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astralkoo · 3 years

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the huntress | jungkook (teaser)

Pairing: jungkook x (f.) reader

Genre: werewolf au, hunter au, action, thriller, angst, fluff, smut

Rating: 18+ (graphic violence / explicit sexual content)

Estimated Final Word Count: 15-20k??? Maybe more bc it’s already at 7.4k and I haven’t even fully hit on the main plot yikes

Teaser Word Count: 1,780

Summary: You are a hunter. You are a protector. And you are a killer. These are simple facts. Facts that have been drilled into your head since you were a child. These facts are all that you know, all that you can rely on when the world around you is constantly changing. But, what can you do when one of the very creatures you’ve been taught to hunt, taught to kill, taught to hate makes you question everything you once believed?

Warnings: explicit language, descriptions of blood, graphic violence, death, killing/murder, jk is kept in a cage, panic attack, betrayal, sad jk, explicit sexual content; sex in a lake, unprotected sex (please be safe!!), sub!jungkook, dom!reader, virgin!jungkook, lots of whining, light dirty talk, hand job, fingering, jk has a kissing kink, oral (f. receiving), biting, reader calls jk puppy (all warnings are subject to change)

Release Date: TBD

A/N ; ah shit here we go. she’s been coming along pretty smoothly, so I thought it was the right time put the teaser out for you guys! I’m really excited to get the full fic posted and hopefully it won’t be too far in the future, but with my track record... I can make no guarantees. thank you for 1.4K followers!! I hope you enjoy!

You felt it building in your chest, swelling into something large and uncontainable. The sensation creeping up your throat, filling the back of your mouth and forcing open your jaws. Tears sprung to the corners of your eyes and your dry lips strained as they stretched open, the monstrous yawn finally breaking free.

Fuck. You are so tired.

It had been an exhausting day to begin with and of course, with your luck, it was your turn to take the night watch.

Around you, the forest was alive: crickets and cicadas singing lazy songs, the warm summer breeze rustling through the leaves, the waning moon casting a cool silver glow over the sleeping earth. Beside you, the dying remains of a bonfire flickers and spits blazing embers, choking and fading with every gust of wind. The darkness is slowly closing in, the eerie shadows of the surrounding trees creeping closer and closer with every passing minute.

Gravity pulled at your eyelids, the sweet lure of sleep all too tempting.

Crack.

You shot upright, eyes wide and alert, ears straining. It was too dark to see past the outer layer of trees, and a heavy silence followed, only remedied by the soft crackling of the singed wood. There’s a familiar prickle under your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. It’s dark, but you don’t need to see to know that there is something out there. Call it a self-made sixth sense if you will, something you’ve developed and trained into perfection over the course of many years.

Instinctively, your fingers reached for your bow. The sleek black metal scraped against the large stone it was propped up on as you swiftly and silently fall into position. Unsheathing an arrow from the leather quiver, you pull it back against the string until you feel that perfect tension. The side of your thumb caresses the cool skin of your cheek, and you close one eye, honing in on the dark tree line.

Come on. Give me a reason.

But you’re only rewarded with silence.

After a few tense moments, you slowly lowered your weapon, brow twitching in irritation.

“Get a grip, y/n.” You grumbled roughly.

You were on edge. It’s understandable; you were in completely unfamiliar territory, with no reliable knowledge of the land or its inhabitants to lean back on. The knowledge which you did have, however (that being the knowledge that the nearby town had been getting ravaged by a bloodthirsty beast under the cover of nightfall), didn’t ease the tension in your shoulders in the slightest.

After all, that was the whole reason for your troop’s relocation.

A little over three weeks ago, the head of your troop received a letter from a desperate mayor, pleading for your help. They had a problem. Almost every night for the past month, towns people that wandered the streets late into the evening when the sun had set behind the hills and the moon had risen past the horizon, whether it be walking home from a long day of work or going for an evening jog when the summer heat wasn’t so unbearable, had been getting killed. No, not killed— slaughtered.

You’d seen the pictures.

No human being was capable of doing what had been done to those people.

Ergo, the exigency for your troop’s presence.

This town didn’t need cops, they didn’t need police or detectives searching for some rampant serial killer. What they needed were hunters. More specifically, werewolf hunters. Which is precisely what you were. ‘Slayers of the Supernatural’, some might say. Your job was simple: find the murderous creature responsible for the bloody deaths of thirty seven innocent civilians, and eliminate the problem, once and for all. Pretty cut and dry when you think about it.

And for a troop as skilled and experienced as yours, finding and ending this bloodthirsty beast should be a cinch.

But, that didn’t make sitting out, so painfully alone in the dark of night with a killer werewolf on the loose any less unnerving.

Now, you weren’t afraid of the monster itself, you’d held your own against its kind and worse plenty of times in the past. No, it was the deafening silence that was most disquieting. The stillness. The lack of happening. It set you on edge, made it feel like you had to hold your breath to get the slightest idea of what was going on around you. The wait had always been your least favorite part of the hunt, despite it being one of the most vital.

You’ll admit, you can be impatient. It was your most notable cause of failure back in your training days and in some of your earlier hunts. But you’ve gotten better, become capable of capping your overzealous antics, improved in terms of self restraint. Though, you’d still much rather be in the heart of the action than sitting on the sidelines and waiting with buzzing anticipation nipping at your heels.

Exhaling heavily, you slumped back onto the ground, exhaustion quickly seeping back into your sore muscles once the brief flush of adrenaline drained from your system.

Then you heard the rustling of leaves. But this— it was different from the sound made when the breeze wisps through them. There was a certain force to it, a heaviness in the way the branches clicked and the leaves crunched. It was the sound of a body moving through the heavy foliage. A large animal? Maybe. Or perhaps it was something else entirely. Not human. Not an animal. But something in between.

Your hand was around the grip of your bow in less than a second, body swiftly falling into a low crouch.

It was dark. But the moon spilled just enough light over the forest for you to catch a glimpse of a silhouette: a tall, dark shape moving slowly through the brush. You had your mark. Now you just needed a reason to loose your arrow.

Never strike without absolute certainty that you have your eye on the right target. That’s what Junmyeon always drilled into your head during training after you attacked too early and without proper understanding of who (the dummy representing an innocent civilian, in such cases) you’d been aiming at. Because if you somehow mistook an innocent for one of the beasts you hunt— it was a thought you didn’t want to so much as consider.

Teeth gritting, you carefully followed the shadowy figure, feet shifting silently across the dirt. Suddenly, your boot clad toe suddenly knocked a pebble, sending it skittering across the ground. You froze, and so did the silhouette. Then its head whipped in your direction, and the very second you saw the flash of two unmistakable red eyes, your fingers released the taut string, sending the arrow whizzing into the tree line.

A shriek of agony ripped through the calm night air. The figure staggered, doubling over, before quickly righting itself and whirling around, taking off into the dense, black forest.

You didn’t let so much as a fraction of a second pass before you launched yourself off the dirt ground and bolted into the woods after the creature, a delicious combination of red hot adrenaline and childlike excitement immediately consuming you. It was this— this feeling, this exhilaration that you lived for. That you hunted for. It drove you in ways nothing else ever had. The combination of blood rushing through your veins and your heart thundering in your ears created an almost euphoric sensation. It was a high, thrilling and electrifying. But perhaps those weren’t quite the right words to describe it.

Maybe it was the fact that for these moments as you were rushing through the brush, low branches slicing at your arms and face, cool wind winding through your hair, you could clear your mind and focus only on this one thing, on putting every ounce of your energy into this one moment to accomplish this one feat. There wasn’t— there couldn’t be a single invading thought, doubt, concern. There was nothing but boiling determination, molten in your bloodstream.

Ahead of you, the creature rushed frantically through the dense forest, weaving and staggering around the bulging trunks of towering trees. It was trying to lose you. But you excelled when it came to the chase. The fact that it was wounded also helped; the dark red blood stained the leaves and mossy earth, leaving a clear path for you to follow.

You were catching up, the distance between you and it growing smaller and smaller with each moment. You could hear the creature's heavy footfalls, the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs. Within a few strides, you were within arms distance. If you were to reach out your hand—

Just as your fingertips grazed its back, you broke through the tree line. The creature, caught off guard, stumbled. A fatal mistake. Before it had a chance to recover, you rammed your shoulder into its back, directly between its shoulder blades, sending it stumbling forward with a stunned yelp. You hadn’t even noticed the massive body of water until he fell into it. Always be aware of your surroundings, you reminded yourself sharply, before honing in on your target. The water, reflecting the night sky like a mirror, rippled and spat around the form of the creature as it attempted to scramble away from you. But you didn’t let it get far.

You thrust yourself on top of him, pinning his kicking legs down with your own and making a grab for his flailing arms. A sharp hiss rushed past your teeth when you felt something slice into your arm, but you paid no heed to the warm, familiar trickle of blood. It only fueled the roaring fire of determination inside of you further. He was bucking up, thrashing wildly, trying to throw you off, but you held fast, angling yourself in such a way that you had the upper hand. Icy water splashed across your face, seeping into your clothes as you used all your strength to keep him down. But it wasn’t easy fighting a werewolf with your bare hands. Not even a wounded one. And you were quickly growing sick of feeling the piercing sting of his claws cutting through your clothes and biting into your skin.

In one swift motion, you unsheathed the silver blade hidden in a pouch sewn into the inside of your boot. Every muscle in his body froze up at the feeling of cold metal pressing threateningly against his vulnerable throat.

Panting through clenched teeth, you pinned him with a chilling glare.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat.”

#bts fanfic #Jungkook fanfic #teaser #the huntress #bts #Jungkook #bts smut #werewolf Jungkook #bts au #fanfic teaser #sub!jungkook #sub!bts #Jungkook smut

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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temerity

― the perfect job for an overworked, tired, and romantic you is obviously a stressful, demanding, but oh so aesthetic coffeeshop. your job only becomes better when a handsome redhead appears through the door with a loud bang, and you can do nothing but fall for him. or the five times kirishima orders coffee and the one time he doesn’t.

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, fluff, light angst, pining, coffee shop!au, modern!au, college!au, happy ending, five times he did and one time he didn’t trope

word count: 9,394

a/n: happy birthday to my beautiful love @ikinabi!!!! this was written for you based off of your favorite tropes including your favorite word, bet you saw this coming a mile away because my interrogation for this was absolute ass. also sorry for the angst, I couldn’t help myself! for the rest of you non-reds, this was a pretty damn fun piece to write. kirishima was modeled after how red sees him too, sorry. I haven’t typed that much in a single sitting in a long time, so it was p refreshing. like always, enjoy and leave a comment if you enjoyed ;-; (oh and thank you all for kiri coffee taste suggestions)

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O N E

Working in a small coffee shop isn’t exactly what you had once thought it to be.

For years you had been attending the small coffee shop just by your university. Most of your studying, homework, and late-night mental breakdowns had taken place in the corner of the shop, hidden from the sight of the patrons, which was conventionally the best spot for the strongest wifi.

You had been there so many times, having tried every single drink on their menu, and had gotten to know every worker there ― including the owners. So when the invitation to work there was brought up the one night you showed up in hysterics because you had lost your other job, it shouldn’t have taken you by surprise.

So now, in your final year of university, you stood at the counter. A textbook cracked open near the register light, the gentle coffee shop tunes playing merrily in the background. The intricate, familiar, and distinguished smell of both fresh and aging coffee beans with day-old pastries soaked deep into every centimeter of the room.

The coffee shop was typically slow at this time at night, most people, thankfully, choosing to keep their caffeine addictions primarily in the mornings. Or, as a student had once confessed, didn’t want to make your job more demanding, so they made their own caffeinated drink this late at night. Regardless, it didn’t matter; the morning and afternoon crowds at this coffee shop were busy enough for you to be grateful for this downtime, especially as midterm season was beginning to approach. With this upcoming season, you knew you would be pouring liters of coffee down red-eyed, broken-spirited, college students' throats in the coming days.

Humming, you flipped the page of your biochem textbook, information on amino acids and protein structure twisting in your mind. At the same time, you tried to absorb the chaotic, overflowing amount of information presented on a single page. With a pen to your lip, you frowned at the sentence, rereading phrases over and over again as you struggled to figure out just why Hydrogen formation was so important.

That didn’t last for too long, fortunately.

For when you were about to scream to your coworker who was hiding away in the backroom about how amino acids could go fuck themselves, the front door slammed open.

Despite the wooden door being extremely, almost stupidly heavy (to the point where there was a sign that clearly read: YES WE ARE OPEN, THE DOOR IS JUST REALLY HEAVY, outside), it crashed into the wall, causing a loud smack to rattle the shop. You, having been so absorbed in your studies, jumped at the sound. Your body flinched as a surprised shriek left your lips.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! It said the door was heavy, but I didn’t think it would slam open like that!” came an apologetic and obviously embarrassed voice from the entrance.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline. You focused your attention on the man who was frantically checking potential damages to both the door and the wall. All while he continued to apologize.

Red hair and red eyes are the first things you noticed about him.

Red hair that obviously was dyed, red, warm eyes seemed smooth and seemed to melt into sugary brown, and a rather large scar over his right eye that stopped just at his eyebrow. His smile was broad, exceedingly bright, albeit stiff.

Despite your pumping blood and the way that your fingertips tingle with your fear, a smile and laugh pressed to your lips as he fumbled to close the door behind him (although it was nearly closed by the time he fumbled for the metal brass door handle). Pushing up off the counter from where you were lying, you shut the textbook you had, waving off the new customer.

“No worries! Most people either overcompensate or can’t open the door at all,” you explained with a pinching smile, the laughter in your tone so noticeable despite your intent to keep your humor hidden. Your smile and softly thudding heart only seemed to increase stupidly as the red-headed man approached the cash register.

He was dressed horribly.

He wore an orange gym shirt, most definitely worn with age, and a bit too small on his… physique, navy blue basketball shorts that had white stripes on the side of his thigh, and black athletic crew socks with bright red crocs.

A living, walking fashion disaster.

“Um,” you stifled a teasing snort, “what can I get for ya?”

The man (was he a himbo? he seemed like he could be one through his appearance alone!) crossed his arms across his chest, lower lip jutting out as he read the menu under his breath with curious, wide eyes. His head tilted to the side, his gaze seemingly stuck on a single area of the menu, and with all the curiosity of the world weighing down on you at this one, very moment, you turned behind you.

“Anything catching your eye?”

“This is… uh, this is my first time in here,” he admitted, his gaze falling from the menu, catching your own eye when you turned back around to face him. His eyes were wide, clear as they were alarmingly honest; he paused for a bit before eventually adding, “actually.”

“Well,” you began, your own honest smile brightening on your face, “lucky for you, I’ve tried everything on this menu. Pick your poison, I can tell you what everything tastes like.”

His eyes widen in what you can only recognize as being overwhelmed, but you try to hide the way your smile is turning into a smirk when he begins to list out drinks.

Drink after drink he names, most of them being dark, black, bitter-tasting coffees, and you can see some hesitation in him with each name he lists.

“You don’t seem to know what kinda coffee you like, huh?” you eventually point out once he’s had you repeat the entire menu for the dark roasts the shop had.

“That would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve never had coffee in my life before,” he laughed partially in embarrassment, but much more in some underlying mirth and energy, he seemed to easily hold. Energy that seemed to warm your chest more than any cup of coffee on a cold morning. “I’m what you could call a coffee virgin.”

Now that got a snort out of you.

“Okay, coffee virgin,” you teased, immediately grabbing a kids' throwaway cup behind the counter. “You should’ve started with that!”

“I didn’t want to come off as uncultured! I mean, I’m down at the university, the uni down the street, I’m a university student myself! But being twenty-one and never having coffee before? It just seems… I don’t know so unmanly!”

All while he was confessing the reason as to why he had never in his life had a single cup of coffee, you had poured the simmering black coffee that he was most interested in into the cup. It was filled with only a small amount of the black, bitter liquid, just enough to give him a good taste of the drink. Placing the kids' cup in front of him with a satisfactory thunk, you grinned up at him.

His hand was pressed to the back of his neck, an almost shameful look on his face with just the smallest blush brightening his cheeks and ear tips.

“I think it’s cool you’re a uni student without a coffee addiction,” you smile earnestly, pressing the kids' cup closer to him. “Shows a different kind of man that you’re able to handle a workload without a caffeine drip.”

If you didn’t know better (and honestly, you didn’t, you were probably projecting the weird stranger crush you had seamlessly formed on him), you would have said he forgot how to speak. He clears his throat, his embarrassment fading into a small, soft smile, and he picks up the cup.

“Thank you for the sample.”

He takes a drink of the warm liquid, and immediately he seems to crush the paper cup in his hand, a suppressed hysteric of coughing spluttering past his fisted hand on his mouth, tears springing into his eyes. You yelped in surprise, hands fluttering out to smack him on the arm in a failed attempt to reach his back.

“O-Oh my god!” he eventually wheezed, his eyes staring down at the crushed cup as if it was some sort of vermin, a creature that had no use being alive but still pitied it. His other hand wiped at his lips as to rid of its taste. His head snapped back towards you, his eyes wet with betrayal from both his thoughts and taste buds. “Can you do something, not this at all?!”

You purse your lips for a second, thinking about just what could suit his apparent dislike for bitter, black coffee. With a single idea in your head, you leaned forward onto the counter, a smile back on your lips.

“Do you like cinnamon rolls?”

He blinked.

“Who doesn’t?”

