Who says I’m—“

“Because I love you most of all.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The door to your room is open. Tsukishima stands at the threshold, hands stuffed in his pockets so he can’t feel them tingle as he approaches.

Already he can tell something isn’t right. The blinds are closed even though it’s the middle of the day, making slits of light like jail bars shine across the floor. The walls are completely stripped of posters and pictures, but they never stripped away the paint. The blue has faded with years gone by, and everything is a hollow shell of what it used to be.

Tsukishima steps in. It doesn’t feel like anything special, which annoys him a little. But then again, how could it feel like anything different when the room has changed so much?

It’s a storage room now. Your bed is gone, your bedside table stuck up against the wall. Your antique dresser, the one you were so proud to steal from your sister, stands alone on the far wall, no clothes sticking out. Your closet is open with suitcases crammed inside, the hangers swinging idly and the floorboards creak under his weight.

It feels colder in here. There’s no peach scented candles, no window open, no nothing. This isn’t yours. This isn’t right.

It’s blasphemous what they’ve done. Tsukishima is not an irrational, angry person, and yet he has the violent urge to take a metal baseball bat and smash everything in your room. Not your room.

Tsukishima's trembling fingertips trace over a water raised circle on your bookshelf, a scar to mark your existence. And there, on the side, where you recorded the length of your growing ivy plant, the months going down down down like a timeline until they stop. Until you’re gone with hardly a trace.

Tsukishima balls his fists. You did leave something behind. He just can’t touch it, can’t see it anywhere else but his mind's eye and he curses because no one can see how you’ve ruined his life and continue to, even in this void you’ve created in your absence.

He stops trying to control it. The memory swirls over him like a hurricane, pounding against his skull as tears well in his eyes. He falls to his knees to take a breath, then lays on the floor, in the exact spot where your bed used to be; in the middle of the room, parallel to the windows. He can almost feel the Sailor Moon sheets, closing his eyes. His panicked breathing splits into two, and like Athena from Zeus, you’ve sprung from his mind.

You’re catching your breath. The drawn curtains turn afternoon sunlight into a diffused red glow. It colors Kei’s pale skin and blonde hair a dreamy pink, and you roll onto your naked stomach, legs kicking up playfully.

Through the haze of warmth and pleasure, Kei cracks open an eye just a little bit to see you gazing at him with a sickly sweet smile. Your index finger traces his collarbone, setting fire to the skin underneath.

“What’re you doing?” He croaks, and your chuckle sends waves of pleasure to his crotch. You drag your blunt nails across his throat, and he suppresses a hiss.

“Can’t I touch you?”

“No.”

“Hmm. It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

In all the years that came after this, Kei couldn’t figure out why this happened. It felt like—still feels like—a fluke the universe handed out to him. It never happens again and you never talk about it.

This memory is his most prized possession: he keeps it under lock and key in the back of his mind because the way his palm tenderly connects to your cheek baffles him. His hand slides down, knuckles skimming your jaw in soft strokes, like he’s carving you out of clay.

“You said—“

“I know what I said.” Your hand catches his wrist, bringing his long, slender digits to your lips. You inspect the cuts and bruises, how they’re bent and mangled from blocking harsh spikes and slamming down equally powerful ones. You kiss them like you could heal them, and Tsukishima wouldn’t put it past you.

“Did I change your mind?” He has a smile that’s a little too smug. You’re ignoring his face and he feels anxious; he wants your eyes on his so you’ll melt, so he can devour you while you helplessly watch just how you’ll go down.

That never happens. Not with you. You open your mouth and give one clean suck to his index finger, and Kei inhales through his nose to control the heat pooling to his abdomen.

You kiss the pad of his finger. “I guess I had second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts?”

“You’re trying to get into Tohoku, right?”

“So are you.”

“Right. If we don’t get in—“

“Don’t jinx it, stupid.”

“—if I don’t get in, I don’t want to feel like I wasted my time.”

His brows furrow. Kei draws up on his side, catching himself with his elbow. His body is thoroughly wrecked from giving you everything, and he shivers upon seeing the damage on your neck. But he pushes aside all thoughts of pleasure and stares down at you. “What are you talking about?”

Your hands drag down his chest, trailing the curves and contours of the muscle he’s built up for three years. His shoulders have broadened out and his waist tapers into a trim V. He is chiseled marble, a statue come to life in your bedroom. If only he were as permanent.

Kei follows your gaze, reaching down to intertwine your hands. The gesture is obscene, intimate, and reverent all at one. “(Name),” he pleads, and your eyes flicker up to his.

“You really think you’re going to stay in Miyagi? You, Tsukishima Kei? With the handsome face and the brains and the brawn?” You’re joking, trying to put on a smile but your voice is thick with emotion. You can’t hide, not after what you’ve just done. “You’re going to be, I don’t know, something great, and I’ll be here, like always.”

(Tsukishima, the one on the cold floor with his eyes closed could laugh. What he wouldn’t give to be here, with you.)

The old him didn’t share that sentiment. “So, you wanted to have sex with me because you didn’t want to miss the opportunity?”

“You’re missing the point, Kei.”

“Hey now, just because we fucked doesn’t mean you can get familiar.”

You try to pull your hand out of his grip, but his fingers curl, locking you in. He pulls you closer so your bodies are flush, and lays his head next to yours.

“You act like you’re not more than capable of getting out on your own.”

“It’s easier for you,” you admit, words nothing but a whisper. “You’re so bright, Kei, so talented. I think it would be cruel if you didn’t leave.”

“God you’re so,” he‘s stuttering, trying to keep the awe from your voice. He can’t hide from you, not after what you’ve just said. “You don’t get it, do you? How you’re the only good thing about Taiwa, about fucking Miyagi.”

“Kei,” you whisper, on the verge of tears. “Kei stop.”

“This is the only time I’m going to say something nice about you, so.” He tilts your chin with the hand that’s bigger than your whole head, gentle as a lamb. “I don’t want to be like all the other Karasuno grads, living and dying here.”

“We can’t do anything about it.”

“Like hell we can’t. If either of us get out, if I get out, we’re going together.”

“Ha,” you laugh dryly. It certainly knocks him down a peg to hear you reject his proposition. “Please don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“Well, you gotta keep up your end of the bargain. Get into Tohoku and we can take it from there. It’ll be you and me.”

“This doesn’t sound like the Tsukishima I know,” you say coyly, lopsided smirk making him crazy. “What’s got you so sentimental all of a sudden?”

“It could be that there’s someone I don’t mind being sappy for, especially if they’re naked under me.”

“I’m not—“ the words are stolen from you as Kei bruises your lips with a kiss. His hands turn your cheek toward him, and he kisses you into the mattress, all while climbing on top of you. He pulls back with a satisfied smirk, your lips glistening with (his) saliva.

“You were saying?”