“For here or to go?” you asked, head tilting to the side before you eventually remembered that the shop was closing in a few minutes. “Actually, it’ll be to go!”

“O-Oh, okay!”

“Can I get a name?” you asked, your hand grabbing the paper cup and a sharpie to write his name. There was no reason for you to write down his name; he was the only person in the shop right now.

“K-Kiripima,” he answers with wide eyes and red cheeks. Your eyebrows scrunch.

“Kiripima?”

“No! I’m, oh my god, this is so unmanly of me,” he bemoaned, his head shaking. “Kirishima Eijirou! I’m Kirishima Eijirou!”

The pealing laughter that erupted from your mouth stood no chance at being silenced. And so with an embarrassed nod of your own, you pressed off the counter, writing his name was the neatest writing you had, before setting off.

You worked fast behind the counter, making the specialized drink just for the blushing himbo of a man before you, well, at least until he interrupted your chain of thoughts and actions.

“Biochem, right?”

Placing the cup where the steamed milk machine was, you turned to look at Kiri(p)shima, who was pointing at your textbook with an all too familiar look on his face that told you he recognized it.

“Unfortunately,” you smiled at him, eventually shrugging. “I also go to the uni down the street.”

“Aw damn, sucks I’ve never seen you there before!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck when he glances up at you from the textbook before looking back down. “I took this class last semester!”

“Oh? Who’d you have?” you asked, continuing on with your work, your suspicion of him being a himbo slightly dwindling.

“Chaney!” he responded, and you looked over at him; you had him this semester, too. “It was the worst! I dropped out the first week! Didn’t help that I thought biochem was a split biology and chemistry course… teaches me not to listen to Kaminari and Mina… ah, I mean, my friends!”

Himbo indeed.

Laughing at his flux in judgment, you placed the steaming cup of sweet, sweet coffee in front of Kirishima, hands pressing onto your hips as you did so.

“How about this?”

You watch as the redhead grins at you, picking up the cup of coffee and drinking it despite your last second squeak that it was probably way too hot to be consumed.

“HOLY SHIT! This is so much better! It tastes just like cinnamon rolls! Bro, you have some serious talent!” Kirishima yelled, his eyes not quite as bright, but his smile definitely still as warm. “How much will it be?”

“On the house,” you admitted with a shrug, your cheeks warming with his look of disbelief. “I took your, uh, coffee virginity away and nearly killed ya, it’s the least I could do!”

Kirishima narrows his gaze on you, his smile softening in tandem while he looks over at the menu again, taking another stiff sip of the coffee.

You watch as he takes his wallet out of his pocket, and with a little effort, pulls out two thousand yen.

“For the next few customers then, yeah?” he smoothly states, already moving back towards the door long before you could demand that he come back and take his money with him.

“Hey!” Kirishima yells, his hand had opened the heavy ass door with no problem or strain. “What's your name?”

“Why?!” you yelled back despite your instincts screaming at you to tell him your name.

His grin stretches so widely you take notice of his glinting, almost abnormally sharp canines from the counter.

“So, I know who to blame for my caffeine addiction!”

You laugh.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you smile, your stomach flipping at the way he seems to brighten with that information. “I promise that’s my real name too, no mess-ups.”

Kirishima laughs, red staining his face.

“Guess we can’t all be as amazing as you, huh?”

You didn’t get the chance to even scream in your fluster because he was already gone. The heavy wooden door closed by the time your coworker emerged from the back, an all too curious look on their face.

“What was that?”

You shrug, a smile stretching further on your face.

“Hopefully, a new regular.”

T W O

“Kiripima!”

If there was a way for you to not giggle at the way Kirishima nearly slammed the door through the wall in his shock embarrassment, you would have liked to know.

“My name is Kirishima, y/l/n!” he yelled back, his cheeks the same color as his spiked hair. “I mean, if you want to call me Kiripima, that’s okay! It’s just… my name is Kiri-shima!”

“Sorry, sorry, Kiripima was too cute to resist!” you admitted with a smirk, your body leaning forward, elbows pressed onto the counter, hands pressed against your cheeks. “What can I get for you so late at night, Kiri-shima?”

Kirishima smiles broadly, his hands sinking into his pockets as he walks over towards you and the counter. He’s dressed much more normally today, he wore black jeans that are slightly dirty with some sort of white powder, and his shirt is a crimson red. It’s tight against his biceps but fits him much better than the last shirt he wore, and on the fabric right above his heart, lays a simple print: FATGUM’S GRUB.

“Nightshift, unfortunately, finally caught me this week!” Kirishima sighs, his shoulder-shrugging but the smile remaining just as firmly on his face. “It’s no biggie, though; it’s for one of my bros who needed the night off!”

“Oh, so you’re an everyday hero?” you tease, enjoying the way that he grins wide enough to show off his sharp canines before it humbles into an embarrassed smile. “How manly of you.”

“Nothing anyone else wouldn’t do,” he mumbled, his gaze falling to your shoulder in his embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, if you say so,” you relent, sighing softly before straightening up and smiling up at the red-haired man who was busy taking in your menu once again with significant hesitation. “What can I get for you this time, Kirishima?”

Kirishima’s eyes glinted over, a laugh once again rumbling in his chest before he sighed, “What do you suggest for me, y/l/n?”

And so, at nearly ten p.m., you stood behind the cash register, Kirishima’s coffee long since given to him, and the two of you were intently talking, laughter and enthusiastic yelling being exchanged fervently.

You learned his name was Kirishima Eijirou; he was twenty-one years old, born and raised in Musutafu. You knew that while yes, he most definitely a himbo (something you confirmed with strategic questions, and not straight up asking him), he was an engineering major! He played a ton of sports but seemed to prefer heavy contact sports, rugby, and soccer being his top choice of sport. You even found out that this man (who often used the term manly in a way that meant ‘approved by Kirishima’) was the biggest fan of the old movies and comic book hero Crimson Riot. You figured this out when he pulled out his phone to show you a picture of his new goldfish and accidentally revealed his lock screen being him and the famous actor behind the superhero.

“You’re telling me you’ve NEVER seen an All Might movie, but you’ve seen ALL the Crimson Riot movies?!” Kirishima yelled, his arms shooting out past the counter to grab you by the shoulders, shaking you intensely with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face.

“Be careful with your coffee!” you squealed, trying to keep his elbow from knocking over his cup that had still gone untouched.

“Y/L/N!” he exasperated, pulling himself in closer to you, his eyes wide and bright, quickly drowning you with his radiant energy and overwhelming enthusiasm. “Answer!!!”

“Oh my god! Yes, Kirishima! I have never seen an All Might film but have seen every single Crimson Riot film!” you confess, your cheeks hurting from your laughter, and growing sense of embarrassment because everyone in the world has seen the All Might movies!

Hell, even people who weren’t from Japan had seen them all!

The movie superhero was a blockbuster smash with every movie they did!

“Why not?! How not?!”

“Because my dad never let me watch them growing up because the guide warnings,” you wheezed, your stomach cramping with your laughter, your hands grabbing onto his sturdy ― and holy fuck, were they sturdy ― biceps trying to ease his excited(???) shaking. “Besides, my dad is a hardcore Crimson Riot fan; he would have a heart attack and die if he heard that I went to go watch an All Might film.”

“Holy shit,” Kirishima breathed, a glazed over glee washing over his face in some euphoric bliss. “Your dad… is so manly, I think I could marry him.”

Your laughter only grew when Kirishima wiped tears from his eyes, and you patted his arm in your condolences.

“I think he would not take to someone claiming to be the biggest Crimson Riot fan!”

Kirishima grin only grew, “Bet he wouldn’t!”

You tilted your head, your smile becoming a bit lopsided, ready to take that bet right there, right now. You knew your dad was most definitely still awake at this time.

But the words never got to pass your mouth because as soon as you opened your mouth to speak, a loud ringtone interrupted you.

You also hated the fact that you recognized the ringtone to be the Crimson Riots theme song.

Kirishima’s warm hands pulled away from you, his overeagerness abandoned as he pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear without checking who was calling.

“It’s Ei, talk to me.”

The nickname of his first name caused your stomach to flip, his smooth baritone voice easily sending shivers down your spine. Still, with the mention of such an intimate nickname… the chill crawling down your spine, teasing every nerve in your system, was inevitable.

You watched Kirishima’s face. The way that he easily took in the words of whoever was on the other side of the line. The smile on his face remained if only muted just a bit as he agreed left and right with whoever was on the other side.

“Nah, I can get there in a few! Don’t worry about it, Fat, I normally show up early to shifts regardless, I don’t blame ya! Yeah, yeah, okay, yeah! Yeah! See ya soon!”

Disappointment blossomed in your chest, the horrible feeling of having to say goodbye to a customer who had only come in twice! Twice! Most times, you never wanted to see any customers, even some regulars, more than once in your lifetime! But again, there had been no other customer in your life as a barista that had been as kind, friendly, and hot as Kirishima.

“Well, I gotta go now,” Kirishima softly sighed, his lips pressing into a half-smile, his eyebrows scrunched together in his (maybe) reluctance to leave. “Fat, er, my boss, got overloaded with the late-night munchies, so…”

“Time for the fanboy to leave?” you finished for him, your fingers looping into your apron, your eyes glancing at the clock that showed you that you should’ve been cleaning up five minutes ago.

“Yeah, sadly!” Kirishima laughed, his hand grabbing the coffee and pocketing his phone as he made his way to the front door. You followed after him, ready to lock the door after him in case some desperate customer tried to come in. “Well, thank you for the coffee again! I gotta see just how much you know about the greatest superhero ever the next time I drop by!”

You smiled.

“Next time?”

Kirishima paused for a bit, “Yeah, next time!” he pushed through the front door, and you watched as he exited the shop, his body turning so he was looking at you while he walked backward. “I told ya, y/l/n, it's pretty unmanly of you, but you got me hooked on caffeine!”

There was no time for you to argue otherwise because he turned on his heel just as quickly and began jogging off to his own job.

“You’ll close up by yourself?” your bitchy coworker asked, and you startled, seeing that she was also pushing past the door. “You kept us over way later because you can’t stop flirting with the customers, which by the way, is against protocol.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, whatever, bye.”

T H R E E

“Next in line, please!”

It was busy.

As you had once thought many, many weeks ago, the midterm season had finally come with full force, and it was horrible. There were at least four crying college students found in any of the studying rooms the shop had from sun up to sundown. Some of the students were found soaking their tears onto the worn leather sofa, some moments from dying on the plenty of counters and tables.

On multiple days there had been students who stayed the entire day, drinking whole pots worth of black coffee when they were ordinarily sweet coffee drinkers. You had to give some freshmen girl a tight hug the other day who was seconds from taking a W on her transcripts because she absolutely could no longer handle her math class. You had the unfortunate time of giving a student the news that no, today was not Thursday, it’s Friday, so yes… they missed their midterm for a professor who would refuse to reschedule any missed exam.

But it wasn’t all too bad.

Kirishima had been showing up practically every day now; he would order a pastry every time, opting out of a drink by showing you his three-liter water bottle. It was nice to have someone like Kirishima around (partially because you usually worked with a younger coworker,) who was both strong and sweet. He wasn’t majorly concerned about his midterms, stating that he had study groups with his friends and had been on top of his game and only came to the coffee shop to do light personal studying. So, during your mad dashes to make the 2,783rd cup of coffee within your shift, you couldn’t help but glance over at Kirishima, who was comforting crying students. When they weren’t crying, and you weren’t desperately trying to appease the caffeine raged customers, he chatted with you, seated on the counter by the coffee counter.

Having him around so much was actually both making your day better and much, much worse. On the one hand, that meant that since you were paired up with coworkers you didn’t get along with, you had a fantastic company that literally made the nights go by so fast as you and he became closer and closer friends. But, on the other hand, it also made your once attraction to him, having been solely based on physical looks to bleed over to personal traits, and you wanted to cry with every poor attempt of flirting that flew over his head.

However, you did get to learn that 1. he did, in fact, dye his hair red because you had the privilege of seeing his black roots. And that 2. despite his phone being filled with the craziest metal and rock songs, he really only listened to a playlist buried in his phone that was filled with soft acoustic guitar and sweet bubblegum pop songs. It was great.

But it was no time to think about your tall, red-headed crush. You had much more pressing issues with the large coffee crowd in front of you. It was rush hour, and since you were scheduled for tonight's shift, they asked if you wanted more hours for today since they were training someone new.

Obviously, you had agreed.

You had forgotten the horrors of rush that included sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused insanity of students coupled with the ever-demanding adults with jobs that they very much needed to return too. It was always horrific.

But you for sure never expected to see your crush before you.

“Kiri!” you smiled, the smile on your face was one of pure exhaustion and joy of seeing your friend crush. Your gaze quickly dropped away from him, your eyes returning to the paper cups you held, writing in their orders and name as quickly as you could. “How can I help you?”

Kirishima visibly gulped, and you froze a bit before setting down the large order on the counter for your coworkers to eventually get to. You knew by the pile-up on orders you would be switched out with the new hire after Kirishima and the person behind him.

“I, uh, I need to ask you something!” Kirishima spoke sharply, his arms stiff at his side. His usual kind and gentle smile on his face is mechanic and dull. He was… he was sweating? Pity filled your stomach; maybe he had done terribly on a midterm.

“Do you need a new coffee rec?” you immediately ask your mind on the set menu behind you, trying to come up with a coffee just sweet enough for the charming man in front of you. “You haven’t had a drink in a while, I don’t remember what you had last, though.”

“No, not that! I have a… well, I have a confession!” Kirishima tries again, his body somehow becoming even stiffer as he nods his head in growing speeds. “Yup! A confession!”

“Would ya hurry it up, kid! Some of us got work to get to!” came a crabby voice from behind Kirishima, and you winced, looking past your crush to the eldering man who looked like he was eating and shitting stress every day for the past three years.

“Sir, please calm down, it won’t take too long,” you frowned, not at all happy with the sheer impatience of the customer. You turned back to Kirishima, an apologetic look on your face. “But a confession? Okay, well, actually… I have one for you as well!” Maybe you could get yourself to confess you liked him?

But the old man’s interruption seemed to have calmed Kirishima down significantly, who snapped out of his haze.

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the man behind him, bowing deeply for his troubles before facing you again and laughed. The palm of his hand hit his forehead as he groaned lowly. “Sorry, this is so unmanly of me, y/l/n! I mean, I shouldn’t even be doing this because you’re working, but I finally… I just…”

He trailed off, and you found it impossible to follow his train of thought, something you weren’t too bad at doing.

“Just what?”

It was with that the world seemed to still.

The noise of the busy coffee shop, the hustling of your coworkers, the chattering of the studying students, and business calls going mute as you stared up into Kirishima’s red, comprehensive, honest eyes.

“Well, it’s just that I, um, I--”

“Listen, kid,” the man behind Kirishima snapped at him. “I have twelve minutes to gather my drink and make it back to my meeting with my executive board. And you’re holding up the damn fucking line! Make up your mind on what coffee you want, because you’ve been in this line with me for almost ten minutes, order it and pay! Let’s get moving!”

“Sir!” you gasped, horrendously mortified a customer was acting like that! “That’s incredibly rude! He hasn’t even been here for a minute!”

“It’s actually been three!” he sneered.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, not at all positive if it had been three minutes because by god did you get lost in Kirishima’s eyes.

“No!” Kirishima interrupted you before you could begin, and you looked up at Kirishima, who looked like a kicked puppy, and that sent your heart into a whole series of palpitations you didn’t know would happen with him. “It’s fine, sorry, I got worked up… um… one of my best bros likes his coffee black, and well, I like it now too. A regular black coffee, to go…”

You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, Kirishima slipping the exact amount of money for the drink before disappearing into the crowd.

Your sight narrowed when it befell onto the old man who looked proud of himself, “Finally! Now, let me see what you guys have! I don’t know what I want!”

F O U R

Kirishima was late.

So late, so very, very late.

He checked his phone for the time yet again, somehow praying that in the last time he had checked his phone (which had been three seconds ago), the time hadn’t shot forward by ten minutes, and by the spirit of god had maybe, possibly rewound by ten minutes. He only hoped that he wouldn’t show up too late today; he actually needed something with caffeine to keep him awake today.

But he saw the coffee shop straight ahead, the small white light by the front door still buzzing and bright with the illuminated: OPEN! sign. Kirishima barreled through the front door with now practiced and known strength, his forehead sweating profusely, and his heart hammering in his throat.

“I’m… here!” he panted, his eyes finding yours as you were cleaning up the counter with a disinfecting liquid and cloth.

He had seen you yesterday, but still, seeing you at the counter, your gaze on what you were doing was like an arrow to his lungs. He looked at you in his personal slowed downtime, the way that the halo of frizzy, curly, flyaways from your hair gleamed softly with the backlight, the warmth of your skin, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes as you looked up, and he was met with the depth pool of your warm eyes.

Beautiful.

His eyes fell onto your lips, and noticed they were moving ever so slightly, and he realized that he couldn’t hear what you were saying.

All the tables had been wiped down, the chairs by the table turned upside down, laying on the tabletops. The floor still streaked with what was definitely a mop, and guilt bubbled in his stomach. You were closing up, and by the looks of it, were nearly done as well.

Kirishima paused, he was here one minute before closing, and he froze. The heavy wooden door closing behind him with an awkwardly loud thud that only seemed to thunder in his ears as the world finally caught up.

“―anything?”

Kirishima blinked, his cheeks exploding with heat.

“What?”

He hadn’t heard you utter a single word.

He watched the way your lips pulled into an endearing, yet slightly exasperated smile, your eyes rolling.

“Did you want anything?” you repeated, hands placed on your hips in a taunting, near commanding way. “Coffee’s still on the pot, so if you want anything, let me know!”

“Did you already clean up?” Kirishima asks, his eyes falling to the floor to find the different wet streaks on the tile and avoid them if his shoe was dirty. He stops when he sees the cleaned and cleared coffee counter, and guilt floods him. “It looks like you’re mostly cleaned up; I don’t want you to get things dirty again, it’s okay.”

“It’ll take me five minutes tops to clean back up!” you retort, hands already moving to grab a to-go cup for him to have.

“No, no!” Kirishima exclaims, moving back towards the door as fast as he could. He didn’t want to cause you more work, and if anything, he would just wait for you to leave the shop, and he would simply walk you back to your apartment! That seemed like the more manly thing to do, right? “It’s okay! I’m okay! I’ll live without a cup!”

You snorted, slamming the cup onto the counter with definitive intentions, “Don’t be ridiculous, coffee addict!” you pointed to the spot before the cash register, pen in hand as you readied to write down his order. “Come. Don’t be silly! Can you turn off the open sign for me, though! What do you want?”

“I feel bad,” Kirishima frowns, turning off the neon light per request before turning back towards you. His hands stuffed into his pockets. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t have to,” you say with a grin and a roll of your eyes. “But since I’m the reason your addiction is a thing, I’m more than happy to deal with the consequences, Kiri.”

There’s a beat, and Kirishima walks to the counter, his lower lip jutted out in a small pout, but the energetic smile painted on your lips melts his pout into a smile immediately.

“What do you suggest?”

“Café de Olla.”

His face scrunches at the so, very not Japanese words that come from your mouth.

“Cafe de la what?”

He watches your smile brighten by a tenfold, enjoying the way your eyes easily glitter with your mirth as you turn away from him.

“Café de Olla,” you repeat again, and he can only assume it’s Spanish. “It’s a Mexican coffee, that one of the transfer students we hired from Mexico introduced us to!” Kirishima watched as you went to a small pot of coffee, put a cleaned ladle in, and eventually poured in a slightly steaming cup of dark coffee. “I can’t remember the ingredients, but the main one is cinnamon! I know you like cinnamon, and since you’re a big boy black coffee drinker now, I think you’ll like it!”

Kirishima missed the teasing look on your face when you placed the truly dark coffee in front of him.

“Um,” Kirishima nervously laughed, staring at the cup of dark liquid before him. He hated black coffee. “Are you… are you gonna put any sugar or milk in it?”

“Nope! Drink up, handsome!”

Kirishima whimpered at both the nickname you had been calling him as of late and the coffee before him. Eventually, he picked up the warm cup, not at all deceived by the warm, sweet aroma of the cup of coffee in his hand ― the black coffee had smelled sweet too. Not one to back down, especially as you were in the process of cleaning up for the day, he took a hesitant, gentle sip of the coffee and froze.

Despite the bitter, dark persona the steaming cup gave, the liquid was sweet.

Very sweet.

It was light in its spice, warming him gently, and giving him a world of flavors he hadn’t been aware of. He drank the rest of it eagerly.

“Good, right?!” you exclaimed excitedly, having caught onto what Kirishima already knew to be his unmistakable likeness. “I wasn’t too sure of it at first either! I mean, I don’t really dabble with straight black coffee, but this just hits differently!”

Kirishima placed his sample down, the back of his hand rubbing his wet lips, his smile wide and excited. He couldn’t believe he actually liked a cup of coffee! “That was SO good, fuck! I didn’t think I was going to like that! Can I have a cup of this?”

He watched as you nodded your head excitedly, more stray pieces of hair falling out of place, framing your face even more as you grabbed the cup and made due to filling it up. Kirishima watched you the entire time you filled his cup up, his fingers blindly holding his bills of cash to give to you.

‘I’m going to do it,’ he thought as you placed a lid on the cup.

‘You got this!’ he encouraged himself as you walked over, handing off the warm cup into his hands. He softly smiled at the feeling of your warm, soft fingers brushing familiarly against his own.

‘DO IT!’

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“Babycakes, are you done out here?!” a voice hollered, and Kirishima stilled when a face emerged from the back. “I’m exhausted and ready to go!”

He watched as a tall girl with green eyes and brown hair emerged from the back room, her arms stretched precariously over her head, stepped into the bar. And the world slowed when her arms quickly enveloped you.

It was then that he remembered what you had said yesterday. The way that your face morphed from apologetic to bashful, the fluster in your eyes, and the way you bit your lip nervously as you said you had something to confess to him… was she… your confession?

“Ami!” you spluttered, and Kirishima watched the way the girl who was draped over your body, much taller than you were, smile at you endearingly as you, in your fluster, failed to get her off. “Kirishima ― a customer is here!”

The word customer echoed like a bell in the world's deepest cave in Kirishima’s ear.

He was just…

He was just a customer, after all.

His smile faded from a genuine one to a phony one as he watched your coworker/girlfriend fight you on showing affection, and eventually, you won.

“S-Sorry about that!” you stammered, trying to fix your outfit, your hair chaotically was undone. His throat nearly sealed off when your pristine eyes locked back up his; he felt light under your gaze, but oh, so, cold. “You were saying?”

“Just… um, thank you!” Kirishima mustered a feeble laugh, his hand grabbing the coffee in his hand, and without so much as a goodbye, he left the coffee shop. Your echoing salutation doing nothing but making him nauseous as heartbreak overtook him.

F I V E

The last time you had seen Kirishima, you served him the café de olla during that night, which was weeks ago.

By weeks you meant nearly two months; finals season had just finished.

Despite your obvious disappointment in not seeing the one person you were enamored with, you reasoned with yourself with every disappointing redhead who would enter the coffeeshop that you had never asked for his phone number, and he was an engineering student. He had to be busy.

Even if he wasn’t busy, you tried to reason, your brow set in a knit position as you washed the ceramic cups in the sink, he had every reason to never show back up again. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything…

Thankfully, you heard the all too familiar sound of the front door being opened, and now with new company policy, you called out in greetings.

“Welcome!”

You quickly patted your hands dry on your apron, knowing that your coworker was on break at the moment, and turned to the entrance of the shop, and froze.

It was an all too familiar head of bright red spikes.

“Kiri!” you exclaimed happily, rushing over to the register with a bright, wide smile as you restrained yourself from flinging over the counter and hugging him tightly. Of course, that would have been both unprofessional and probably pushing the boundaries of your friendship/one-sided affections. “It’s been so long, how are you?!”

Kirishima stood on the other side of the counter, his hands shoved into his blue hoodie pocket, his eyes for the first time ever almost empty, the smile you knew he wore almost religiously, nowhere to be seen. In lieu of the smile, were lips pressed into a stout line, his face puckered just slightly enough as if he had smelled something sour moments before.

What was going on?

“You okay?” you ask, your once outstretched arms retracting into yourself, seeing that he was not reciprocating your movements. Your head tilted. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, Ei,” came a new voice. “Is something wrong?”

You almost startled when a girl with curly, pink hair seemed to appear from behind Kirishima. She had eyes of liquid gold, and a teasing smile on her face as she nudged Kirishima. “What’s going on?”

Your stomach flips in unwelcomed jealousy, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek in hopes that the girl wouldn’t catch on.

When the seconds felt like minutes of silence, the girl merely sighed, her attention focusing onto you with a look of slight mischief.

“Please excuse my friend―” you relax with the f word― “we’ve been friends since grade school, and he’s never been like that! Maybe he caught a bug during breakfast?”

“Mina…” Kirishima spoke softly, not quite a warning, not quite a whine.

“You must be the famous ‘y/l/n,’ I’ve heard so much about you!” the girl ― Mina ― exclaimed excitedly, her hands grabbing yours while nodding excitedly. “When I heard that Ei hadn’t gone for coffee in so long, I obviously had to force him to come! That and he totally made one of our friends throw away my coffee, and I need the coffee in my bloodstream to survive my dumb classes!”

The one-sided tension between you and Mina expelled quickly.

“Kiri hasn’t been here in a while, but I’m sure he’s got his reasons,” you defend your crush, your smile soft as you traded your locked gaze on Mina to look at Kirishima, who weakly, barely, horribly returned the smile. “But I can definitely help with the coffee! What can I get for you?”

“Good question…” Mina sighed, her eyes studying the menu with practiced skill.

Eventually, Mina ordered a chai tea latte with an oat milk substitution, a pump of caramel, and two shots of espresso. She squealed with delight when you placed her order in front of her, and maybe had you not been excited to get Kiri’s answer, you would have noticed the way his friend strategically walked towards the door to give you two your space.

“So, how can I help ya, handsome?” you ask, your smile back to full power, although a bit shy, unaffected by the brick wall of a man before you. “We’re out of the café de olla right now, but if you don’t mind waiting fifteen minutes, I can make you a fresh batch!”

That’s a lie, the pot of Mexican coffee is still completely filled, ready for Kirishima should he want it. But you were selfish; you were trying to get him to stay longer.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Kirishima shakes his head. “I don’t wanna bug ya. I’ll just take a caramel latte, no worries.”

Disappointment rams through you, but you try your best at hiding it.

“Oh, okay! I’ll get that started for you!” you try to chirp, grabbing a to-go cup and beginning the relatively short task. “How’ve you been?” you ask, trying to initiate old conversations.

“Good.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear! How were your finals? Mine was terrible! I had a professor who forgot what time section we were, so not only were we given only thirty minutes to finish the exam, but there was no compensation for his mistake!”

“Wow… that sucks. Mine were fine.”

“Nothing crazy happened?”

“No.”

“Um, okay… well, did you see that the animated Crimson Riot movie is out?!” you ask, pathetically hopeful that the biggest conversation card you held right now would give you something better than these simple, halfhearted responses. The movie had had no promos, just a message from the local theaters that it had been made and to come and watch it.

“Yup.”

…

“Oh, that’s cool! I just found out this morning when my dad called me! I’m not near home, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come and watch it with me?”

You froze. Was that a date you had asked him out on? It was, wasn’t it?! Your face exploded with heat, your fingers trembling as you poured the finished hot coffee into the cup.

“...I’d rather not.”

Oh.

“T-That’s okay! I’m sure I can find a friend or something to go watch it with me… or I’ll just wait until a holiday to see it with my dad… if it’s still out.”

“Hopefully, it’s still out by then,” Kirishima muttered, his face refusing to look at you, his eyes buried into his wallet as he handed you the change for his drink. “Thanks.” he rushed, grabbing his cup and turning on his heel.

“What’s wrong with you?” you manage to ask before you can keep your mouth shut, but you can’t help it. Your chest aches with his dismissal, with every sentence he spoke that horribly and effectively shut you down before you even had a chance. In the end, it seemed that your hurt feelings won out your need to be polite. “Did something happen? A-Are you okay? Did I do something?”

Kirishima freezes in his path.

“No, nothing happened.”

That was not the answer you were hoping to get.

“Then why are you acting like this?” you ask, your voice bordering a desperate plea for an answer.

For the past many weeks, you had never once thought that he had been avoiding you, ignoring you. You thought that maybe he had just been busy with his personal life, too busy with school and work to spare his free time entertaining you at work. But even if you were disillusioned with your admiration and feelings for him, you knew the two of you were friends. You had to have been friends!

Silence.

“What’s going on?” you ask again, your voice feeling small and weak.

“Nothing,” Kirishima reiterates, his head turning so you both looked at each other through the corner of his eyes. “Nothing happened, I just… couldn’t show up.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being around you, not anymore.”

Those words wash over you like freezing water; they’re harsh, cruel, and mean. His face twisting up as if he was some snarling, upset animal. He didn’t want to be here, his face screamed, he felt like some cornered, caged animal.

Muted anger and heartache wash over you, your head nodding numbly as you laugh humorlessly. You had been the problem.

“Sorry for… for making you feel obligated in showing up,” you whisper, your soul feeling as though it was leaving your body, your face twisted in the horribleness in his words.

I don’t like being around you, not anymore.

He wasn’t even apologizing… he’d meant it… didn’t he?

Kirishima moves to walk away, his eyes glazed over similarly to your own, but you’re not done. Not quite yet.

“You know,” you manage to speak out, your voice starting off paltrily, an almost chuckle tickling the back of your throat, humming deeply in your chest. He stops. “This entire time, you always boasted about being ‘manly’… about being chivalrous and a decent human being. For the most part, I’ve always agreed and thought that you were manly, chivalrous, and a more than decent human being but now… I can’t believe you. You really came all this way after two months of avoiding me to tell me that you would never be showing up again? That the reason for you not returning was because you’re sick of me?”

He’s silent for a bit, and it's then you notice the tears falling down your face, “Thought it was manlier to tell you I wasn’t coming back then to stop showing up without a reason.”

“You already did that!” you snapped, suddenly piercing, thundering anger running through every cell of your body, raising the hair on your body. “You’re being a complete fucking dick now, Kirishima! For what? At least before I thought it was because you’re busy, but no, you just had to tell me it was because of me! Oh my god?! To think I have a crush on you?! That I was ready to confess to you the next fucking time we had a moment together?!”

You felt hysterical, his reasoning jumbling and twisting in your mind, not at all feeling coherent, and your blazing feelings that were now biting you in the ass… you wanted to make him feel guilt most of all. With tears falling bitterly, angrily down your face, you stared at Kirishima. He was finally facing you, looking you dead on with emotion-filled eyes and a gaping fish mouth ― opening and closing pathetically.

“Get out,” you spoke with a serenity you were not quite feeling, your finger thrust toward the front door.

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you laugh bitterly, no longer wanting to have whatever it is that he wanted to say.

He was just a customer, not a friend, only a customer.

You didn’t need to be his friend anymore.

“Get. Out. Now.”

You didn’t wait for him to leave, turning on your heel, you walked to the backroom, not daring to return to the front until he left.

You’d forgotten how much rejection hurt.

O N E

Whoever said heartbreak was healed with a wild night out, a pint of ice cream and crying had clearly been built differently from you.

One wild night out with your friends, two pints of ice cream, and thirty crying sessions later, you were still sulking as you simply existed. You weren’t even sure why you were overreacting either?! He had been a crush, not a boyfriend!

Lord save you for whenever an actual reciprocated lover dumped you, you were probably never going to recover. Still, you couldn’t let it affect you all that much; you were still going about your day as you usually would, just… sulking.

“You’re a blessing in my life,” your coworker sighed as she came out from the back, her hands moving to release her hair from her bun, her purse slung against her chest as she continued to thank you. “I promise you the next time we work together, I’ll clean up on my own!”

You shake your head, waving her off as you dried some of the dishes lying about.

“We aren’t busy, and there’s no one here, I’ll clean up just fine!” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder to look at her. “Just buy me a pastry tomorrow or something. I’ve closed on my own many times, I’ll be fine! There's no coffee demand this late at night anyway!”

“Fine! I won’t forget! But don’t complain if there’s more than one pastry!”

“Oh my god, LEAVE!” you yell, blindly pointing at the door for her to leave, and you hear her resounding laughter as she finally does go.

“Oops, sorry, welcome and excuse me!” you hear her exclaim as she steps out, and you turn around, already knowing that it’s a customer.

Taking your coworkers' welcome as the company greeting, you merely shouted out that you’d be right with them as you finished washing ― you were almost done with them anyways. Finally done, you turned around, eyes on your thighs as you dried your hands on your apron.

“Alright, how can I help…” you froze when you caught sight of familiar, warm red eyes. “...you.”

Kirishima.

He looked at you with blushing, puffed cheeks, his eyes full of mixing, swirling emotions that you probably couldn’t handle to hear (especially if he had come to yell at you). You don’t know what to do, merely looking at him before sighing.

“The usual?” you ask, moving to get things as smoothly and effortlessly as you could (you had been yelled at for your emotional outburst by your boss).

“Uh, actually, no. I’m okay,” Kirishima spoke up as soon as you pulled out a paper cup, and you stopped, looking at him with your best attempt at dull, emotionless eyes.

“What can I get for you then?” you try again, hating the way that you want to smile at him, to pretend that nothing happened two weeks ago; that this was his first time back.

“I have to confess something,” Kirishima states, his fingers fisting into his ridiculous mismatched athleisure clothing. “I actually really, really, really hate coffee…”

You blinked.

You hadn’t expected that confession.

“Um, okay? Well, then can I make you some―”

“I’m not quite done, sorry,” Kirishima apologized, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in his embarrassment. “I hate coffee, and I don’t like being dishonest, but really, I feel like I’ve been lying to you this entire time.”

“...what?”

“I told you at some point that I had come into this shop by coincidence, but that’s not true! I’ve been passing by for months before stepping foot into here! I had always seen you working through the front window, and you just… you captivated me from that very moment, but I’ve been too weak, nervous, and totally unmanly and could never build up the courage to come in! It took me a year to build up the courage to come in ― which is why I nearly broke the front door that first day! I was so nervous about messing up; I just overexerted my strength!”

Kirishima laughed, his hands raking through his spiked hair, and you could only stare at him as the gelled hair began to fall under his ministrations.