You shove him and he falls back against your knees. “No, you were saying.”

Kei presses his chest against yours, kissing your neck, your jaw, then your lips in a softer kiss. “We’ll get out of here together. How does that sound?”

You don’t have a hopeful face. Your eyes have closed and you sigh, like you’re looking into the future and seeing Kei’s broken promise play over and over in your head. You two were young, but even you were less optimistic than he was.

You opened your eyes, letting your face morph into a happiness Kei now realizes is tinged with melancholy. He thinks it’s beautiful, in a tragic sense. Tragedies were timeless classics, like you.

“It sounds like you should put your money where your mouth is.”

“Do I ever disappoint?”

This brings out your real smile, beaming at him like the sun and the moon and every star in the galaxy. “Never. Not to me.”

Tsukishima lays on the cold floor with his hand over his eyes, lungs threatening to pop as he tries to exhale the guilt and heartache. None of the memories of this god forsaken town and this goddamn house hold anything but guilt, nothing but a knife in his stomach; the same one he stabbed into your back the day he signed on for the Saitama Spears and left.

He used to firmly believe that if you never try at something, it can’t break your heart. He took that attitude to volleyball and wasn’t proven wrong. Tsukishima does not know if it would hurt more if he’d tried with you. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose; he simply forgot. Somewhere in the shuffle, somewhere between keeping his promise and not, it slipped from his hands like a bad block.

He tries wiping the tears from his eyes. It’s not like thinking about it matters anymore; there’s no differentiation between the memories and the reality, only the same crushing pain.

And yet, Tsukishima finds himself dissociating into the ceiling. If he stops breathing, he can hear your laughter echo off the walls. Perhaps his ghost and yours can live here forever, like they do in his mind.

It’s the only way he can keep his promise.

149 notes · View notes

princess-peregrine · 3 years

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Hi! So I always like the requests you've sent my way so I'm yeeting one back to you. Lark and Piper sleepover? If you're still looking for promts for writing and want too.

@grimm-the-6th Thanks for the first (and only) prompt (so far) I would have this done sooner and finished but there was an issue, I've never been to a slumber party or a sleepover. I wont be finishing it as I also had no ideas at any point during it. My mind was a complete blank. I also don't know how to like, format on tumblr.

Anyone, feel free to send me Storm Hawks prompts, I'll try to get at least 500 words out of it.

Lark and Piper sleepover, 1.5K words, sfw, and heavy on references

“Master Cyclonis, are you sure you don't need to take anyone with you?” Commander Ravess asked the young girl getting onto her sky bike.

“For the last time, No.” Cyclonis spat. “I am simply doing something that requires my personal attention. If you need something to do I'm sure the Dark Ace would be happy to have a training partner.” She said, making Ravess salute and ramble off platitudes of disagreement. Cyclonis unhooked her cape and handed it off to a night crawler before heading off. The wheels making a satisfying purr as they left the ground. After making sure that she was far off enough and wasn't being followed, she took out her shielding crystal. After donning her Lark disguise and changing the appearance of her bike, she changed course for a little shop. She hoped it would still be there, the map she had was a little outdated.

After only around an hour of flying Cyclonis had reached her destination. As she landed she was surprised by how small the terra was. And more surprised someone would want to build a shop here in the first place. She kicked off her bike and double checked her disguise before she walked inside.

“You made it!” Piper shouted from inside. There was no reason to, the only other person in the store was the clerk behind the counter. “Come on, come on.”

Cyclonis gave herself one more reminder that she's allowed to smile in this disguise and have fun, and made her way to the counter. “I'm here already, what's the rush?” she said, maneuvering her leg over the stool before sitting down.

“In case you forgot, I signed you up to buy the dessert.” Piper said as she leaned against the counter. “I ordered the stuff and it's all here. All you have to do is pay for it.”

“Hey I didn't ask before but,” The clerk said from behind the counter, eying the cart stacked three layers high of frozen yogurt and ice cream. “What's all this stuff for?” He asked in a heavy accent neither of them could place.

“We're going to a sleepover.” Lark answered.

“A sleepover?” The clerk said perplexed. “Ain't you two's a little old for sleepovers?”

“True.” Piper answered. “But a friend of mine arranged it, there are supposed to be quite a few people showing up. Hence the large order.” Piper and Lark received a look from the clerk before being given a satisfied gruff and their order. Lark exchanged the gold and paper, doing her best not to touch the clerks hand during the hand off. Received a complimentary 'Have a nice day' and was off.

Piper had brought along one of the other Storm Hawks bikes, modified to carry the load under them. The ride wasn't long, to Lark surprise. The ship they were headed for was already coming towards them. A large orange ship, clearly meant for civilian flights, probably a moving ship. Everyone else had arrived earlier than the host expected and had decided to come pick up Piper from the store.

“Piper!” A voice called out from the crowd of people in the bridge, Lark assumed it was the host. A light skinned girl with large brown hair that seemed to sphere off in different directions wearing a very large green shirt came out of the crowd. With the smile on her face as she approached Lark could tell she was the host. Especially to know all these people and invite them one had to have a smile like that. “I'm so glad you could make it!” She gave Piper a firm hug and immediately moved over to Lark. “And who's you're friend?”

“Uh,” Lark started. She was distracted by the shirt the girl was wearing. She hadn't ever been to a gathering that wasn't formal attire only and was put off by the dress code. The hem of the girls shirt went past her waist but just barely below anything important. She wondered if the girl had anything on under.

“Don't stare.” Piper chastised before turning to the girl. “Rhondie, this is Lark. Lark, Rhondie.”

“Well it's nice to meet you Lark.” Rhondie said giving her hand a shake. Just as soon as the handshake started it was over as the girl turned back to the crowd of other girls and started over. “I'm still making sure everyones getting along. Why don't you two put that stuff” She pointed towards the desserts they brought, “and put it in the freezer for later. I'll get bowls out when it's time.” She said before making her way back to the larger group.

“Boo!” A slight push on the shoulders just to startle her got the effect the person wanted. Lark turned around clutching at her necklace. “Ooh, a jumpy one. She didn't tell you where the freezer is did she?” The girl was dressed just like Rhondie only this time in a purple shirt. Her hair was much more simpler and far less physics defying as her solid black hair just fell below her shoulders. “Name's Tish, come one I'll show you where it is.”

Piper and Lark followed the girl and unloaded the desserts into an ice room not far from where everyone else was. When they finished the girl giggled and grabbed both Piper and Lark by the wrists. “Work's done now get dressed, you two look like you're going into a fight.” And shoved them into a bathroom together.

After only a few seconds of stunned awkward silence Piper started to get undressed. Lark, doing her best not to stare started messing with her shielding crystal as her clothes started to change.