“See, the truth is, I’ve liked you for a long time. Like a long time. And then, when I came in, and we became friends, I only fell for you even more, and I’ve been trying to work up the courage to confess to you! But every time I tried, something bad happened! Like the grouchy old man in the line, how you got sick and couldn’t work! But a true man doesn’t give up until it’s over… and I thought that girl who was hugging you and kissing your cheek that one day was your girlfriend, so I gave up! But the thing is, I was a coward, so fucking unmanly that I couldn’t be around you without you being mine! And so I left because it hurt… but it hurt not being around you, so Mina brought me here! But then you said… you said you liked me back, and unless you’re in a polyamorous relationship, there’s no way for you to have said feelings and confess them to me like that!”

He stopped, his breath frantic, panting, and you could only look up with him with a mirrored breathing pattern despite your quietness.

“I’m here because I’m tired of being weak and unmanly. I’m here because I have deep feelings for you, and I want to ask you out!”

You’re silent for a bit, the temerity of his words loud and clear in your ears, ringing with the need to be addressed. For the first time since he had walked out of your life for the first time, a warmth bubbled in your chest.

“You know,” you whisper, your eyes locked with his, the tears in your eyes freely showing. “This coffee shop does, in fact, have tea?”

“Wha―?”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish the curious ask, your hands grabbing his shirt and bringing him close, his nose brushing against yours but your lips hovering below his own.

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper, your eyes falling to his lips for a second before coming back to his eyes that shone brightly, vividly, excitedly.

“Please?”

Your lips found themselves pressed against his, and the two of you stood there, leaning against the counter by the cash register. Lips passionately, smoothly, deeply pressing against one another as electricity traveled slowly down your spine as his hands pressed against your ribcage. When you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open after yours, and he had the brightest, dumbest smile on his face.

“Would you like to go see the Crimson Riot movie with me?”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

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legionofpotatoes · 3 years

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alright here’s ma thoughts on that flick I mentioned

we hatewatched a*my of the dead because we were CONVINCED “zombies in las vegas” would be an impossible concept to screw up, but in so assuming we obviously invoked a holy wager with the universe and got reminded, once again, that hoping for improvement from someone who’s dependably put out bad art is never a wise choice 😐

but we were honestly kinda roped in by the marketing??? and expected a goofy fast-paced flick with the odd traditional undead metaphor thrown in, framing some sort of relationship drama maybe or hell even nothing at all! we’d have taken pure indulgent storytelling, idk italian job with zombies in las vegas, I don’t know fucking anything but??? whatever this was???? spoilers below for it is time for One Of My Rants

I mean the main reason I really want to write all this and complain. this film here probably has the most unappealing cinematography I have ever experienced in my life and that is saying something. who the fuck signed off on that CONSTANT shallow-ass depth of field that imprisons your eyeline and turns every shot into bokeh paste???? and I mean every shot almost!!!! I promise if you think I am overreacting just throw a dart at the seek bar and watch twenty seconds from wherever it lands. it is horrifying to look at. at least it gave my girlfriend a good visual shorthand for what it’s like when I lose my glasses

why was sean spicer in this movie. did they pay him to be here. was sean spicer paid hollywood money for his scene in this film because fuck everyone who was involved in that decision

the legitimately baffling hints at the extraterrestrial origins of the infection that went absolutely nowhere and had no dramatic or plot-level bearing. we love to see the franchise sprouts fellas

yet another big budget waste of everything hiroyuki sanada has to offer. and bautista too I guess? I like him but man was this an odd career move

what was the crux of his conflict/resolution with his daughter btw. I understand it was rooted in miscommunication over their forms of grief irt mom but uhh… it was all rather clunky and didn’t land for me. I tried I really tried to buy in but something was wrong fundamentally with the groundwork there, it did not click and their catharsis felt unearned. I know there’s massive amounts of tragic baggage being projected there from the author so I’m not slapping any judgment down really;

but again it would be an easy thing to wave off if they just had a vibrant cast of lovable simpletons with good chemistry and the kinetic sense of plotting the trailers promised (and this premise never discounts good drama, either). but instead it was just two and a half (!) hours of meandering into situations the filmmaking instincts had no idea how to flow in and out of

to wit. I know talking about “bad pacing” is associated with armchair bullshit but consider the example of the scene were dieter does an out of nowhere little dance after childishly screaming but then still-killing a zombie, with the film framing this as a micro character triumph, and not a second later the bg soundtrack instantly fades into an orchestral score dramatizing a nearby mcguffin reveal, completely 180 degreeing the tone without a semblance of deft insert shot stitching or even I dont know a fucking jump cut maybe. now imagine this whiplash for 2.5 hrs uninterrupted

I will keep complaining about the length yeah because this was not a story requiring this much real estate to be told. Uhh in my humble and personal opinion, of course

[man sees zombie tiger] “this is crossing the line!” you can in fact write dialogue that is not utter nonsense that falls apart once you drill down its single fickle layer of referential meta winking. what line are you talking about. you have rules in this insane situation you’re in? total nitpick moment I know but it got burned in my brain for some reason. like a microcosm of the mismanaged dramatic instincts paired with weird writing that dots this movie. I am sure the director calls this either satire or genre deconstruction. I am SO sure

tumblr domino meme that goes from “dude getting sucked off while driving” to “entire las vegas literally nuked”

tig notaro is always great to see but once you know she’s been filmed as a separate greenscreen plate months after photography wrapped - cause she had to apparently replace some abusive asshole but that’s a whole other pig not worth fucking - it becomes impossible to unsee her odd detachment from everyone else in the movie lmao. it doesn’t really “ruin” anything on its lonesome but it is hard to unsee

why. was. sean. spicer. in. this. movie

a very simple key ingredient missing from fully turning lip service sympathy for main uruk hai dude into actual empathy that would generate meaningful conflict with hero family would be to spend a bit more time articulating what he internally wanted the most. because he was obviously trying to do something here with pointed agenda. a family, to have kids, build a caste system, save his wife’s head, return to his planet??? all of these could represent the bigger context in his psychology that spurred his vengeance but none of them are dramatically emphasized long enough for you to cheer him on. I’m not asking too much I promise. Articulating interiority of a mute character is pretty doable with deft cinema language, just gotta linger and hold a shot here and there for a few seconds, frame as his POV, donezo. I know this is also one of those like. “who cares” moments but the movie does, very evidently so, in making this guy an actual character. you can kinda piece it together and create a framework of sympathy for him, sure, but then again he ultimately becomes a foil to be killed and not defeated, so. Ehh whatever

quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was not a wildly childish covid allegory quarantine zone stuff was n

the rooftop helicopter fakout at the end was such an ass-backwards, manufactured moment of what could be a simple setup/payoff it just pissed me off??? you gain nothing by giving sad dad five seconds of pointless crisis that flips right back to previous status quo ANYWAY, except for a weaksauce waste of runtime, which could be used instead to get inside notaro’s head and actually SHOW the remorse form as she took off, literally maybe even a frown playing on her face as she’s headed for safety right before we cut back to drax and the kid. just a simple-ass, minimal, momentary setup for what is the most basic filmmaking trick of creating macro catharsis moments. Just???? g o d if you can’t even land that shit why are you even doing any of this

that lil run final pam did was very very charming and super choreographed in a way that was the tiiiniest bit overdone

the whole intro with the simul-backstories and posing with family photos was just… oddly motivated. what was the goal? “here’s what we’re fighting for” vignettes? why? it’s not a functional setup in that vein. what was all that

also I am sorry if this is insensitive but the reasons most characters end up articulating to justify going back into the hell that destroyed their lives makes them sound seriously insane

I dont like complaining about CGI (honestly) but so much of it in modern movies can achieve higher fidelity if the animation is simply subdued. Do not overengineer and over-apply 2D cell methodologies and kinematics to each tiny twitch and movement in a hyper 3D model and I promise you. it will look a thousand times more natural. look at thanos in those last two movies. your rendering and detail are absolutely perfect with the tiger you just have to let stuff sit instead of constantly simulating swaying hair strands and firing off all facial muscles at once. great moment at one point where makeup zombie horse and CG zombie tiger are both in one shot together and just by unnecessary amounts of movement alone you can tell who doesn’t belong. again; detail, rendering, compositing, lighting, all picture-perfect; but y’all just gotta let the animation breathe sometimes, and chill it out

plot holes don’t really matter to me but it was kinda funny how lilly decided not to mention the enormous wrinkle in intel pertaining to an actual territorial tribe of intelligent zombies that require human offerings to let you pass, just so that reveal could play out in real time through the joyous punishment of the cartoonishly misogynistic dude

total chad move for mister uruk hai and final pam to rule from a rusted swimming pool complex

the ending with vanderohe oh my god. with the. cash stacks at the airport register. and specifically them working in his favor. that is literally something you do to get arrested under suspicion of theft. it was almost played for laughs and I respect that. coulda been goofier. make these movies goofy ya dorks

anyway, weird, weird movie. bad marketing. message unclear (something something sins of the father???), baffling editing instincts, literal worst-looking cinematography I ever laid eyes upon. Confidently dying on that last hill

#text #long post #aotd spoilers #aotd critical

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shianhygge-imagines · 4 years

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Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Umbral Angelo

AN: I managed to finish this one in record time, and am already working on the next chapter. I’m intending the next chapter to be a bit of a dive into V and Vergil’s mentality, so it’s going to be a bit tricky to write... and a bit long. (If you take a look into my masterlist, I’ve already titled the next chapter “Bury the Light” so I’m going to try extra hard to make the next chapter worthy of the song.)

On another note: I’m probably going to start using my handwritten banner for this series from now on. I’ve noticed that gifs are rather intense for loading on certain devices/internet speed... and I’m tired of looking for appropriate gifs to use. I may end up changing the banner once I get photoshop or something >.>

If you like the content I create, please consider donating to my Ko-fi! Please help me feed my tea addiction!

|Masterlist Link| |First Chapter| |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:03am

- V’s POV -

V watched as you raced to greet Nero with a flying tackle hug that nearly sent the one armed boy tumbling to the floor from the force of your excitement. The mortal half of Vergil couldn’t help but feel equal parts bitterness, sadness, envy, and longing as he watched you fuss over Nero with worry. As he was, V didn’t feel like he was capable of having a family. Not only was the mysterious man dying the longer he remained separated from his demonic half, but because he felt unworthy after everything that had transpired since the day his family home was burnt down. Although he longed for this, it was probably one of the biggest conflicts within him during the past few weeks with you… and one of the reasons why the days had passed with too much left unsaid.

“Nero! Light of my life! My reckless son!” You continued the embarrassing titles while straightening his jacket and hair, taking care to pat down the spots covered in rubble dust. “I’m so happy to see you! Nico did such a good job with your arm! Oh! But that last one broke-”

The demon hunter’s cheeks pinkened as his mother continued to fuss over him, “Mom,” he whined, embarrassed at the fact that a stranger like V had to bear witness to this. “It’s good to see you, too, but I’m fine. I got a spare arm here-” Nero gestures to the red colored mechanical limb attached to his hip, “-see? I’ll be fine. But enough about me, what are you doing here?”

Like mother, like son, I see. V mused with amusement when the pair of you completely ignored the dying Goliath. Shadow had stalked over to sit at your side with a content flicker of its tail while leaving his weakened master to slowly walk over. “Little wanderer…” V addressed the dying demon, raising his cane to deliver the killing blow, “hie thee home.”

Just as the massive demon faded into burning ashes, you and Nero stopped your fussing to address V’s arrival. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, Nero.” Your grin is sheepish as you pointed at V with two hands, “Apparently, V’s been living like a hobo before he came to Devil May Cry for the job. Since he didn’t want to leave Red Grave City… and I have a house here, he kinda stayed with me the past few weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” Nero crossed his arms and leaned on one foot, his expression incredulous as blue-green eyes flickered between you and V. “You expect me to believe that your old house is still standing after over two weeks of this.” To V’s amusement, Nero nodded at the rubble and chaos that surrounded them as he finished his sentence.

Kid’s got a point. Griffon communicated telepathically as it circled the sky above their group.

You pouted and slumped over slightly, “… well, it’s not standing anymore.” You looked saddened and bitter at the loss of your home, something that V understood. It had been the home Vergil gifted you, and watching the structure of the building get torn in two had been a devastating loss to you both.

Nero grimaced and uncrossed his arms, pulling you into a comforting hug. “Shit, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s uh, one of the reasons why I’m here, actually.” You confessed, hugging your son back. “I’ve got business to settle with Urizen… and I’m sorry to intrude, but would it be okay to stay at the orphanage with you and Kyrie after this is all over?”

“Do you really gotta ask?” Nero smiled gently, pulling away. “Kyrie’s been begging me to ask you to come over. So, just take this as a permanent invitation, okay?” The boy’s attention diverged to V, who had settled to stand off to the side, “By the way, V… Thought I was gonna have to pick you out of his… uh… tummy teeth.”

V didn’t bother hiding the smirk that appeared on his face when you pulled away to look at the fading Goliath and promptly giggled when you realized that the dead demon did indeed have tummy teeth. “Pardon our delay.” The mysterious man holds up the collection of William Blake poems to show Nero, “I was… catching up on some reading.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed at the book, “Yeah… looks like a real page-turner.” The young man remarked dryly. In the background, V and Nero both noticed your renewed laughter at your son’s dry tone while a section of the Qliphoth Tree crumbled. “So uh… you think Dante’s still in there?” Nero asked V, the pair now watching as a path forward was cleared by the falling debris.

“If Urizen defeated him, then I expect he’s not much more than Qliphoth pollen by now.” The somber words from V’s mouth put a stop to your laughing, and while he hated when you were upset, he would rather stay honest when possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Y/N’s POV -

You knew what a Qliphoth tree was, so you didn’t bother paying attention to V’s explanation, preferring to explore the area for anything remotely useful or valuable. Shadow followed after you, its red eyes watching your surroundings in case a demon tried to get a drop on you while away from V and Nero. “V may very well be right about Dante.” You muttered to the demon panther as you nudged a slab of concrete to the side with a foot. “But we’re also talking about Dante, here.” You smirk down at Shadow with hope, “He’s always been the lucky one out of the Sparda twins. Whether it be a winning prize popsicle, or taking on a demon overlord… Dante’s always been able to pull through…”

When you hear the distinct sound of a car smacking against slabs of stone, you turn to walk back towards your son and V, watching with barely concealed amusement at Nico’s antics. “You know, Shadow… Some days I wonder what would have happened to us if Vergil had even half the luck Dante has.” Ignoring Shadow’s questioning gaze, you wave at the trio waiting for you by the van. “Oh well, forget I mentioned.”

Once you were close enough, you plastered a carefree grin on your face, “Hey, Nico! Thanks for looking after my reckless son!”

“Wha-Hey!”

You and the aspiring legendary smith ignored Nero’s indignant cry. “Ah! Don’t mention it, Mrs. S! It’s always mah pleasure!”

“Bullshi, then why do you compl-”

“How much does he owe you for a new arm?”

“Mom! I can pa-”

“Nuh-uh, Mrs. S. Don’t worry about it.”

“D-Don’t worry about it?! What a load of-”

“Aw! You’re sweet as always, Nico!” You grin, walking around to enter the van with V in tow. “I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Ditto, Mrs. S!”

Poor Nero looks like he’s about to have a fit from his seat inside the van. You feel slightly guilty for teasing your son in such a way, but quite frankly, you and Nico were having too much fun. To rain on your parade, when V climbs up the stairs to stand just behind you, he leans over to whisper in your ear, “Perhaps you shouldn’t tease the boy so much.”

And of course his father would be against my need to tease. You roll your eyes and sigh theatrically, “Alright, fine. I’m sorry, Nero. Please forgive your mother?” You know he already did, but you bat your lashes at him anyways for the fun of it.

Nero just shakes his head and folds his arms, “Just sit down. I don’t wanna risk you two falling and breaking something because of Nico’s shitty driving.”

You and V take a seat to the soundtrack of Nico’s indignant yelling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:26am

- Y/N’s POV -

“I think we should split into two groups.” V suggested as the group of you sat in the van while Nico worked in the back.

“… And cover more group. Good idea.” Nero finished, turning to leave the passenger seat.

“Three groups.” You amended, getting up to snatch the Totsuka from where you rested it. “We’re splitting into three groups to get rid of the Qliphoth roots, and I’m leaving no room for arguments.” You shot a challenging look at both Nero and V when they opened their mouths to protest.

“Wait, Mom. Are you sure about this? We could still get this done in two groups.” Nero stood up to stop you from leaving the van.

“Yes, I would rather we all play it safe as well.” V’s green eyes locked with yours, silently worried for your well-being.

Sighing, you lifted a hand to pat your son’s cheek fondly. “I’m touched that you’re both worried about me, but you both said it yourselves. We’re on a time limit if we want to stop Urizen. I have Nico’s number, okay? So if I run into any problems, I’ll make sure to call.” With that, you waved goodbye to Nico, Griffon, Nero, and V before departing from the group, jumping out of the van with a spring to your step.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 08:30am

“Maybe I should have stuck with V.” You muttered out loud, back hand-springing off the wreckage of an industrial building to land on a sturdier platform. A few moments prior, you’d been strolling rather peacefully along the city’s central boulevard… or what was left of it anyways. When you noticed a peculiar figure standing in a dead-end of the collapsed street.

Having just dealt with a few lingering red Empusa stalking the streets and destroyed a few bundles of Qliphoth roots, you were still on high alert. For a moment, you simply stared at the tall imposing figure before it clicked in your mind how familiar the shape was. The last that you had seen that figure was a dark stormy night. “Nelo Angelo?” You whispered in disbelief, yanking the Totsuka from a dying Empusa and taking a step towards the imposing figure.

Of course, the moment you stepped towards Nelo Angelo’s direction, it turned its back on you and jumped atop the rubble blocking the street, only turning to look at you briefly before walking away. You weren’t naive enough to rule out a trap considering how close you were to the main Qliphoth’s structure, but if that phantom was connected to a main root… you would have to deal with him anyways. Sheathing the Totsuka, you followed after the figure, eyes set with flames of determination ablaze.

Which led to your current predicament: scaling collapsed buildings and platforms as you followed the figure of Nelo Angelo. “Honestly, why does every incarnation of Vergil make it their life’s goal to be difficult?” You cursed when your feet made contact with another unstable platform.

The floor gave away just as Nelo Angelo stopped to turn around, your eyes connecting for a moment before you plunged into what seemed to be a tunnel made by the Qliphoth roots. When you failed to grasp ahold of something to stop the fall, you cursed and fixed your position midair. Ah shit. Stick the landing. Stick the landi- You tucked and rolled to absorb the impact from the fall, but instead bounced as you rolled, “Oof!” You grunted when your back collided with a fleshy wall.

“Oooo… ‘A’ for effort.” You huffed, out of breath as you clambered to your feet and strolled over to pick up your Totsuka.

It was… deceptively quiet in the tunnel while you regained your bearings. Red, fleshy, pulsating walls told you that you were definitely somewhere inside the Qliphoth, though probably not in its main structure… maybe you were within one of its main roots? When the walls pulsed rather violently, you grimaced and backed away from the wall, trying not to remember Dante’s comments about demons and vore. “Urgh. Too late.” You groaned, going the slightest bit green as you journeyed deeper into the tunnels.

The further down into the tunnels you went, the less light there was, until you were forced to use a smidge of demonic energy to see in the dark. You’d seen Dante and Vergil use this ability mostly for intimidation purposes, but you found that it was useful for seeing in the dark. With a simple blink, gone were your human eyes, and in their place stood slit pupils, dark sclera, and ethereal glowing light grey irises.

When light was at its minimal, a wail reached your ears from deep within, and suddenly you were sprinting down the tunnel. The closer you came to the wailing, you realized with shock that it was a baby’s cry. What’s a baby doing down here? You wondered, turning as the tunnel drifted left before skidding to a halt at the scene before you.

“That’s not…” your words stopped, caught in your throat as something tight and unpleasant clawed in your chest.

They stood before you, a family. They weren’t much more than shades… shadowy images and illusions… falsehoods… but you knew what you saw. A mother comforting the crying baby boy in her arms while the father stood by his wife’s side, helping her quiet the little one with comforting shushes and whispered words.

“Shhh, shhh, everything’s going to be okay, Nero.” The woman carefully rocked the baby boy in her arms. “Vergil, do you mind humming to him? He always did love it when you sing to him.”

The man nodded and gingerly accepted the baby from his wife’s arms. “Of course, Y/N. You should get some rest, it’s my turn to look after our son tonight.”

The woman yawned and rested her head upon her husband’s arm, watching as he began to hum a familiar lullaby to his baby son. “No, I think I’ll stay right here, Vergil.”

You watched, eyes transfixed with longing and melancholy over the scene. How you wanted this for your family. How you wished that Vergil would have stayed all those years ago. How you wished that Nero was your biological son. How you wished and wished, but your wishes never came true.

The shades before you vanished into wispy shadowy smoke before reforming into two figures and a bed. The tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes fell as you stared in misery at the scene before you. “No. I don’t want to see this.” You sobbed even when you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the two figures involved in a passionate embrace. Your hands rose to cover your ears, not wanting to listen as a shade of your husband made love with a woman that wasn’t you.

“V-vergil! Ah! Harder!”

“Stop.” You begged, finally closing your eyes, but you could still see and hear the shades.

“Y-you said you had a wife waiting for you at home.”

“Please. Stop!” You cried, shaking your head, not wanting to hear or see any of this.

“Tell me you love me, Vergil. If you don’t care about your wife.”

“… I love you.”

“STOP!” You wailed, throwing a volatile pulse of demonic energy at the shades, banishing the scene completely until you were the only one stood in the middle of a large room filled with rubble. Huddling into a ball of misery, you wept, your hair now a dark silvery white to match the rest of your family.

“Why must you torture me?” you asked the figure stood behind you, though you didn’t rise to confront them face to face, still drowning in your woes. When the figure didn’t answer, you let out a bitter laugh, sniffling, “Figures. You never answer. I don’t even know what I didn’t file for a divorce all those stupid years ago.”

Still crying, you rose to your feet and turned to meet the eyes of Nelo Angelo, though its armor was much different than you realized. Though its eyes glowed red from within its helmet, and its body was solid, you noticed that wisps of shadow and smoke would occasionally fall off it like a fog. This entire time, I was chasing a shade… Umbral Angelo. Probably a pawn of Urizen given life by the Qliphoth. Your grief seemed so intense that it felt like you were choking, but somehow you found it in you to be angry. “Of course Urizen would find it amusing to dance all over my emotions.” You snarled, drawing your blade to point at Umbral Angelo. “So, what! Are you a puppet as well!?” You demanded, taking a menacing step forward. “Are you a puppet to Urizen like Vergil was to Mundus!?”

Umbral Angelo seemed to flinch back, as if struck, but still it didn’t answer you, opting to hold its massive blade at the ready. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you charged forward, swinging the Totsuka in an overhead strike that Umbral Angelo easily parried and countered with a backhand, sending you flying backwards even when you blocked.

“Tsk.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you skid backwards upon sticking the landing, “Katana versus broadsword. Really should have taken Dante up on those spars.” You couldn’t get cocky here, you decided, widening your stance and sheathing the katana once more. “I’ll let you come to me, big guy.”

The shade knight raised his broadsword with both hands in a preparation for a lunging motion, the blade glowing and ominous purple before it blinked forwards. You barely had time to switch your footwork and unsheathe the Totsuka to parry the blow to the side before Umbral Angelo was upon you again. Being much smaller than the shade knight, you dodged the incoming elbow thrust by getting in close and under his arm, thrusting the Totsuka into a crack of the armor before pulling away and creating distance.

A growl escaped the shade knight as he too jumped away to create distance. For a moment, the two of you stood at a standstill, simply observing one another from across the room. “I don’t understand you.” The statement falls out of your mouth, eyes narrowing as you run a hand through your silvery hair. “You won’t attack unless I provoke you. You won’t speak. You just stand there!” When Umbral Angelo remained silent, you threw up your arms in exasperation. “Is it the grey eyes? The silver hair? It’s probably a little darker than those of Sparda’s bloodline, but- I’m getting carried away. Answer me!”

The shade remained silent, only changing its position from one ready to attack, to one of rest, stabbing its broadsword into the ground in front of its feet.

“Fine!” The Silver Rose is drawn and its trigger pulled in the blink of an eye, the single bullet hitting the wall just next to the knight’s head.

“…s…r…gi…” Broken sounds echoed from within the confines of the shade knight’s helmet as it shifted its position once more, raising its blade to swing. “…fea…m… w…i…”

Surprised, you could only jump to avoid the wave of energy sent at you from the swing. “Wait. What did you say?”

It didn’t reply, sprinting forward in a violent horizontal swing as you bent backwards to back hand-spring away. The assault of strikes was overwhelming as you were put on the defensive, parrying and dodging while trying to get a few hits in with Totsuka and Silver Rose. There were chinks in its armor, but very little injury to his person. Now that you were closer, however, you could finally hear what Umbral Angelo was muttering.

“…use your gift… defeat me with it…” The shade knight muttered, its voice an echo of something that was once familiar, but long since a memory. “…you must… for your own sake.” It pulled back just enough to throw another downward slash at you. “…please…”

The force of the strike as you block it causes the ground under you to give away. The knight is unrelenting as you struggle to lift the blade or even parry it to the side. You didn’t want to rely on your demonic power so much, but at this rate, you were bound to be defeated by a mere phantom.

A flash of light blankets the room in searing white as you call to your demonic powers. You can feel your body absorb both the Totsuka and Silver Rose as it changes. Before the bright light can disappear, you’d practically teleported to dodge the still descending broadsword.

You grunt in annoyance when you feel your grey hair cascade down your back, having grown longer than it was in your mortal form. Like Dante, your Devil Trigger causes you to take on a draconic appearance, tough silver, grey, and black scales adorning your body in a mimic of a knight’s armor. There’s a ridge around your neck and shoulders that resembles a high collar, protecting your neck from potential damage should the need arise. Your head and face are pulled into what looks like a snout, though your mouth and eyes seem to be stuck in an eternal grin of mischief. Behind you are a set of white leathery wings and a long tail. You have little practice with your wings in tight spaces, so they are currently folded into your spine, keeping them out of the way while you make use of your tail, probably one of the only weapons you have in this form besides your fists and feet. Though describing the appendage as a simple tail would be an understatement, as it is probably more like a stinger, its point, a sharp dagger that can shoot energy beams.

“If you want me to win so badly,” your voice is a hollow echo when you activate your Devil Trigger, “Then, come at me now.”

Umbral Angelo flies at you with another lunge, but this time you dodge and summon white energy copies of the Totsuka to lay into the knight while you throw in a few jabs and kicks, mixing the barrage of attacks up by occasionally backing away so your stinger has enough room to fire a beam of energy or two.

The assault is too much for the shade knight, and it is forced to create as much distance from you as possible. It looks like it can barely lift its sword from the damage you caused. Umbral Angelo drops his broadsword and falls to its knees, weakened and defeated as you approach.

“Now, let me ask again. Why did you show me those things?” You demand, releasing your Devil Trigger to stand as mortal once more.

“To show you the truth. To show you his demons. A part of him regretted. But a part of him did not. Before you face him again, you needed to know.” Umbral Angelo forced himself to reply, though his voice was weak. “There is… one more thing. He-”

Umbral Angelo did not get the chance to finish when a sword cleaved through his chest, killing the shade instantly.

You stood, wide-eyed, your face slightly splattered with dark blood as another figure bearing Nelo Angelo’s semblance stood before you. When it didn’t attack you, you wondered briefly why it had killed its own ally. And then, you heard a distorted demonic cackle behind you.

“A pity it wasn’t even useful to defeat his old whore.”

You had no idea what the hell you were staring at. A three headed woman fused with a giant chicken fetus. Wait… whore?

“WHORE!?” You screeched, immediately activating your Devil Trigger once more to rush the cackling abomination. “I’LL SHOW YOU A WHORE YOU RAGGEDY EXHIBITIONIST!”

“Oooh! I touched a nerve!” The abomination sneered before disappearing into a portal. “Deal with her.”

Just as you’re about to close in on the backend of the retreating abomination, you’re tackled so hard that you get sent through the floor and into open air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Thank you for reading! :D

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beholdme · 3 years

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 15

Chapters: 15/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

Almost a year into their relationship, Martin's lease comes up.

There's brief romantic talk of them all moving in together, but they're all attached to their own spaces, especially with Gerry needing to keep his art studio, and it trails off without any real resolution.

When Martin's landlord doesn't want to renew and he essentially has no choice but to find a new place to live, he panics.

Jon is with him when he opens the letter, and witnesses the heartbreak on his face, a look far more appropriate to the death of a loved one than to having to move house.

He understands though. This is Martin's first home. The first rent he paid, the first freedom he claimed. The first place he had whispered 'I love you' to Jon, and the first place Gerry had pressed his lips to Martin's.

Jon is settled in his own flat in a more practical way. It's close to the library, Gerry's bar and also to Martin's bookstore, but he still understands Martin's heartache, even if it is detached from his scope of personal attachment.

As Jon takes the time to think things through, he knows they're being silly. When was the last time he had commuted to work from his own flat? And if Martin had to move anyway, why shouldn't the three of them be living together? Gerry would happily spend every spare second with them and frequently tells them so.

At their knock, Gerry opens the door in a pair of leather pants and not much else, hair faded out from navy to a soft violet.

He physically reacts to see Martin tear-stained and Jon frowning intensely at his side.

"Why tears? Who do I need to murder?" Gerry mutters darkly as he draws Martin inside and into his arms.

"He has to move out of his flat," Jon tells him angrily, still standing in the doorway.

"Oh, love." He whispers, rocking Martin gently.

"It's so stupid to cry about it. It's just a shitty little flat." He hiccups into Gerry's chest.

"Fuck that. We all know better than that. That flat was important to you," Gerry retreats further into the studio, dragging his weepy partner with him and leaving Jon to shut the door. "And you're important to us, so here's the plan. Gertrude and I are gonna dig up some dirt, we're gonna have a little chat with your landlord, and he's gonna agree to sell you your flat. Problem solved."

Martin laughs wetly as he is deposited in the cushion pile and Gerry follows him down to sit in front of him and take his hands.

Jon strips his jacket and scarf off and tosses them on the couch (the biggest indication of his upset, really, as he normally always meticulously hangs things up), before flopping down on the floor with them. Martin and Gerry offer a hand each, and they sit in a triangle, connected.

"Gerry, you can't blackmail my landlord into selling me my flat." Martin starts, voice still choked with tears, "Not least of all because I can't afford to buy it anyway. I already have a business loan, not to mention all the debt from before my mother died."

Apparently able to sense any great excess of emotion, Luna and Saturn wander in and both attempt to curl up in Martin's lap. Jon takes Saturn, leaving Luna to her tearful human. Martin smiles gratefully and disentangles his hands to pet behind her ears.

There's silence for a moment as they consider Martin's words. Gerry opens his mouth, closes it, then decides to say what he wants to anyway. "I could lend you the money. Or give it to you. Whichever you prefer."

The look on his face could be accurately described as casually angelic, and he reaches out a hand to stroke Saturn benevolently.

Martin and Jon stare at him, stunned.

"What do you mean?" Jon eventually prods him, incredulously.

Gerry opens his mouth to respond, but Jon senses the sass coming and adds, "A real answer please," rather firmly.

"Fine then," Gerry mutters, rolling his pretty teal eyes. "I have some money in savings. And in investments and stuff, I'm not actually irresponsible, despite what my appearance might imply. And the years I spent galivanting about the county. And Europe." He shrugs, rambling on, "Okay, maybe I am irresponsible."

His partners stare at him for a moment, then exchange a look.

“Define some money?” Jon says, poking him in the ribs. Gerry tells them.

“What!?” At Jon’s exclamation, Gerry blushes from the roots of his hair, and all the way down his bare chest.

"Where did you get it?" Martin finally asks.

"From selling my paintings?" Gerry responds, but it comes out as a question, and he rubs his burning neck in embarrassment.

"And," Jon says, voice carefully neutral; having regained some sense of composure, "why do you keep your job at the bar if you have enough money to casually offer to buy Martin a flat?"

"Don't feel left out Jon, I'll buy your flat too." Gerry offers, smiling at him beatifically.

"Gerry…" Martin lets out his name in the significant tone of voice that lets him know this is a 'serious conversation'™ and to get his shit together.

"Okay, okay," Gerry flaps his hands uncomfortably. "At first it was just because I was convinced that the painting money was gonna dry up and I didn't want to be left in the lurch. I've always operated anonymously and that made it hard to make money as an artist, it was only when Gertrude joined the crusade that I found any success. She insisted that people would buy prints online, and she was right. The digital art and prints were really popular, and it led to people wanting the originals." Gerry pauses and shakes his head in disbelief. "And Gertrude always has to be extra about everything, so she sold them at fucking auction instead of pricing them, which made me seem edgy and exclusive."

"You are edgy and exclusive," Jon interrupts to insist, a slight petulant edge staining his voice.

"Thanks," Gerry mutters, still blushing. "Anyway, so then I had all this money, but I was convinced it wouldn't last and now it's been years and it's only gotten worse and I was panicking so Gertrude took half the money and helped me put it into investments, which have mostly been pretty successful too, so now I have all this fucking money that I don't know what to do with, so Martin, would you like a flat?" Gerry ends his monologue slightly hysterical and Martin laughs out loud at the slight desperation in his voice.

"Do you even own this flat? I've been wondering how you could possibly afford it." Martin asks him, gesturing around at the massive space in one of the most up-and-coming parts of London.

"Yes, it's one of the only significant things I've ever actually paid for with the art money. You know, to do art in."

"And were you ever planning to mention this?" Jon queries, sounding slightly put out. He frowns down at the cat, instead of his ridiculous boyfriend. Saturn decides at that moment that he's had enough belly-rubs, and without warning, sinks his claws in, bites Jon's hand and then scurries off. Jon glares at his fluffy black tail as it disappears up the stairs and Gerry tries very hard not to laugh at him.

"Jonathan!" Martin scolds him, pushing his shoulder gently to regain his attention. "Gerry doesn't have to tell us about his finances."

Jon pouts even harder.

"Jon's right, I should have said something. I just didn't want it to be a big deal." Gerry responds, voice quiet and unusually reserved. He looks a little adrift and helpless, and they can see just how uncomfortable the money talk has made him.

Jon sighs and dislodges the stick from up his ass. "It's not a big deal, love, I'm only surprised. I'm glad it's out the way now." He collects Gerry's hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Gerry relaxes and tugs Jon closer to kiss him, before offering the same to Martin.

They all sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, digesting the day's many revelations.