“Seriously?” Piper asked. “Do you really plan on wearing armor under that the whole night?” Piper had stripped by now, only wearing boxers she supposedly was already wearing. She took a blue Tee from a pouch from her armor and threw it on, it made for a very comfortable look Lark could not deny.

“I plan on always wearing my armor no matter what.” Lark said. “What if we're attacked and I need to get away so you can fend for yourselves.”

“Okay sure, but what if someone pats you on the back and wonder why you feel like metal?”

“Accident when I was younger, metal in my back.” Lark answered with a nod. She had settled on her new clothes. A sleeveless Tee with purple sweats. “How do I look?”

“Ready for a fight.” Piper groaned. “Let's go.”

they left the bathroom and started to mingle. Everyone else already had a few hours head start on getting to know each other, leaving Piper and Lark the odd ones out. After a while the group became much smaller as most of them moved to a higher room. Tish grabbed Lark away to help make snacks as Piper went upstiars.

“Having fun?” Tish asked as lark watched the popcorn spin in the microwave. Unsure if she was doing this right, doing her best not to claim this was beneath her. How tough, the life of a royal, Lark lamented to herself.

“Yuh-huh.” Lark answered, squinting at the bag that slowly began to pop and grow with pressure. She started to wonder if she could use a similar principle with people on ships, perhaps one where a party was going on.

“You already pushed popcorn, staring isn't going to help.” Tish hip checked Lark out of the way as she passed. “Why don't you get a bowl of pretzels ready?” Lark walked aimlessly around the kitchen in a rather dull search for the snacks before. “Top shelf of the closet!”

“Why am I helping with this anyway?” Lark said as she popped the bag open.

“Well you didn't look like you were doing too well in a crowd.” Tish answered, she had been making bowls of frozen yogurt for everyone. Pre made bowls so everyone could just grab whatever flavor off the table. Lark had a feeling that wouldn't last and the girl would be taking orders pretty quick. “You and Piper came together right?”

“We did.” Lark answered.

“I saw you two were both wearing some nice looking necklaces. Anything going on between you two?” Lark was about to answer before a loud beep went off and a strong scent reached both their noses. “Popcorns done. Why don't you take that on up. I'll finish down here.”

Lark took the bowl of popcorn up the stairs and quickly found Piper. She was talking to a girl in a red onsie with long blonde hair. “Oh Lark, this is Ameil. Ameil, Lark. Her sisters a guitar player and singer, Finns a huge fan.”

“Oh he's a fan alright.” Ameil said, seemingly just including Lark within the conversation as soon as she arrived. Not even slowing down to introduce herself. “There was this one time, oh we were like what, eight? He came over and tried to give her flowers and ask her on a date. I remember it was so funny, she had to explain that she was too old for him.”

“He didn't tell me that part.” Piper giggled. “How are you doing Lark. Feel like any imminent attacks are about to happen?”

“Ha-Ha.” Lark mocked. “If one does happen it'll be egg on your face.”

“Attacks?” Ameil asked. “Rhondie said she was flying us well behind atmosian lines.”

“Oh no,” Piper said. “Lark doesn't get out much, she's a bit paranoid.”

“I'm only paranoid until we get attacked. Then I'm right, and prepared.” Lark answered smugly.

Piper thought for a few seconds before laughing. “Too bad Storks not here, you two would have a great time talking about that stuff.”

“I once thought the same thing about my friend Peggie.” Ameil said. “She sleeps with a dagger under her pillow just in case of a break in. Told her she was insane. But a few months ago someone broke into my place so I know where she's coming from.”

“I do the same thing.” Piper said.

“Well that's different. You're a Sky Knight, you have to have weapons around. Peggie's just a seamstress.”

#Storm Hawks #grimm-the-6th #Lark #Piper

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trashi-bee · 4 years

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Night Shift

Pairing: Young Sub! Joe Elliott x Sassy! Reader

Warnings: 18+ (smut!), light hair pulling, light choking, reader is kinda rude asf towards joe 🤪

Lil Summary: Joe’s your new coworker and things haven’t been going so smoothly, after causing you a considerable amount of stress you finally voice your irritation, which he responds to extremely well.

Requested Tags: @satchie666 @white-lightning-625

Special thanks to @thewritingdoll for forcing me 🔫 to write for the first time in DECADES (bc I never finish anything ☺️)

If you don’t think it’s trash lemme know 💖 I probably won’t add this onto my masterlist until I get my new laptop lol I hate posting on mobile tumblr,, the formatting just makes no sense to me 🥺

——

Working night shift had its perks. The hastle of dealing with the general public was reduced and the atmosphere was a lot more lax. For a while you had a pretty good thing going, being the only employee willing, or needed, to come in at such bleak hours.

Unfortunately, your boss had convinced himself you were in dire need of a workmate in case an incident were to occur, which wouldn’t have been so bad, had the person he hired been anybody else.

Joe was incapable… Really easy on the eyes, but unable to learn even the simplest of tasks. You’d considered having him fired, but couldn’t bring yourself to lodge a complaint. Sure, he’s a little daft, but having him parade into work with a pair of form fitting jeans stretched across his tight figure was almost enough to make up for it, almost.

The undeniable sound of glass shattering detaches you from your salacious thoughts, irritation immediately bubbling throughout your body. Not even an hour into tonight's shift and he’s already managed to turn your mood sour. Dragging your feet across the floor in a huff, you push your way through aisles of snacks and refreshments, stopping to exhale before you enter the room labeled ‘employees only’. The scene you’re met with would have been comical, had similar instances not happened several other times before. With a look of vapid confusion evident on his face, he looks down towards the floor, eyes laid upon the fragments strewn around his feet. The coffee, freshly brewed, had splattered across numerous tiles and up his taut, denim pants.

“Uuhhh, I don’t know how it slipped-”, disorderly grabbing a handful of the nearest napkins, he drops to his knees, further soaking his jeans with the caffeinated beverage while haphazardly mopping up the mess he had created. You’ve made an effort to tightly pinch the bridge of your nose to cease your escalating rage, preventing a full-on outburst. Plastering a forged smile upon your face, you finally gain enough composure to speak, “I’m almost impressed by how clumsy you are”. Looking into your eyes through stray strands of brunette hair, he flashes a vacuous smile, “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I promise I’ll do better… just having a hard time concentrating lately”.

Squinting your eyes in confusion, you’re bewildered by his confession, what exactly did that mean? Pushing all thoughts of perplexity to the side, you chalk it up to nothing, perhaps he was having a difficult time adjusting to night shift. Now feeling somewhat guilty for your attitude towards him, you lower onto your knees to help, carefully picking up rouge pieces of sharp glass.

After a considerable amount of time and effort, the mess is almost entirely taken care of, albeit a few sticky patches here and there. Caught up in cleaning the room around you, you’ve almost forgotten about your uncoordinated coworkers tarnished attire. Wringing out the bottom of his pants, he still manages to hold a delighted smile, as if nothing could ruin his cheerful mood. Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as you were leading him on to be, as you find your cold demeanour now warming up to his rapturous personality.