“Not that I’m not incandescently happy to see you both, but why did you actually come over?” Gerry asks eventually.

“Oh,” Martin sits up straighter, remembering their original objective. He looks down at the cat in his lap, stroking its back in an effort to distract himself. “It’s a little awkward actually.”

Gerry raises his eyebrows, thinking of what could make Martin feel awkward after all the things they’ve done together, occasionally right where they are currently sitting.

"Do tell." Gerry urges him. Martin and Jon share a look. Gerry rolls his eyes at the pair of them. "Come on, guys, whatever it is, just tell me. It can't possibly be that bad. Unless you're breaking up with me? Because fuck that."

"No, Gerry," Jon says, sounding amused. "The opposite."

"The opposite?" Gerry asks, frowning.

"Yes, the opposite," Jon tells him more firmly. "We were thinking," Martin makes a small nose at this, "that is, I was thinking, that since Martin has to move anyway, the three of us should finally take the plunge."

"You know," Gerry mutters peevishly, "I love riddles as much as the next overdramatic goth with a young adult book obsession, but could you please spit it the fuck out."

"Jonthinksweshouldallmoveintogetherhere." Martin finally rushes out, breathlessly.

"Martin, baby, those are separate words."

He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Jon thinks we should all move in together, here, with you."

Gerry sits up taller abruptly, a wide grin spreading over his handsome face. "What, really? You actually want to."

"Well, yes," Jon says, although his voice still sounds nervous.

"Okay great. Luna and Saturn are gonna love this." Gerry jumps up excitedly. "So I know you guys like having your own personal space, and I always have my art shit everywhere, but I've been thinking and I think we can make you both comfortable here too."

Martin and Jon share a perplexed look at Gerry's sudden frenetic burst of energy.

"We'll be comfortable here no matter what," Martin rushes to reassure him.

"Hush," Gerry speaks over him. "We both know you're just saying that because you feel like an inconvenience. But you're not and we all have to make this our home. Come, come on, I want to show you."

Gerry grabs a hand from each of them and drags them behind him and around and under the wide stairs that lead up to the loft space.

He leads them to two doors under the stairs, leading them into one. It's a large storeroom, technically, and Gerry has filled it with extra paint, canvases of many different sizes, and a plethora of other painting supplies. There aren't any windows, and the industrial light makes the space look stark. The scent of oil paint and turpentine is pervasive, but homey since those are things they associate heavily with Gerry himself.

"They're both the same. I've been thinking that if you two ever did want to move in here, you could take one each. A creative space just for yourselves, or your own bedrooms if you need some space once in a while. If you want them." His typical self-confidence is slightly lacking, the nervous twist of his fingers belaying his nerves at the admission.

"Oh Gerry," Martin says with something akin to wonder in his voice.

"But aren't you using them?" Jon asks, never one to let romanticism come in the way of practicality.

Gerry shrugs, "I've been thinking of having cupboards installed in the studio space and moving all this in there anyway. It will be more convenient for me when I'm working and it will be worth it to have you here all the time."

Gerry pauses, brow furrowing. "I've also considered moving the art studio in here so you two don't have to trip over my art stuff all the time."

Martin and Jon both understand the significance of that offer, knowing that Gerry's favourite things about this place are the high ceilings, giant windows, and natural lighting at most times of the day and even at night.

"You would be willing to give up your art space for us?" Martin asks in some wonder.

"Well yeah, of course," Gerry says as if it's obvious. "We'll all have to share the bedroom then, but the living space will be bigger. Whatever you would prefer."

"Just like that?" Jon's blunt incredulity finally tips Gerry off to their shock.

"Oh come on. I obviously haven't been a very good boyfriend if you two don't already know that you're more important to me than painting." It was the most romantic thing Gerry could say to anyone, really.

Martin kisses him, tearing up again.

"What did I say? Don't cry, love." He reaches up to wipe the tears away, and Martin offers him a wobbly smile.

Jon goes over to kiss him too. "You love us more than art."

"We're going in circles here. Yes, I love you both more than literally anything." Gerry is starting to wonder if they're being obtuse on purpose.

"We love you too," Jon tells him emphatically.

"Of course you do. I'm delightful." They all dissolve into laughter at that, the weighty mood breaking with it.

"So do you think you'll both be happy here?" Gerry asks when the laughter has faded.

Even standing in the mildly dusty storeroom and breathing in paint fumes, Jon knows the answer already. "I think we might be able to make it work."

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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maleficarfic · 3 years

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Of Unicorns, Virgins, and Other Such Things

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Only partially crack

Summary: A noble attempting to curry favor with the Inquisition gives Inquisitor Lavellan a unicorn. It gets in the way. A lot.

On AO3: Link

“But what is it?” the Inquisitor asked, ears flicking with annoyance as she peered at the massive white beast stomping around her courtyard, nickering nastily at everyone who wasn’t Cole. It was quite pretty, with a flowing mane and tail that shimmered like starlight. Its hooves and horn glimmered gold in the brilliant light of early afternoon.

“A gift,” Josephine said, a bit too cheerfully. “From a noble who seeks to curry your favor. It is a rare, almost mythical unicorn.”

The Inquisitor peered at it. “It doesn’t have a sword through its face like the other one.”

“Because this is a natural unicorn,” Josephine said with infinite patience.

The Inquisitor’s right ear twitched, her expression flattening. “You said mythical.”

“I said almost mythical.”

“And this from you,” Varric interjected, leaning against a wooden post and giving the Inquisitor one of those shit-eating grins. Her ears twitched again. “The woman who does at least ten impossible things before breakfast.”

She pulled her lips back and gave him a snarl. Any normal person would have seen that expression and pissed themselves, but Varric just laughed like this was all good fun. It was infuriating how she was supposed to be the most deadly person in Thedas – though, probably, the Hero of Ferelden was more so – but none of her companions seemed to treat her with the respect deadly people deserved. Actually, now that she thought about it, no one did. It was always Inquisitor, fetch this thing or Inquisitor, take this other thing to the place with the people or even Inquisitor, my wife is dying and my son knows how to cure her so please go to him but, oh, no, he won’t come back with the potion or even given you the recipe he’ll just give you the potion to bring back to me necessitating you making future trips to bolster the Inquisition’s reputation. Not that she had strong feelings about this.

“Also this unicorn is not dead.”

“Fluffy,” the Inquisitor said with sharp enunciating, “is not dead. She is respirationally challenged. More importantly, why doesn’t this one like anyone except Cole?”

Solas, who had been hovering at the edge of the courtyard with a studious expression on his face, swung toward her at the question. “Lore surrounding unicorns posits they prefer the company of virgins and will defend a virgin quite violently.”

The Inquisitor went still. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Oh,” she finally managed.

“Indeed.” Solas slipped closer to her. “Given the unicorn’s nature, it might be best to have—”

He broke off as the unicorn, with a whiny loud enough to burst eardrums, rounded on them and charged. He threw himself to the side, snapping a barrier into place around himself, Josie, the Inquisitor, and Varric, and stumbled. He righted himself only with Josie’s help.

“Oh,” the Inquisitor said as the unicorn paced in a circle around her. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being a virgin. That didn’t bother her at all. It was just that a four-legged beast with a spike growing out its head was telling everyone in Skyhold that she’d never gotten laid.

Twenty-four years old, leading one of the most powerful political forces in the world, surrounded by men and women who pretty much oozed sex appeal, and she’d never had sex.

This was her life.

She dragged a hand down her face as Varric made a noise of pure delight. “Inquisitor, he seems to like you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

The unicorn’s muzzle rubbed against her face. It lipped her ear. With a shriek, she bolted away from it.

“He really seems to like you!” Varric called after her as she tore across the courtyard, the unicorn prancing happily after her.

She tried hiding in the great hall. She tried hiding in the tavern. She climbed the ladder to Cullen’s Blighted bedroom and crawled under his bed – much to his sputtering horror – and the damn thing somehow managed to follow her everywhere. When she decided to go out on missions, it was waiting in the stables, somehow saddled, looking at her with huge, watery eyes that seemed to say Ride me, beautiful virgin, and she’d go red to her ears.

Passing judgments was next to impossible. The Tevinter shem who had led the Wardens astray had taken one look at the unicorn standing proudly beside her throne and dissolved into giggles. Ser Ruth, who had turned herself in around the same time the Tevinter mage was brought before her, took one look at the unicorn and started choking. Ostensibly on laughter, but the Inquisitor hoped the woman swallowed her tongue.

“You can’t follow me everywhere,” she told the damn beast as it followed her across one of the ramparts. She and Cole kept putting him in the stables. He kept escaping. Somehow.

Vivienne thought he was possessed, and Bull tended to agree, but everything was demons and despair with those two anyway.

“You need to let me do my job.” He stared at her with watery eyes. She attempted to remain unmoved. “You need a name, too.”

He pranced, hopping from hoof to hoof as if he understood. In the back of her head, she heard Solas intoning, Unicorns are widely believed to be incredibly intelligent creatures. Do your best to be polite. That horn isn’t for show.

“Pokey?” she suggested.

The unicorn gave her a look that pretty clearly said, You’re shitting me.

“Fine, fair, I agree, it was a bad idea.” She was bad at naming things, though. The other day, she’d scraped together enough lambswool to make a new set of robes for Solas, and when asked by Dagna and Harritt to give the coat some kind of identifier, she’d just said, “Sheep’s Clothing.” They’d looked at her like she’d grown two heads before declaring it Resisting Magical Something or Another.

She had told Solas about the incident. He hadn’t approved, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Tugging on one of her braids, she gave the unicorn an assessing look. “You kind of look like a Bob to me.”

He blinked at her and that blink somehow managed to convey his dripping disdain.

“Not Pokey. Not Bob.” She chewed on her lower lip, and the unicorn made a sound that might have been horsey delight. It disturbed her. Deeply. She stopped chewing on her lip. “We could go with something noble. Charger?” He shook his head. Or ruffled his mane. Or something. She took it to be a no. “Dasher? Dancer? Prancer?” She paused. “Now that’s just ridiculous. You’re not making this easy, you know.”

He shuffled up to her and rubbed his nose against her shoulder. She, meanwhile, eyed the exceptionally sharp tip of his horn as it bobbed next to her face. Tentatively, she stroked the unicorn’s neck. “What about Hanal’ghilan? You’re not a halla, but it’s a noble name.”

He whickered and caught her ear with his lips. With an indignant shriek, she tore across the parapets.

In a rare moment of unicorn-free time later that afternoon, she slipped into Solas’s room to study the murals he was painting. And possibly to snuggle up to him and make him incredibly uncomfortable. There was something to be said for flustering him, and it was so delightfully easy that even a virgin could do it.

In her defense, she wasn’t much of a virgin. The unicorn might count her as one, but she’d done more than her fair share of playing poke and tickle with some of the other youths in her clan. She’d just never gone far enough to jeopardize her position.

“Solas,” she greeted cheerfully.

His head snapped up, his eyes darting all around her. Then he relaxed. “I see you’re without your stalwart protector.”

She slipped up to him. He wasn’t painting, was standing beside his table with a book in one hand. His fingers, long and lithe and delightfully wicked, were splayed across the pages of a book that lay open on the table before him.

Dancing her fingers up his tunic, she drew closer to him. “Stolen moments are so rare,” she purred, watching with delight as his eyes widened slightly.

“Inquisitor, I—”

“You?” she asked, rising onto her toes to brush her lips against his. It wasn’t even close to a kiss, but it was enough to get her a little tingly and a lot interested in actual kissing. She wanted real kisses, the fiery, passionate, he-shoves-his-hands-in-her-hair kinds of kisses. Kisses that involved tongue, but not Fade tongue. Fade tongue only got a girl so far.

He swallowed and made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t think…”

“Oh, but you do,” she murmured. “Entirely too much.” She canted her head to the side, sliding one arm about his neck. His book tumbled to the ground as his arm went around her waist, tugging her flush against him.

Their mouths were so close, his eyes so intent and filled with burning, desperate wanting.

From above them came a mighty crash.

“Confounded creature!” Dorian shouted. He followed that shout with many more, none of them understandable, all of them Tevene.

Solas all but shoved her away from him, throwing himself at the scaffolding to the side of the room as she heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh and Hanal��ghilan tore into the room looking like a demon. He snorted, chest heaving, head lowered, and charged straight at Solas.

His horn missed Solas’s butt – and what a tight, sexy butt it was, she thought as he scrambled up the ladder – by inches.

Hanal’ghilan skidded to a stop between her and Solas, scratching the stone floor fiercely with his hooves. He huffed, dragging one hoof over the stone as if readying to charge, and she sighed heavily. “We need to discuss personal boundaries,” she said to him, patting him on the back.

It took her and Cole promising Hana’ghilan the best oats and a stupid amount of sugar cubes to get him to leave Solas’s rotunda. It took even longer to get the unicorn back to the stables, where the Inquisitor assured him up and down that she wouldn’t go anywhere near Solas ever again and he needn’t worry about her losing her virginity in the near to immediate future. He snorted, clearly not believing her, which was pretty much the right response because that night, Solas barged into her dreams with all the subtly of a charging druffalo.

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, and she threw her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him to hold her. They stumbled until her back pressed against a wall, and his tongue was in her mouth, tasting her, and it was so good.

Except for the part where it wasn’t real.

“I’m going to kill that creature,” Solas growled against her mouth, working his hands under her tunic to cup her breasts. That was also good. It was better than good. Heat lanced through her, and she dragged his mouth back to hers for more kisses.

She’d done a lot of kissing in twenty four years. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t as though she’d popped out of the womb and started kissing people. Maybe it was more like twelve years, unless she counted that time she kissed Theron when she was six. It hadn’t been a good kiss. She decided not to count it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she growled back, tugging at his clothes, wondering why he bothered with them in the Fade at all.

Probably because they never got much further than kissing shirtless. He always balked at that point.

“What have I done?” he asked as he caught her lower lip in his teeth, tugging gently.

She responded by grinding her hips against his, making him gasp with pleasure and shock and, really, he should be used to her doing this like this by now. “Nothing, hahren,” she replied in a throaty murmur, and he pressed closer to her, his eyes flickering with lust. “And that’s the problem.”

She heard something crash. It was a splintery sound. Rather like what wood might sound like when it shattered. She went stiff in his arms, and he noticed immediately. “Vhenan?” he asked, drawing his hands down her sides.

“Oh, by the Dread Wolf’s hairy ball—” The Fade dream fractured as a very large something pounded up her stairs and neighed loud enough to wake the dead. She bolted upright from her nest on the floor – she still wasn’t used to the concept of shem beds – and hurled her pillow at Hanal’ghilan’s face.

It hit his horn and stuck.

As he shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge the pillow, she threw another one. “It was a dream!” she shouted, hurling a third pillow. “It was just a dream, I was dreaming, and how did you even get in here?”

In the end, her pillow went flying off Hanal’ghilan’s horn and straight out her open window. It soared over her balcony and disappeared into the snowy mountains. Hanal’ghilan had the good sense to bow his head and give her those sad, watery eyes that were almost as guilt-inducing as puppy eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” she groused as she patted a spot next to her pile of blankets. Hanal’ghilan happily settled there, and, after a moment, she dropped a pillow on his side and curled up against him. It wasn’t so different from sleeping with a halla.

The next morning, she stumbled into the tavern for breakfast with Hanal’ghilan on her heels, and Varric, who was always obscenely cheerful at all hours, saluted her with a mug of that wonderfully bitter, disgustingly perfect drink the shems called coffee. She made grabby hands at it and he surrendered it to her. “Looks like you’ve still got your unicorn chastity belt,” he said and she dragged her hands down her face, pushing the coffee aside and leaning across the table.

“All I want,” she hissed, “is to kiss him.”

“Who, the unicorn or Chuckles?” Varric asked, waving a serving girl over for another cup of coffee.

She pinned Varric with a glare that could probably melt silverite. At the very least, it should have seared the flesh off his bones.

Varric, however, was immune to such looks. She knew this. She still tried to employ them. They always failed. “My hahren—”

“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“That,” she sputtered, “is a term of respect for an elder and not some – some—” She broke off, still sputtering.

“Some salacious pet name?” he supplied.

Dorian dropped into the seat next to her. Aside from Cole, Dorian was the only man Hanal’ghilan let touch her. “Who are we giving salacious pet names to? Can I be next?”

She dropped her head to the table with an audible thunk. “It’s bad enough everyone knows I’ve never had sex with anyone,” she complained into the wood.

“And all you want is for Solas to throw you down and have his wicked way with you, but you have one very large, very white, very horny problem,” Dorian said with far too much cheer for the time of morning.

There was a beat of silence. Then he and Varric broke into laughter so loud it probably reached the Creator’s in the Beyond. She wanted to claw their faces off, but that wasn’t what civilized Inquisitors did.

The door to the tavern banged open, and she turned her head to see a very surly Solas in the doorway. He stopped there. Saw Hanal’ghilan. Hanal’ghilan saw him.

Some kind of energy snapped between the two of them, Hanal’ghilan pawing at the hardwood floor as she hissed at him to behave. Solas spun about on his heel and left. With a cheerful whicker of pleasure, Hanal’ghilan nuzzled against her shoulder.

“I’m going to die a virgin,” she groaned.

“Was this even an issue before our friend showed up?” Dorian asked. He had tried to pronounce Hanal’ghilan’s name once. She had told him if he ever tried again, she would burn all his silky robes and force him to wear cotton. The horror on his face had been priceless.

“No,” she moaned, reaching blindly for her coffee.

One of them, Creators bless them, pushed the mug into her hands. She picked her face off the table and hunkered over the steaming mug, taking small sips of the still too hot drink. It was black and bitter – as bleak as her sex life. She pointed to the mug. “This coffee is my sex life.”

“Hot and steamy?” Varric asked.

“Bitter and black and awful.”

“I thought you liked coffee,” Varric said.

“I don’t. I hate it.” She drank it anyway. “It’s just a good kick in the ass in the morning so I’m awake enough to wrangle all of you. Like whiny little halla who don’t want to go in their pens.”

“We have pens now?” Dorian asked. “That’s rather deviant, Inquisitor.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, throwing back the rest of the coffee in a single gulp.

She began to plan. She went to Cole, because Cole was the only one in Skyhold other than her, apparently, who was a virgin. It was awful. It was terrible. Because of Hanal’ghilan, she knew more about the sex lives of everyone in the Inquisition that she ever wanted or needed to know. The reverse, of course, was also true, and the only one who didn’t seem to care was Cole. Everyone else teased her mercilessly.

“Still have your white shadow,” Leliana had said idly in the War Room two days ago while Hanal’ghilan had lowered his horn at Cullen and proceeded to push the Commander around the room – the Inquisitor had not wanted to consider why.

Just yesterday, Sera had gone on at some length to Blackwall about being elbow deep in circumstances. And had asked the Inquisitor how her circumstances were. They’d both howled with laughter. The Inquisitor had wanted to die.

Or to stick them with something pointy.

Hanal’ghilan was off harassing someone else, so she was planning. With Cole. Planning with Cole was more like trying to herd cats than halla. He kept wandering off in his mind, and she kept having to refocus him. She understood the drifting; they were in the tavern, and there were lots of thoughts constantly brushing up on him. “We should have gone to one of the empty towers,” she said after two hours of getting nothing done.

“I can lead him away for a while,” Cole said abruptly. “We can make crowns of flowers and give them to you when it’s done.”

Her head hit the table with an audible thunk. “Couldn’t we have come to this conclusion at least an hour and a half ago, Cole?”

“Maybe,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. “But you weren’t ready then. You are now. Don’t worry, Solas burns, too. Heated, hot, heavy hands on his—”

Squeaking, she flailed, shushing him. “That’s private, Cole!”

“But he thinks it so loud.” Cole blinked at her with those huge eyes of his. “So do you. You think about him pushing, pressing, pinning. Holding you down and—”

She sputtered, pressing her face into her hands. “Private,” she groaned. When her face stopped flaming, she lowered her hands. “Let’s do it, then. You lead him away. Do the flower thing. And I…”

“Will have and be had,” Cole supplied.

“Yes, that,” she agreed.

So Cole left, and she watched him go to the stables. She watched him lead Hanal’ghilan to the gates. She watched him lead the unicorn out. And then she ran for Solas.

He was pouring over some book she was sure was very interesting, but it couldn’t be more interesting than him bending her over something and—well. She really didn’t know where to go from there, she’d just heard Dorian talk about being bent over things. Presumably, it worked the same way as everything else, but she just didn’t know.

“Hahren,” she said breathlessly, stumbling to a halt just in front of him.

He looked up at her with interest, but not interest.

“Forgive me, but I—”

“Cole took Hanal’ghilan out of Skyhold,” she said, and there was the interest she was looking for. She held out her hand. “Come with me?”

Creators, it suddenly occurred to her that he might say no. That he might gently rebuff her. He had hinted, on more than one occasion, that she was too young for him, that it was inappropriate for him as her hahren to act on any feelings for her. She would strangle him, she decided, if he told her no.

He shot to his feet, taking her hand. “You deserve better than what is sure to be a quick tumble,” he said as she all but dragged him out of the rotunda and hauled him across the great hall.

Behind them, Varric called out, “Unicorn chastity belt, Inquisitor!”

“I’m going to stick you on a spit and roast you, Varric,” she shouted back just before she pushed open her door.

She and Solas tumbled through the door and scrambled as quickly as possible around the tower to the actual door to her room. Then they were through it, and his hands were in her hair, dragging her mouth to his as he pressed her against the side of the stairwell and kissed her. Creators, it was a kiss. His nails scraped against her scalp as his tongue swept into her mouth. It was real and visceral and it flooded her with heat.

“Bed,” he said against her mouth, and he started to draw away.

“The wall is fine,” she protested, pulling him back.

His teeth found her lip, biting and tugging, and she whimpered softly before pressing another hot kiss to his mouth. “Not for your first time,” he said.

“Solas, you could fuck me in the dirt in the woods, and it would be fine,” she snapped, thrusting her hand into his breeches to find him achingly hard.

He swore, cleverly and creatively in Elvish, as she closed her fist around him and stroked. Creators, he was big. She’d stroked boys in her clan until they spilled in her hand, but they were boys and Solas was a man, and the idea of having this part of him inside of her was turning her brain to goo. Her smalls were a mess. She was a mess.

“Fuck me here, hahren,” she breathed, squeezing his cock. He gasped, his breath fanning across her lips. “Up against the wall, just like this.” She rubbed her thumb over his tip, rolling her hips against his thigh.

“Vhenan,” he said, strangled.

“The more you protest, the more time you waste,” she pointed out, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs.

He hissed, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit, rubbing her through the fabric of her trousers, and her mind went blank. She rocked against him, grinding herself on him in a rhythm that practically had her soaking through the fabric. Words escaped her. All she could do was gasp and moan, mewling for more as she worked herself over his hand, hers still stroking him.

Yanking his hand back, he deftly unlaced her trousers. Pushed them down her hips. They caught on her boots, but that didn’t deter them. He stepped between her legs, and she lifted them, trapped as they were, around his hips. His fingers pressed against her wet cunt, one sliding easily into her, and he groaned. “I should do more for you,” he said.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, sliding the fingers of her free hand behind his head. She urged him closer, feigning a kiss, then went straight for his ear. Her lips closed around the delicately pointed tip and he snapped.

He tore at the laces of his breeches, knocking her hand aside in his efforts to free himself. She kept sucking him, pulling broken groans from him with every drag of her tongue along the shell of his ear. And then his cock was free of his pants, and he was pressing it into her, and she had to release his ear so she could let her head fall back against the stone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she hissed, clawing at his shoulders as he worked himself inside her.

He murmured something in Elvish she couldn’t understand – he was always doing that, speaking far more of their language than any elvhen had a right to – and then he was all the way inside her. “Vhenan.” He sounded strangled.

She brought his lips to hers. “Doesn’t hurt,” she told him. “Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” he ground out, and she ground against him, rocking her hips over his. They both gasped at the same time.

“Lucky me,” she said on a soft exhale. “Now, won’t you shut up and fuck me?”

He did. Creators, he did. He wasn’t tender or gentle. He was demanding, taking what he wanted with brisk thrusts that had her moaning his name every time he pushed into her. One hand curved around her ass to support her, to give her more leverage, while the other worked between their bodies to stroke her clit.

That was a revelation. Having a man inside her as he played with her? She could hardly breathe for how good it felt. Some demented part of her thought it felt so good in part because it was petty revenge on an obnoxious unicorn, too.

Then she was lost to thought, drowning in the feel of him. He made her cry out, made her quiver and shake in his arms, until finally, finally, her body clenched around his cock. It was the strangest, most delightful sensation she’d ever experienced, the orgasm somehow more intense for having him inside her. She swore – something about the Dread Wolf’s balls – and Solas swore – something about Mythal’s tits – and then he was coming, too, with jerky, abbreviated thrusts and a look of ecstasy on his face.

They slumped against each other, gasping.

“Vhenan,” he began, but she cut him off with bright, wicked laughter, peppering his face with kisses.

“Finally,” she crowed, laughing, kissing him, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders and just hugging him. “Finally, finally, finally!” She pulled back, eyes widening with delight. “You know what this means?”

“I’m damned for all eternity for despoiling you?” he asked mildly.

She knew her expression was demented from the way his brows rose slowly. “That Blighted unicorn is going to hate me now!”

An hour or so later, Hanal’ghilan came screaming into the great hall, flowers braided into his mane. He slid to a halt before the Inquisitor’s throne, where she sat idly drinking coffee. He approached slowly, his nostrils flaring, and then recoiled from her. There was, interestingly enough, no condemnation in his eyes. Just quiet acceptance. He trotted away.

“I almost feel bad,” she said, taking a noisy sip of her coffee, as Solas drifted through the great hall toward her, a predatory look in his eyes.

At her side, Varric said, “Do you really?”

“Mmm. A little. A very little.” She sighed happily. “My sex life is still like my coffee, though.”

“Bitter and black?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “Hot and steamy.”

“More than I needed to know, Inquisitor,” he said, and he fled as Solas gained the dais.

“I believe I owe you hours of leisurely lovemaking, vhenan,” he said.

She tossed back the rest of her coffee and set the mug aside. “Let’s see if you can keep up, old man.” He did. But so did she, and it was wonderful.

#solas #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #fanfic #dai

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tsukuna · 4 years

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Side by Side

Summary: You wandered into Red Grave City to warn the "Legendary Devil Hunter" of a certain... negative shift in the area's energy. It was an energy you knew to be demonic, and it grew stronger by the day. But on your way to meet with the intermediary, a noisy bird caught your attention. A noisy bird that would bring you to a frail man on the brink of falling apart.

Rated M • Female Reader • Before the Events of DMC V• Under the Cut • Part 2

The backstreets and dark alleys of Red Grave City were a seedy sort. There were assaults and robberies aplenty, and yet it was there you slinked around. It wasn’t like you were too good for such a sketchy area or anything, you also carried a hidden dagger on your person. Experience told you that was at least one precaution someone had to take. Something was about to change in Red Grave City though, you could feel it prickling on your skin.

In the couple days you had been in the area, you managed to locate a man by the name of Morrison--a man who would help you meet a devil hunter. The two of you scheduled a time to meet once more at a quaint bar to further discuss the issue you were bringing to the plate; however, that time wasn’t till later in the evening and there was nothing you could do to kill time. Any money you had was to be saved for the job ( hopefully the intermediary would buy you a drink at the bar ). And so you walked around, kicking rocks and passively looking about.

When you first saw a dark bird flying about in the sky, you thought nothing of it--until it began to talk. Your eyes squinted incredulously. The fuck? Clearly, this ‘bird’ was no bird. Quickening your pace to follow it, you whistled and called to it, “Hey!” Considering it stopped in place, you guessed you caught the creature’s attention. At that moment, it turned into a mere shadow falling down, and a short moment later, it perched itself upon your shoulder. Ah, a demon.

“Babe! ( Babe?) You gotta help me!” The demon squawked, his voice reminding you very much of a cartoon. It continued to speak after you quirked your brow at it. “I got a dying guy over there! Come on!” If he could’ve dragged you by the arm, he would have. You sighed in resignation and followed, nodding for the demonic bird to lead the way.

The destination was an abandoned, destroyed building that reeked of demon blood. Your eyes caught sight of a collapsed man, who you assumed to be the ‘dying guy.’ Again, the bird was blabbering about something, but you let it fade into the background noise. Cautiously, you made your way to the boy with black hair, hand on your dagger. It was unnecessary though. The man was truly out cold, his body shivering, sweating, and covered in demonic fluids.

You sat beside his body, gently pulling the man’s head onto your lap. You brushed the ebony hair away from his face. Cute. With a deep breath, you focused yourself and reached your hand out over his abdomen. “He’s not in good shape. What the hell happened to him?” You furrowed your brows.

“We were fighting demons and he worked his little body too hard!” He paused, “Is Shakespeare gonna live or not?” Was that actually the man’s name?

“I think so,” you affirmed, “I will do what I can.” Once more you reached out, pouring your own vitality into the cracks of his fractured energy. It wasn’t the most comfortable of procedures, so you hummed songs to keep your mind off the unease.

“Babe, just what are you,” the bird sat on your shoulder and questioned.

“Shh,” you put a finger to your lips without even bothering to look at the source of the voice and continued singing softly. You were not only too busy healing the man, but also trying to figure out just what he was. There was a faint demonic energy inside of him, but everything else appeared human--perhaps even weaker than that. You weren’t quite sure why you were pouring your energy into healing a seemingly doomed person, but it simply felt right--not that you ever cared what was right before.

It must have been nearly an hour before you were done working and certain that he would live through the toll his body had taken. However, he still laid there unconscious, and so you continued to sit there and idly ran your fingers through his hair. “He will live,” you softly spoke.

The demon let out a sigh of relief, “Thank fuck. Though I have to ask, how did you do that shit?” You explained the process without giving away just what you were. Considering you stumbled upon the two just that day, there was no trust there and there wasn’t a chance in hell that you would spill your secrets to strangers.

The chatty creature seemed disappointed in your answer, but pushed it no further.

Next to the man’s body lay a book with a ‘V’ on the cover. Curious, you reached out and picked it up. It was a book of poetry you noted as you skimmed through. Shakespeare indeed. You began to read. After all, there was currently nothing better to do, and considering the fact that it was still light outside, there was plenty of time till you had to meet with Morrison.

After a time of reading long enough for you to get over halfway through the book, a groan came from beneath you. Finally, the man had woken up. The atmosphere certainly became more awkward as he once again gained consciousness. With an uncomfortable smile, you let out a tense, “Yo.”

Dark green eyes blinked a few times and looked back at you with shock and suspicion as he shot up to a sitting position.

“You sure gave me a scare!” The black bird exclaimed before the man could address you. “Thought you were dead for realsies.”

“I just ran out of power,” the stranger spoke in a low, groggy voice, still looking at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“And that still means death to us right now, so be careful,” he responded. Ah, this demon must be his familiar.

The two of them talked further while you sat by watching. Finally, the man focused on you. “And who are you,” he warily questioned.

After you gave him your name, the bird butted in. “Babe here--”

“Don’t call me babe.”

“Sorry. This lady here is the reason your sorry ass is still alive!” This time, he flapped his wings and perched on your head, an action that made you frown. The dark haired--and tattooed, you noticed--man quirked his brow.

“I suppose I owe you a gratitude,” he spoke once more. If you had to admit it, it was quite a pleasant, handsome voice.

You shrugged. “I think this demon here would’ve scratched my eyes out if I didn’t try after walking all the way here.” The chatterbox wasn’t wrong though. I’m almost certain he would’ve died without aid. “Oh, I assume you’re V,” you guessed due to the initial on the book and slid it over to him. “Hope you don’t mind that I read some while waiting for you.”

He appeared to be thinking before responding, “Yes.. my name is V. I hope its contents are interesting.” V began to stand up but it seemed his legs weren’t ready to support him, so he nearly tumbled over.

Quickly, you reached out to pick him back up. “I’m more of a fan of prose,” you admitted, as you assisted him, “but I can appreciate poetry as well.” V was back and steady on his feet, to which he offered a nod of thanks. A moment of silence passed by. “So can I ask what the name of your talkative familiar is?”

Said familiar materialized from the ink of V’s tattoos, “The name’s Griffon.” Much to your surprise another creature formed as well. “And this girl here is Shadow.”

You looked at the demon who took the form of a panther with glowing red eyes, and she looked back at you. Your eyes widened as she brushed herself against your legs like a house cat, which wasn’t a bad thing. Tentatively, you reached forward and scratched the creature behind the ears, a gesture she appeared to enjoy.

Once again, a pair of dark green eyes (much like the colors of a forest) were staring at you rather intensely. “Looks like you’ve got some interesting company,” you tried to lighten the atmosphere.

“Damn right he does!” Griffon squawked.

“I’m a bit jealous, I must say. It has been me, myself, and I for many long years,” you said with downcast eyes. “I think this is the most interaction I’ve had in quite some time.” V merely nodded at your comment, to which you sighed. I won’t get much out of this guy.

A loud groan and gurgle came from V’s stomach, cutting the tense feeling. You couldn’t completely suppress your giggle. “I’m hungry myself.” It was an honest comment. “Wanna find something to eat in Red Grave?”

“I don’t have any money,” he replied, looking to the side with a chagrined expression.

You knew you really needed all the money you had to pay Morrison to pay the devil hunter, but you made an offer anyways. “My treat as long as you don’t expect anything expensive.”

“I already owe you a debt, and it seems I’m about to tack on another expense,” V sighed.

“Don’t worry,” you laughed, “I don’t expect anything. Not that there’s anything you can do to repay me for your life anyways,” you winked.

The comment actually garnered a small smile from the man. “Let us be off then,” he gestured forward. “I should be able to walk just fine now,” V reassured you with a spin of his cane as you moved closer in case you had to catch him again.

The two of you walked in step with one another. Despite it being quiet, you were actually quite comfortable. It amused you when V was the one to break the silence. “What are you?” He asked, still looking forward.

“Hmm,” you hummed as you pondered upon your answer. “How about instead of answering straight up, I propose a little game.” Finally turning to look upon your face, V quirked his brow. “We can do a little quid pro quo. You tell me something about yourself, and I’ll tell you something about myself--and vice versa, of course. The only catch is that our answers must be equivalent to what the other said,” you explained, pointing a finger in the air.

V grinned. “Fair enough.” Again, the two of you fell into silence once more.

Deciding to get the ball rolling, you piped up, “I’m in the city to find a devil hunter. Perhaps you’ll think I’m crazy, but something is coming.” It was a comment you said in all seriousness.