Simply watching him move was a spectacle of its own. The way he carried himself was .. klutzy, like he was unsure of his next move, allowing his body to haphazardly lead the way. Looking once more in your direction, he flips his hair to prevent it from further blocking his vision, leaving it to cascade down the side of his face. Straightening his frame and leaning against the nearest countertop, he stops to speak, putting on a tone that, if you weren’t mistaken, was slightly apprehensive “hey uh... I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I’ve been wondering-”, his body seemed to tense with each syllable that crossed his lips, feet unable to stay perfectly grounded. Just as he was about to finish his wavering sentence, his hand slightly slides forward, his large paw knocking a new slew of objects onto the floor.

You watch in vexation as he fumbles once more, like a bull in a china shop, unaware of his lanky stature. As soon as he’d begun to redeem himself, he’d managed to piss you off further. Neither of you had moved, he awaited carefully to gauge your emotions, eyes darting from the broken mug that decorated the floor and your face, now painted with a blank expression. No longer did you possess the patience to babysit a man your own age, every single instance of irritation he’s caused you now bubbling directly to the surface, irritability extremely evident in your voice “Can you do anything right?”.

Scratching the nape of his neck, he goes to shrug, “hey no need to be so-“ stopping him mid-sentence , you interrupt whatever thought he had conjured and thought appropriate to spill from his unoccupied skull, “I’ll speak to you in whatever manner I please, and if you have any ounce of intelligence, you’ll shut up to listen”. Quiet for once, his mouth stays firmly closed for what seems like the first time since you’ve met him. Proud of standing your ground, you begin once more, pushing your limits, “since it’s obvious there’s not a single thought floating through that pretty little head o’ yours, I’ll make this simple, I’m tired of your constant mistakes- it’s not cute, I’m not impressed, and you’re gonna start listening to my instructions or I’ll have you fired”, nibbling on his bottom lip and focusing on every word you speak, he eagerly shakes his head in agreeance, too scared to respond with any other notion.

“Now, I can tell you’ve never had to put on your big boy pants and put any effort into a single task, so this is gonna be rough, but I’m sure if you try really, really hard, you’ll be able to function somewhat decently, ya?”, conjuring up a smile that was sarcastically sweet, you finish, clasping your hands together to signify you’ve made your point. It wasn’t until the red hot rage within you had started to disperse with the end of your speech that you began to notice one unreasonably large elephant in the room; the crotch of his jeans now tighter than usual, a large protrusion begging to spring free from its confines.

Your first reaction was to scoff, you couldn’t believe he’d gotten off on your tangent, excited by your frustration and cruel words. Thoroughly eyeing up his bulge, you slowly trace your sight up to his reddening cheeks, “that’s the type of stuff you’re into?”.

Finally speaking up, his voice seems shakier than ever, shy and wavering, “well uh- fuck, it’s not my fault you look so damn good when you’re mad”, hyper-aware of the confession he begins to jumble his words, “well, I mean you always look good but- oh god I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t speak to you like this-“

Stepping forward and lifting your hand to the bottom half of his face, you cover the entirety of his mouth, “shut up”, using your other hand to trace lines on his stomach, he retracts, surprised by your touch. With a devious look on your face, you provide him with a proposition, “Do you want me to touch you?”. Since you’ve removed his ability to consent verbally, you await a nonverbal cue, one he provides before you’re able to finish your sentence, an undeniable yes given to you via enthusiastic nod.

Laughing at his eagerness to continue, you taunt him, sliding your northernmost hand into his dense locks and pulling on the strands. The hand once dancing on his abdomen now applying pressure on his clothed member. A string of whimpers already begin to fall from his plump lips, he reacts as if he’s barely been touched before. “You’re so..sensitive, does nobody touch you besides yourself?”, looking into your eyes with heavy lids, he begins to grind into your hand, keen for more friction “nobodies ever touched me quite like this”.

Shaking your head, you pull at his hair once more, lavishing in the power you have over him in this moment. “Really? surprised you haven’t been put in your place sooner, guess somebody had to do it”, outlining his rock solid cock with your hand, you begin a rhythm of running your fingers along his covered shaft, moving up and down his length again and again. A few small droplets of sweat begin to form on his skin, the pleasure he was so eager to receive now turning bitter sweet. Huffing out a sigh and continuing to rock his hips with the motion of your wrist, he pleads “can you please touch it, like- really touch it”.

Increasing the pace you’ve set on the outside of his jeans, you get extremely close to his face, so close that he goes in for a kiss, but you make sure to reject it. “I really don’t think you deserve that”.

Grasping the countertop to his side, he clamps down in frustration, looking to prevent himself from going off the deep end, allowing you to break him so easily. “I promise I’ll do anything you want, really I do”, finally releasing your grip on his hair, you move your hand onto his neck, lightly applying pressure and running your thumb along his jugular. “Baby boy, I’m certain you’d do anything I want no matter what”.

The new pet name seems to excite him further, as he’s now reduced himself to a mewling, needy little toy, giving into your cruel pleasure, twitching and jerking with your every touch. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he sharply inhales, as if he was taken by surprise, “fuck, please don’t y/n”.

Applying much more pressure on his neck, you giggle, breaking him was so easy, and something you’re certain you’ll continue on future occasions. “Let it go, baby”, his orgasm was coming on fast and strong, you could tell from the way he squirmed beneath your unrelenting touch.

With one final thrust against your hand he trembles, a sweet sob leaving his mouth, making you aware that he’d actually came from nothing more than clothed petting. A small wet patch had formed on his crotch, physical evidence that he’d climaxed in his pants.

Standing up straight and composing yourself, you run your hands down your body to rid your attire of any wrinkles or imperfections. You’d been away from the front of the store for so long, you’re certain somebody must’ve been awaiting service and you didn’t want to look disheveled in front of a customer. Turning on your heels, you glance back at him before exiting to attend to your duties, “change the pants, clean up the mess you’ve made and meet me out front when you’re ready to learn”.

#joe elliott #HOE ELLIOTT #def leppard #joe elliott x reader #joe elliott smut #def leppard smut #smut #omg this picture.. of joe #so nervous i accidentally referred to him as joel in this and never noticed #sorry yall this is.. trash

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floweryfreelance · 3 years

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𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER SIX

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

The end of the day grew nearer as the sky turned dark, the servants of Phantomhive Manor making their rounds and lighting the candles that illuminated the hallways, foyer and dining room of the building. Over dinner, Ciel began to have trouble focusing on their conversation, something he hoped Alois wasn’t picking up on too easily. Every time his gaze arose from his plate with the intention of looking at his lover, they always seemed to be caught in the eyes of the demon Claude standing several feet away. All those years ago, he often felt threatened by even the mere presence of Claude, but knowing now that the two were responsible for keeping a secret, a secret that could mean the end of him if found out, it was leaving him more on edge than usual.

Upon hearing his name leave Alois’ lips, he snapped back to attention, unsure of just how long he had been oblivious to Alois’ words. “I.. I’m sorry, yes? I went away for a moment there.” He tried to cover for himself. “I must be tired from the long day.”

Smiling softly in response, the blonde looked down at the table, having noticed the other man unable to focus. It was fully his cross to bear, and in response he turned to look at Claude, much of the anger from the morning having faded but still a tension between the two.

“Claude, why don’t you go prepare some snacks for later and set them in the study?” He suggested, though a threatening tone still laced his voice. “When you’re done, go see if the other servants need any help. I’m sure that maid is tied up somewhere in god knows what”

With that, the butler nodded and left the room, though a glare crossed his face. It wasn’t as if Claude wanted to follow any of his master’s orders, but bound to contract, refusal meant contradicting his nature. Alois took this seriously, wishing he’d follow simply because he was masking as a butler; the lifestyle proved difficult for some demons.

“I was saying how I need to challenge you to a rematch,” he chimed, turning back around and picking up his fork, stabbing a piece of beef that was tenderly cooked to perfection and glazed in a hearty sauce. “If I can beat you once in chess, I can do it a million times!”

Sebastian stood by the door, stepping aside as Claude exited. He shared a glance with his master, earning a small nod from Ciel as a confirmation to follow him, and so he did. As Claude left the room, it was as if the air opened up. It was physically apparent how Ciel had been able to ease himself now that it was only the two of them in the room.

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to alleviate the feeling of dryness in his mouth he hadn’t noticed until now. “Yes, well,” he smirked, seemingly back to his normal sarcastic self. “If you’re to beat me in chess a million times, we’ll have to play at least five million games, four million of which I will win.” He bragged, never competitive about chess until he was faced with a cocky opponent such as Alois.

Seeing as they were now alone, Ciel decided to take the opportunity to ask a question he’d rather now have heard by either of their butlers. “So, assuming you’re staying again tonight,” he began quite nonchalantly, pausing to take a small bite of roasted potato. “Who’s room will we end up in this time?” Ciel’s teasing tone was always one of nonchalance; instead of acting playful he would simply act as if he didn’t care, always hoping to get a rise out of whomever he was speaking to.

Alois spoke with his mouth full, never having fully shedded his lack of manners. The man was never fond of them, never having made any particular use of them. “I like this game we’re playing,” he remarked, pointing at the other with the tip of his fork, “I suppose yours, since you’re so eager. I don’t think I’ll get a moment away from you, do you?” He purred, twirling his fork with his words.

Chuckling lightly to himself, leaning back in his seat. The moment would be stored in his brain, a painting that would crack over the years. Lovers sharing a casual dinner, he logged, romanticizing every second he was able to. And if he were allowed, he would paint in every age spot, prolonging the memory for the next generation.

The rest of the dinner passed with laughs and even more stories shared between the two men. Alois described his French home, suggesting he’d kick out the two lovers inhabiting it in a dramatic declaration of love. Perhaps with a staged fire, or an eviction notice, something of the sort. Those walls were to hold love, and he would only allow theirs to seep into them, no matter who he allowed into his own bed.

Illuminated by the fire, the two men had retired to the study once again. Alois himself was running his finger along the spines of books that hadn’t been touched in years, taking a particular passing interest in the ones on gardening. It was a hobby he found dirty and beneath him, but he always wanted to understand how things began and thus, died. He wondered what he could do in order to keep a plant alive, even preserve one after its passing.

“Do you read any of these?” He asked, noting the cover of dust on some of the pages of the ones he pulled off the shelf to flip through. “No interest in… horticulture? Oscar Wilde? Picture of Dorian Grey?”

Ciel sat in the armchair by the left out chess set, illuminated by the fire as he played with a Knight piece in his hand. He looked over at Alois, squinting slightly to see the book he had picked up.

“Most of them I read in childhood,” he commented, attention turning back to the chess piece. “Many of them haven’t ever been read. I used to have less work, and more time alone. Now I hardly have any time for such things.” Something in his tone was nostalgic as he recalled the days he would spend alone in his study or his bedroom as a young child. Before there was much work for him to do for the Queen, he would often read in isolation, always asking Sebastian to bring him a new book to escape into. That’s what most of them were, after all; escapes.

As calm and collected as he tried to appear, Ciel wasn’t always the most gifted at concealing his emotions. Though his facial expression was rather mute and nonchalant, something about him was still off; his aura, perhaps. It was the same energy Alois felt from across the dinner table. Something was still bothering him, and he wouldn’t speak of it. Likely, that something was related to Claude, one way or another.

It’s a good book,” he noted, opening it and flipping through to a particular passage- “ We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification… . Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what it's monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. “ He smirked, closing it and placing it back in its place. “How naive.”

The man looked over now to his lover, noticing finally his expression. A look of concern settled onto the other’s face, a frown forming. He strode over to the chair by the fire that he rested in, taking his place on the arm if it, allowing the velvet of his coat to buckle and wrinkle with the action. Soft, he placed his own hand over the other’s, staring longingly into the fire himself.

“Two pence for your thoughts, my dear?” Alois inquired, quiet.

Ciel shifted in his seat as Alois sat on the arm of the chair, making a bit more room for the both of them to be comfortable. He leaned his head into his palm and stared at the fire, his other hand being held by the other’s. He thought for a few moments before speaking, hoping to articulate his mess of thoughts in a clear way.

“This.. secret we’re keeping,” he began, the heat from the fire beginning to make his exposed eye feel dry. Ciel turned to look up at Alois, trying desperately to squash his unease. “I’ve kept secrets before- Hell, I’m keeping us a secret rather well..” His thoughts began to wander, and so he trailed off, his mind darting from worry to worry as he struggled to figure out what to say next.

Alois sighed, his other hand reaching up to run through the man’s dark hair in hopes of comforting him. True, the situation was taxing when it wasn’t blissful, and while the blonde did his best to ignore that he knew his lover wouldn’t be capable.

“Which part of it is the part bothering you now?” He inquired, smiling down at his lover, icy blue eyes seeking an answer before he responded.

Outside the door, Claude had been following his hated rival for the majority of the evening. The two had cleaned the entire manor, folding every sheet possible and washing every window. It would make his blood boil if he’d had any human traits to speak of. It was then that he heard his master, wondering if there had been a speck of information he could use for himself. Surely, there was something here he could glean from the experience. He stopped in front of the closed door, pressing an ear softly against it.

The Earl ran both of his hands over his face, sighing as he stood from his chair abruptly. His reaction came across as frustrated, though he was truthfully only scared.

“Which part do you think?” He spat, purposely speaking to the other side of the room so as to not make Alois think he was angry at him. “Alois, if that butler of yours-” He turned to face him, taking a breath as he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm down. “If Claude knew what we know, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. And ironically, that’s something I can handle.” He pointed out, beginning to pace. “I’ve lived most of my life just waiting for death to take me. But he’d likely go after you, too..” Ciel’s voice softened slightly at the end of his rant, the thought of Alois being killed making him feel as if he were being suffocated by the air around him.

Pouting slightly at the outburst, Alois felt again like a child in the arms of a demon that was so much bigger than he’d ever hope to be. He could kill himself off as many times as he wished; he would never truly die until Claude wanted him to and was able to collect his soul as a light snack before killing his lover as well. With his luck, he’d probably live through it and watch Ciel die. The thought alone made him feel like he was about to choke. Both his hands dropped to the arm of the chair, steadying himself.

“I just… need a way to do it gently.” He pleaded, locking his gaze on his lover’s face. “My revenge is over. If he knew that, he would be able to go… I don’t know- rogue.” He stated, gritting his teeth at the thought. “Releasing him from the contract, if he knew it was fulfilled, we could both die. I doubt he’d pass up an opportunity to end us both.”

Ciel raised a brow, turning back to face Alois with a look of disbelief on his face. “Gently?” he repeated. “And how, exactly, would you even go about that?” Ciel crossed to Alois, cupping his cheeks and holding his head in his hands. “I know you want to believe there’s a way for this to go well, I do as well. But there simply isn’t.” If one looked closely enough, they could see the fear in his exposed eye, his pupil small and quivering. Ciel dropped his hands to Alois’ shoulders. “He’ll kill us, or at least try to, no matter how you go about telling him.”

The young man turned away once again, crossing his arms across his chest as he rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, determined to calm down. There was no point in getting worked up about it now, not here and not like this.

“I’ll help you if I must. I’ll bring Sebastian if you think it’ll help protect us from whatever rage, wrath- whatever follows.” He spoke in a serious voice, completing his thought before looking towards Alois over his shoulder. “But we needn’t come up with a plan tonight. As long as we can keep this between us, we have time.”

The blonde was backed into a corner emotionally, trapped in a prison of his own creation. He’d wished many times that at the very least, Claude could be more like Sebastian- a protector, a friend, a loyal dog. That simply was never in the cards for him, tossed around like a nuclear bomb of emotion ever since he was young enough to feel again. Killing those who used him could only bring him so much safety, wrapped in the lies of a demon at the end of the night, every night.

He buried his face in his hands, mind swirling as it did when he started to feel any strong emotion. Things like this made him feel small, like a child again in his own casket back when the old man was still alive. He’d be stolen and used over and over again - it was time for that to stop, now in his adulthood.

“We… have to find a way.” He whispered, choking up as he lost himself in his own head once again. “I can’t spend my whole damned life afraid, Ciel. I want a chance!”

Claude had heard everything, processing what he’d just heard his own master say. He was… free? He had been free for how long? When had Alois figured out that Sebastian hadn’t been the one to bring harm to his brother? Who had told him that they weren’t tied by fate, but instead only tied through lies and time? It would’ve been his deepest fear for the boy if he hadn’t also been freed in the meantime. He no longer had to wait for an order- he could collect Ciel, exact his own revenge, and set the table for a long-awaited feast. Perhaps years ago he would collect Alois as well, but the scent of him no longer enticed him.. What a disgusting thought, eating him.

They had less time than they thought.

Hearing the quiver in Alois’ voice he turned to face him again, his expression turning to one of pity and regret. He shouldn’t have said anything. It could have waited another night.

Ciel approached him, kneeling down next to the armchair and gently taking Alois’ hand in his own. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his thumb tracing soft circles on the other’s skin. “We don’t need to discuss it anymore tonight. We’ll come up with a plan later.” He planted a light kiss on the back of Alois’ hand, getting his attention so he could look him in the eye. “We’ll discuss it later. Come to bed with me, it’s late.”

He stood from his position, pulling gently on Alois’ hands to stand him up from the chair. Their hands squeezed each other lovingly, comfortingly, as they looked upon each other. “Come now then, bed.”

Ice blue eyes focused on the other, now wet with tears that had only begun to form. He wasn’t sure how his lover was able to calm him down so well. He blinked them away, sniffling slightly and nodding. With his free hand, he dusted his coat, a distraction more than anything.

“Right, bed… Okay…” He responded, thoughts still far away. He followed reluctantly, dragging his feet the whole way to Ciel’s room. In a way, he wanted to be alone to think, speed up the process so in a few days he’d have a chance at living. Even he knew it wasn’t that simple, though.

A soft knocking came to the door, revealing the Trancy butler with a fresh change of clothing for the night and another damp towel. Despite his mood, it couldn’t have come at a better time, wishing to wipe the dried tears from his cheeks. He’d been crying silently to himself, pretending to admire the fabrics of the room and settling in by the window to watch the gentle rain hitting the windowpane. Although his lover was certainly aware, the blonde couldn’t be rattled from one of these moods once he got into them. Even with their distance, his lover knew this to be true as well.

He held his hand out, hearing Claude enter and feeling a familiar tingle on his tongue. These days, it was more of a burning feeling that betrayed the animosity they shared. He knew the steps of his demon’s feet, the sound he made when he was in a room, recognized the smell of his laundry, if only to give himself a couple more moments to prepare. The demon handed him the towel, wiping his face off and refusing to look over at him.

“Leave the clothes over there on the bed,” he ordered, distant.

“I actually feel like staying.” Claude uttered, out of turn. This was unusual- normally he would linger or bicker, but always followed orders. He didn’t have any agency- did he? Alois’ eyes widened, the thought crossing his mind that he may have been too loud earlier.

Now in his bedroom together, Ciel sat on the edge of the bed, opposite the room as Alois. He knew his lover well enough to know when he needed to have a moment, but desired the presence of someone he trusted for comfort. And so, that’s what he did.

His back facing the door, he tensed up a bit as Claude entered, once again feeling the air around him grow thick. The young man decided it best to not say a word to the butler, and simply endure his presence until he did his duties and left.

Upon hearing Claude’s dissent, something in Ciel froze, something deep inside him. Looking towards Alois out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other’s look of shock and worry, and his own face began to mirror the same expression. Between the three of them, the room seemed to fall under a dark and heavy cloud of dread, one that was so thick it made them feel as if they could choke.

Did he hear them?

Frozen in his place, Alois felt awash with fear all of a sudden. He felt many emotions towards the other, but never endangered. His hand slowly rose to cover his mouth, beginning to shake.

“Get-… Get out!” He screamed, turning to stand and face the butler, now only slightly taller. However, it was clear that the two were far from being on the same level with one another. Nose to nose, the demon smiled out of the side of his mouth, pushing up his glasses and walking away- only to meet Ciel and lean in close. The tension was palpable as he eyed the man, dissolved to just a child in front of him. He ran a cold index finger along the darker man’s jaw, lifting his chin so he couldn’t look away, a threat if there ever was one.

“Trancy,” he began, low, “I hope you remember what being alone is like.” He stated. With that, he straightened and pushed back his glasses, walking towards the door frame. He stopped just before leaving, making eye contact with the Earl Trancy, his last moment as a proper Trancy butler. “You won’t be coming with.”

Turning on his heel to leave, Alois stood frozen in complete shock and defeat. He dropped to the floor, fear gripping him in its entirety. He felt his body rock with sobs, but he wasn’t aware of any of it, the action not coming from emotion but rather absolute shock. They were in danger, and he’d willingly die with Ciel, but to die without him, no longer wanted….

Ciel had nearly lost all control of his body as he was faced with the man, sitting down but feeling as if he would fall if he tried to stand. His entire body went cold, clammy and quivering, and he flinched as he felt a gloved finger run along his jaw. In Claude’s golden eyes he saw nothing but darkness, a threatening void that left an lingering sense of terror as he walked away.

A ringing in his ears silenced Alois’ sobs and the sound of the door shutting behind the demon as he left. Ciel couldn’t move, completely and utterly frozen in place as his mind tried to make sense of what just occurred. The desire to hit himself crossed his mind, just in case this were a dreadful nightmare he hadn’t yet woken up from. But it wasn’t.

Abruptly, Ciel shot up from his seat on the bed, stumbling forward and grabbing hold of the bed frame for support. He screamed for Sebastian, louder than he had ever screamed before, his voice growing hoarse and cracked the more he screamed. It was only moments before Sebastian appeared in the doorway, a look of intense concern on his face as he rushed to his master’s side, helping him stand as he took notice of Alois crumpled up on the floor.

“Master, what is it? What’s happened?” He inquired, completely unaware of the events that had happened just moments before his arrival.

“It’s..Claude..” Ciel choked out, putting most of his weight on Sebastian as he struggled to stand upright. “He’s going to kill me..”

“Dear master, he can’t-”

“HE CAN AND HE WILL!” He screamed, looking desperately into his demon’s eyes. “The contract has been filled, it was kept a secret from him.. He doesn’t answer to Trancy any longer, he’s going to try to kill me..” Ciel spoke quickly, eyes darting back and forth between Alois and the door. “He’s gone, but he’ll come back. No one comes onto the grounds, and no one leaves, do you understand me!?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, admittedly shocked by the confession. His brows furrowed as he nodded and closed his eyes briefly, helping Ciel to sit back on the bed. “Yes, master. I’ll take appropriate action immediately.” The demon then left the room swiftly, determined to notify the other servants, both of Phantomhive and Trancy manor, and to search the grounds for any sign of Claude.

And so, they were left alone. The noble Phantomhive Earl sitting lifelessly in silence, and the stately Trancy Earl sobbing and balled up on the floor.

Alois pulled his knees to his chest in an effort to calm himself, still dryly sobbing to himself for a good few minutes in the dark of the night. He couldn’t yet bring himself to stand, reduced to a childlike state of shock. Claude didn’t even want him anymore… which in and of itself was hurtful enough. But then, he also wanted to take the one chance he had at happiness with him. He’d be left forever in a Hell of his own making, no solace to be found. The contract would leave him wealth and power, things while paled in comparison to companionship, once the only thing he actually wanted out of his demon.

Ciel’s screams echoed in his ears as if he were miles away or perhaps hearing them in a nightmare. Though, it must have been only moments before Sebastian found the other Trancy staff, Hannah rushing in to hold the man in her gentle arms. The Earl grabbed on tightly to her, knowing she would be the only one to love him if he ever lost his lover. She pushed his hair out of his tear-stained face as she got to work putting him back together. She whispered a few reassurances to the man, Alois hearing none of them and beginning to cough and choke on his tears. Holding a handkerchief to his mouth, she spent a few more moments with him in silence, the closest thing he had to a mother.

“Ciel,” she began, looking behind her shoulder at the other man, also falling apart at the seams. “I swore to his brother to protect him. I know now that includes you.” She stated with the calm only a demon could manage in the moment. “I will not hesitate if I must break rank.”

Still hearing none of the sounds in the room, Alois muffled his coughs against Hannah’s chest, raising a hand to hold the cloth to his own mouth now. He struggled to breathe, pretending instead that he was in the room alone and had the time to compose himself. He still shook and held the woman to steady his body. Hannah buried her face in the man’s golden hair, feeling the closest thing a demon could ever feel to fondness.

“There, there… you’re going to be safe…”

Hearing his name seemed to shock Ciel back into reality, suddenly unsure of how long he had been frozen in place and time. He especially wasn’t used to hearing his first name leave a servant’s mouth, but that was the least of his worries. He snapped his head towards her, wide eyed and pale as he listened to her words, and nodded to show her he understood.

It wasn’t just them, then. They weren’t alone in this; they had Sebastian and Hannah, the remaining Phantomhive manor staff and perhaps even the triplets, if they could be of any help. He would remind Alois of this when he was calmer.

That thought struck Ciel then, suddenly seeming to snap him back into the real world and truly analyze what was going on. Claude knew that he was free from Alois. Claude was going to try to take his life, and leave Alois behind to suffer. They weren’t alone in defending themselves. It was as if Ciel’s mind, in an effort to preserve his sanity, turned to his work related thought processes, working to keep him grounded and practical. This wasn’t the time for him to act emotional. They didn’t have that leisure.

Ciel rose from the bed, timely moving to crouch in front of Alois and cup his cheeks with still shaky hands, reminding him he was still there. “Alois, look at me.” he ordered, lifting the man’s head so his eyes met his own. “My staff are doing a search of the perimeter. No one is getting in here.” He turned his attention towards Hannah. “We’ll sleep in here tonight, with the door open. You’ll stand guard in case he returns tonight.” There was no time to make polite requests. He turned back to Alois. “He’s gone, Alois, he isn’t here right now. It’s just us, and we’re protected for now.”

Hannah nodded, leaving Alois with one last squeeze of his hand. She stood, turning on her heel to walk to the doorframe and prepare for a long night. It was at this moment that the triplets ran up, catching her in the light of the hallway. She gave them instructions, too low for either man in the room to hear, and they saluted, only to run off in different directions. While they weren’t huge fans of the Earl himself, they were bound to the female instead and heeded her every order. If her orders were to protect Alois, they would without a single pause.

The man shakily rested his own hands over his lover’s on his face, cold but steady. Through tears, he locked eyes with the other, searching for his reality. He blinked the tears from his eyes, sniffing and some clarity coming back to him.

“He… doesn’t even want me..” He said, processing aloud. While this was not the primary concern, he always supposed that if the contract ended, he would at least put the blonde out of his misery. As a last slight, however, he planned to take everything from him and let him sit in it. He scrambled through his memories, that night he asked for the demon’s help playing on repeat. He’d felt so wanted back then, but now he knew it was only until he found something better. The tables turned, the demon seeking revenge on him and Sebastian at the same time. Ambitious. “He… I….”

Ciel’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in that demon’s grasp as he watched Alois struggling to bring himself back down and ground himself. His thumbs gently stroked his cheeks as he leaned his forehead against the other’s, closing his eyes. “He’s evil and he’s angry..” He reminded Alois, hoping he could help him see that, after everything, the demon’s actions weren’t that surprising at all. “He won’t take me,” You don’t know that. “We’re protected,” He’ll find a way in. “He’s not going to kill me,” He will. “And I promise you, you won’t be alone.”

It was then that Sebastian reappeared, sharing a brief word with Hannah before entering the room and standing before the two young men on the ground, though his attention was solely on his own master.

“Anything?” Ciel asked quietly, looking up at his butler as he cradled Alois’ head in his arms.

Sebastian shook his head. “No, master, no sign of him. He’s left the premises. But I have staff stationed around the manor, and I’ll be doing rounds of my own tonight.” He gestured towards Hannah. “I see Miss Hannah will be responsible for the Trancy Estate’s servants, and will be here tonight as well.”

Ciel nodded slowly, trying to take deep breaths. “Yes, she stays here. But I don’t want you going far, you hear me?” After all these years, Ciel would be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel uneasy whenever Sebastian wasn’t near. “You answer to me and me only, and I command you to protect me at all costs.” His voice was low now, threatening even, but not towards Sebastian. It was as he said before: he had gone most of his life expecting death to take him at any moment, but he’d be damned if he left Alois alone in this godforsaken world.

The blonde, now coming down slightly, allowed his head to rest against Ciel’s chest. It was in this manner that he insisted on hiding from the world if only for now. There was a period of time when he was wanted by the demon for his own flavor and not the people he could collect in his grasp. For companionship, he posed as the son of a sodomiser, mingling with the family of his former abuser for only the reassurance he had standing dutifully behind him. He had not wished for wealth nor power, but respect and companionship. If only he had known what it would turn into, he would’ve taken his revenge only on the Old Man, the true Earl of Trancy, and allowed himself to be taken with the demon into a cold, unforgiving Hell.

His whole life now stemmed from those choices he’d made as a last resort when he was only thirteen. He wondered if he would have still met Ciel if he hadn’t been the fake Earl Trancy, but in this moment he almost wished he weren’t, all posturing and lies. Alive for naught but his rage and distaste for anyone who wasn’t him. and yet wanting someone to notice. Organically, someone had. If he hadn’t made that choice, perhaps even Hannah would’ve still eventually stepped forward for his brother, allowing him a chance at life.

Alois looked up into Ciel’s eyes, making sure that that one person, this one thing, was real. Claude had… left the premises. Resentment was one thing, but this was another entirely. Abandonment. “I… I want to sleep…” He mumbled, still quite out of it. “I’ll… need help… untying…”

Now the only two in the room, with the exception of Hannah’s presence by the door, Ciel helped Alois stand and walked him over to the bed. Without a complaint he began to unbutton the other’s coat, discarding it before moving onto his dress shirt and tie. He helped him undress silently, pulling a warm cotton robe from his wardrobe and pulling Alois’ arms through it. “Let’s not worry about night clothes, we’ll sleep in something warmer tonight.” Secretly, a part of him hoped the smell of him on the robe would calm Alois, perhaps even allow him to sleep.

After tying the robe snugly around the other man’s middle, he turned away to begin undressing himself, copying the same ritual and process of removing his clothes and folding them neatly on the table by the dresser beside Alois’. He, too, wrapped a warm robe around himself, circling around the other side of the bed to crawl in and under the covers beside Alois.

The two naturally turned into each other, this time with Ciel holding Alois tightly in his arms and combing his fingers through the blond’s hair in his chest. “We’re safe..” he whispered, letting the darkness engulf them, closing them in a small and comforting space that felt sturdy and reliable enough to be a fortress.

Whether or not the two of them would sleep that night or lay together in silence was hard to say.

Alois, unfortunately, was still reeling. His whole world shattered that night as he tried to build a new home in his lover’s arms. The robe made him feel only slightly better, smelling of the Earl Grey tea and merlot smell that encompassed the entire manor. In an effort to ground himself, he pulled it up to his face and smothered himself in it, trying his best not to think about his butler, betraying.

He thought of Dorian Grey, a novel he’d found refuge in the whole time he’d been travelling. If his sins and choices were portrayed on his face, he wondered how ugly that would make him. He’d reeled the love of his life into this mess, reckless perhaps, but he’d known no other lifestyle. Were he simply wealthy by birth, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have had to fight for bread, and traded his life for an endless supply of it. He was still clean-faced and lacked any wrinkles or signs of age, but he was sure that his sins would make him look like the monster he knew himself to already be.

The night passed as if caving in on both of them, Alois occasionally sitting up having heard a raindrop hit the window wrong or Hannah’s heel shift with her weight. No sleep came to him, waiting for the world to explode around them or for the butler to come back in through the window. For an hour or so, he even sat up in bed, just anxiously watching the night pass them by. This continued through morning, when the sky began to glow blue with the return of sunlight and some clouds became tinged with orange light. Though the night had felt long, he was surprised that they had in fact remained undisturbed all night. Realizing this, he looked up to Hannah, who had remained in the doorway the entire night. He wondered what orders she’d given the triplets, as he hadn’t even seen them to begin with. Without a word, Hannah flagged down Mey-Rin in the hallway, stepping away for only a moment to inform her that Alois was awake and she wished to retrieve him a change of clothes.

Just a short while later, Ciel began to stir as he felt movement beside him, weakly opening his eyes to see Alois sitting on the edge of the bed now and being dressed by Hannah. Now aware he was still close, he let out a short breath, relaxing his head back into the pillow. With his left arm he reached across the empty space to gently caress Alois’ lower back, stroking the skin with his thumb. He didn’t say good morning, as it wasn’t likely to be a good one.

Ciel wouldn’t claim he slept that night, rather he dozed while remaining on high alert. When Alois stirred, he would wake. When the wind was just a bit too loud, he would wake. When the floorboards creaked, he would wake. It was only in the last hour or two that he had really fallen into sleep, his arm draped over the other man’s lap until just moments ago.

The night before was still fresh in his mind. He was a target once again, for the first time in a long time. But now, he wasn’t the only one involved.

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