His reply astonished you. “I am as well. I hope to enlist the help of the same devil hunter before the damage comes to pass.”

“Perhaps we should continue being together for the day if that’s your goal. I’m meeting with the intermediary today,” you clarified.

“I hate relying on others,” V put a head to his forehead. “But I agree that is for the best.” You nodded in agreement.

Again, you found yourself in the back streets of Red Grave City, but this time, you were with a companion. You absent-mindedly fiddled around with your most precious treasure--an intricately twisted black-metal ring set with a blue opal. But it wasn’t long before a woman’s panicked voice brought you back to reality. The two of you peeked around the corner to see three men robbing a woman. You took a step forward, but Griffon opened his wing ahead of you.

“Things will get messy if you get involved. Stay out of it.” He then warned V, “And you’re not a demon. If you get shot, you’re dead.”

The men demanded her necklace. “Please, anything but that… It’s a memento of my mother,” she nearly sobbed. But she gave it up as one of them put a gun to her head. You felt a sense of disgust bubble up in you as you thought of your own memento, the ring. V seemed to share your sentiment as his face paled and brows furrowed.

Suddenly, V was slipping, knocking over a trash can and catching the people’s attention. “I should have fed you some mice after all!” Griffon screeched. It wasn’t long before the men began approaching V. You slowly began to reach for the dagger hidden in your boot; however, you tsk-ed at the fact that guns are certainly faster than knives. One of the thieves continued to threaten your tattooed companion over money he didn’t have (you were footing the food costs, after all).

Your eyes widened as the man smashed V in the face with his gun. You rushed and held him before his head could smack across the concrete. “Ha ha. You’ve gotta treat yours and your girlfriend’s life with more care…”

The sound of flesh being pierced hit your ears, and a rush of sharp, black tendrils continued to lash out. “That’s my line,” V coldly replied. “And it looks like you’ve put it in a bad mood.” The black matter continued gurgling, bubbling, and growing around you two. Repeatedly, it punctured the three men’s bodies. Their cries of agony rang out. Soon enough, they were bloody and debilitated.

“Huh, neat,” you softly spoke. V bent over to begin picking up the money, and you followed suit. Three thuds and a cries of agony sounded behind you. You looked over your shoulder to see them lying in pools of blood.

“Why are you moaning like it hurts? It’s just a dream,” V looked at them with disdain in his eyes.

Your gaze turned to the original victim who was trembling with fear. “Stay away stay away stay away!” She screamed. “Please don’t kill me! I’ll give you money.”

“That money is already ours, nobody’s asking for your--” You squeezed Griffon’s beak shut as V carefully dropped her necklace in front of her. Did she even notice? Or was she too busy shuddering? You didn’t really care about the answer, and soon enough, both of you were turning and walking away.

“You look kinda angry,” Griffon pointed out.

Putting a finger to your chin in fake thought, “His expression is pretty sour, huh?” You laughed with the bird. V only sighed and kept walking. Curiosity swelled up in you. “Are those guys gonna die and bleed out or somethin’?”

“And if I said yes?”

You shrugged. “Can’t say I care all that much. It would be a bit hypocritical of me.”

V simply stared at you for a moment. “You’re… amusing.” The compliment surprised you.

A laugh passed from your lips. “I don’t think anyone's ever said that about me. I think people find me to be more along the lines of scary.”

“Hard to find the person who saved me scary.”

“You just haven’t seen enough of me yet,” you gave him a wink. “Ah, there!” You pointed to a burger stand. “It’s probably cheap as shit, and now we have some extra cash to actually get separate meals. But first, let’s clean this up.” You brought your shirt sleeve to his face and wiped the blood off him. “Much better.” It was soft, but you were pretty sure you heard a ‘thank you.’

As one would expect from fast food, the two of you finished the transaction quickly and found a wall to sit against. It didn’t take long for you to dig into your food, starting with the fries. On the other hand, V sat there examining his burger. A confused expression took over your features. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t want to get sauce on myself,” he stated matter-of-factly. You snorted and even Griffon came out to laugh.

“Seriously, that’s your damn problem?”

“I don’t want to be dirty.” Despite his words, hunger seemed to have won the battle of eating versus worrying about sauce. V had predicted it correctly though--sauce did indeed drip on his pants. Silently, you set napkins in his lap. “Thanks,” he said through a mouthful of food.

As the two of you finished your meals in quietude, you took notice of the darkening sky. With a stretch, you stood up and shook your legs out. Noticing he was still sitting down, you offered your hand to V. He stared at it for a moment, but took it anyway. You flashed him a soft smile. “We should probably get going if we hope to meet with that man Morrison today.”

Making your way to the bar, you observed more and more things about your partner for the day. Firstly, he didn’t need his cane--for walking at least. Other than his moments of fatigue, his gait was entirely normal. But if he didn’t need it for walking, what did he need it for? Secondly, you noticed that when his familiars Griffon and Shadow emerged, the ink of his tattoos came out with them; however, some color remained. Did that mean there was another you had yet to see? There was no denying that V was a man of mystery. You reached the bar before you could ponder further.

“You comin’ in?”

V shook his head. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Alright, shouldn’t take too long,” you nodded to him. You squinted as you stepped into the dimly lit room. At the bar itself, you noticed a man in a hat. It seemed like he was trying to keep a lower profile, so it was likely that that was your man. “Morrison?” You approached him.

“Ah,” Morrison called out your name. “Nice to see you again,” he shook your hand then lowered his voice. “So you have a job?”

“Yes, it is very important that I see this Dante. I have the money,” you showed the bills to him. “Oh, and I also met another man who wants to propose the same job to him,” you added.

“Is that so?” This Morrison man did seem surprised by what you said. He turned around to say goodbye to the employees. “Let us be off then.”

You and Morrison exited the bar, and you reunited with V. “It’s all set up,” you informed him, to which he nodded in response.

Soon enough, the three of you arrived at your destination--Devil May Cry. Morrison went ahead of you two to deliver the job to the legendary hunter Dante. Your gaze turned to V, but he appeared to be having an inner dialogue going on. Eh, I don’t care to interrupt. It was V who broke the silence. “Are you ready to go in?”

“After you,” you gestured, pulling the door open. A mere moment after, you finally looked upon what would (hopefully) be the man to take on your job. Dante was a ruggedly handsome man with silver hair, blue eyes, and a bit of stubble. All in all, he was pleasant to look at, even if his eyes were full of skepticism as he sized you and V up. Dante’s gaze flicked up to Morrison once more though when he told the devil hunter that he was bringing two other people onto the job. The notion seemed to offend him, but he took it with a huff anyways.

A quiet moment passed. “Alright, so for starters… What are your names?” You offered yours up then looked to V.

“ I have no name; I am but two days old…”

Both you and Dante looked at him strangely. Oh, I see. He's reciting a poem. You recalled the pieces you had read while waiting for him to wake up.

“Just kidding. You can call me ‘V,’” he said with a seemingly amused expression before closing his book.

“Okay then you two. Why don’t you tell me everything about this job?” Dante wore an expression that seemed to scream boredom.

You turned and allowed V to explain the situation. “A powerful demon is about to resurrect, and we need your help, Dante.”

“Ha!” Dante exclaimed. It was a reaction you were not expecting. “Now that’s a familiar tune.” He began listing off the requests he’s been given with a certain cockiness. “All of them were kind of a let down.”

“This is special…”

“What’s so special about this one?” You were curious yourself, you didn’t realize how much more V knew about this situation than you did. You were acting on feelings and intuition, but this ebony-haired man seemed to know the issue intimately.

“This demon is your “reason,” V continued, “Your reason for fighting, Dante.”

Dante was quiet before asking, “This demon got a name?”

A smile graced V’s lips. “Vergil.”

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oddeyevibes · 3 years

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TLND Ch2: 2 Come In

Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Vice City or any of its characters, I only own my OCs. Also, many of the images and gifs used are not 100% representative of the story, there are chosen to help create ✨~ambiance~✨.

Summary: Tommy has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For him, it’s business and a duty as a member of the Forelli crime family. Dallas has come to Vice City to kill people for money. For her, it’s business and an art form, and a lifestyle that has been a part of her family for a long time. A lot might not see it, but they were made for each other....which is why they're checking into the same hotel, on the same night. Unknowingly, right next door to each other.

Italics used for when characters are speaking another language (it feels more respectable than google translate)

Trigger Warning: Blood, graphic depictions of violence

The rush and high of what went down earlier was finally beginning to fade. Well...for Tommy anyway. Ken was chattering on here and there but the sentences were too broken for Tommy to pay attention. The mobster was just letting the bright lights of Vice City calm him down.

“I poke my head outta the gutter for one freakin’ second and fate shovels SHIT in my face!” Ken cried as he pulled up to park his car in the alleyway next to his office.

The sound of a coherent sentence brought Tommy out of his daze. He didn’t really have a response. “Just go get some sleep.”

Ken looked at the backseat, sweating glistening his forehead. “What’re you gonna do?”

Tommy shrugged, “I’ll drop by your office tomorrow and we can start sorting this mess out.” Ken rapidly nodded before hopping out of the car and making a break for his office, presumably to lock himself in there for the night.

Tommy sighed as he stepped out of the car. The Vice City days were hot and dry and while the nights were no better, at least there was a slight breeze coming back every so often. It helped bring the blood pressure down.

Tomorrow, he was going to come back here and start on figuring out what the hell went wrong, as well as letting Sonny know that not only did the deal go bad but that Harry and Lee are also dead. Knowing Sonny’s short temper, the conversation was going to get violent but being a friend from childhood, Tommy already knew that.

However, tonight? Tonight, Tommy was going to find a hotel and get some sleep. Given everything that transpired today, there was no way he was going to be tossing and turning tonight. He’ll sleep like a baby. First, though, he had to find somewhere to sleep.

Ocean View Hotel

The Ocean View Hotel was no five-star resort but for most people, it got the job done. Most tourists either came for the beaches or the get a taste of the nightlife and it just so happened that the Ocean View had close access to both and for a fair enough price.

A midnight blue Sentinel XS pulled up, double parking in front of the hotel. Inside the car were two people. The driver, one Carlito Montoya was light brown skin middle age Cuban man with slicked-back black hair, and a Chevron mustache adorning is his chiseled face. The man was dressed in a fine tailored black suit with a red button-up shirt underneath. The man looked like a model and no one would ever be able to tell he did any other profession.

The other person in the car, Carlito’s slightly younger cousin, was Dallas Montoya. A dark skin Afro-Cuban woman with finger waves dyed blonde. She was wearing a dark blue hoodie with a pair of black sweat shorts and a clean white pair of tennis shoes. Clearly, she was dressed comfortably for the flight here. Resting on the top of her head was a pair of black-rimmed sunglasses.

“Alright, here we are. Ocean View Hotel! It should hold you up for the next couple of days until I get this deal done.”

“Since when have we had to fly out anywhere before being given a job?” Dallas asked with a tired tone in her voice, getting herself situated to hop out the car, grabbing her grey tote bag from the floor.

“Times are changing, Little Dallas,” Both left the car and went towards the trunk. “Momma’s thinking of setting up shop here...least for a few months. Vice City’s becoming a hot spot of criminal activity, there’s always someone who wants someone dead.”

“And we’d be fools to not take advantage, huh?” Dallas finished for him with a knowing smirk.

Carlito nodded. “Exactly.”

The older Montoya handed Dallas her white suitcase and navy blue duffle bag. Dallas gave a flat smile as she took the bags and headed towards the step of the hotel. Upon reaching the top of the steps, the sound of a door shutting caught her attention.

She turned to see Carlito hopping back into the driver’s seat of her car. She looked at him confused, “You ain’t coming?”

“Nah…” Carlito had a cocky smile. “I’ve got to meet an old girlfriend.”

Dallas rolled her eyes and waved him away, heading into the hotel as the car drove off. The inside of the hotel was a pretty sight. With the marble floors alongside the nicely set dining area and with the window giving a lovely view of the beach, this was the perfect place to just sit and unwind, especially with the sounds of merengue playing softly throughout the room.

The blonde approached the front desk and rang the bell. Not too long afterward, an elderly woman stepped out of the backroom and slowly made her way towards the desk. “How many nights?” There was a thick Cuban accent to her words.

“How much for a week?”

The woman had seemingly been caught off guard. “A week? ” The elder woman stretched her back as she thought. “Around $600 for a normal room. Suites around $1200?”

Dallas thought on it. ‘Probably wouldn’t be wise to go all out until we figure out if we’re staying or not.’ She nodded. “I’ll take a normal room.”

The older woman nodded and flashed a customer service smile. “ Let me go back and get a room key for you. I have to call upstairs, make sure the room is clean too. ”

As the woman returned to the backroom, Dallas leaned against the desk and waited for her return. Meanwhile, outside a yellow taxi pulled up to the front of the hotel. Tommy, exhausted from today’s events paid the driver along with a ‘thanks’ before heading into the building.

Since he didn’t know much about this city yet, he left it to the cabbie to take him to a nice hotel. Nothing too fancy and nothing that looked like it should’ve been condemned years ago. It’s safe to say, the mobster was pleased with the result. He still had some money on him from Sonny. It was meant for him, Harry, and Lee to keep themselves held over until money from the drugs started pouring in. It should be enough for him to get a room for a week or so.

Upon entering the hotel, he was greeted to the sight of an attractive woman bent over the front desk, no doubt waiting for service. The woman took notice of him and offered him a smirk before going back to admiring the pictures posted up on the walls.

‘Guess the place ain’t all bad.’ He thought to himself.

The shuffling of feet caught his attention as an elderly woman came out with a key in hand. “ Alright dearie, here you go. The room’s all cleaned up for you. If you need anything, just let me know. Especially if something’s broken then I’ll get my son to fix it for you. He’ll always get it done faster for pretty girls, he’s useless that way. ”

Both of the women giggled as Dallas took the key from the woman. The blonde grabbed her bags from the floor, shooting Tommy and wink before heading upstairs to find her room. The older woman turned her attention to Tommy.

“ How many nights? ” The woman spoke but Tommy, not being fluent in Spanish, was caught off guard.

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry. I was asking how many nights?”

“How much for a week?”

“You too?” She asked.

Tommy shrugged and nodded, figuring she must’ve been referring to the woman he just saw. ‘So she was staying a week as well.’

“It’s $600 for a normal and $1200 for a suite.”

Tommy didn’t have to think about it or better yet, didn’t really have the luxury to think about it. “Normal.”

The woman nodded. “Let me go get your key and call up to make sure the room’s ready.” She then shuffled back to the backroom, leaving Tommy in the lobby alone with nothing but the faint sounds of music playing.

‘What the fuck am I gonna tell him?’ He thought as he rubbed his temples. Tommy was a special case compared to everyone who worked for Sonny. Given their history, Tommy wasn’t someone who was scared of Sonny himself but more so annoyed by the temper tantrums he had when things didn’t go his way. Tommy was rarely on the unfortunate receiving end of those tantrums, instead, he was always the one that had to clean up whatever Sonny considered a mess.

It was annoying but it paid the bills. Being considered Sonny’s clean-up man was one of the main reasons that Tommy had some doubt about Sonny being the one who set him up. Was he overexaggerating? Jumping to conclusions? Probably. But Tommy Vercetti knew that job was a setup. There was nothing Sonny could gain from taking Tommy out of the picture, he was already the Don. Surely, Sonny’s insecurity hadn’t fallen THAT much.

There was no telling at this point in time, at least. All Tommy could do was wait everything out and see what unfolded, for someone to slip up. He was hoping it was going to be Harry or Lee that did it buuuuut...that’s not happening now, is it?

Tommy entered his new shelter for the new few days...or several weeks. The place really wasn’t that shabby. Given the street it was on, it seemed only right that the room was decent. This part of Vice City seemed like a tourist attraction, especially with a beach right across the street.

As much as he would like to enjoy the scenery, he had business to attend to.

Room Next Door

‘It’s not that bad I guess.’ Dallas thought.

To be fair, she didn’t expect much from this place, especially with Carlito’s voice of approval. Dallas didn’t care if people called her high maintenance with condescension. She went through a lot of harsh shit to be able to do what she does, in her eyes: she deserved to be pampered.

‘At least the lady was nice. And from the sounds of it, I might be able to get some free service from her son.’ The thought put a smirk on her face as she fell backward onto the bed. The ringing of the room’s phone brought the hitman out of her thoughts. ‘Must be Carlito.’

She picked up the phone and greeted the caller.“Room 102, how may I help you?” Dallas put on her best customer service voice.

“Funny,” Carlito replied. “How’s the room? Told you it wasn’t all that bad.”

“I expected nothing from your taste and I was still disappointed.” She joked.

“Whatever~. Anyways, I’m calling you cause I got a small job lined up for you.”

“Already? I thought you were visiting a girlfriend.”

“I am but momma had apparently been spreading the word, under the table of course, and she found you a gig.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, tomorrow there’s a yacht party happening. You’ll be attending with your special client .”

“Why don’t I just talk to them before we get to the party, then?”

“Nah, this is special, you’ll like this. Guy’s name is Archie Fisher, he’s some big-time real estate agent. I’ll explain the fun part to you tomorrow when I pick you up to drop him off...wear something a sleazebag would like.” Carlito said nothing more, hanging up the phone.

Dallas chuckled. Most hitmen worked alone but when you work for an organization like the Montoya Clan, handlers were essential. It was important to maintain a cover, especially in this day and age. Law enforcement was getting better at finding criminals, not too much but enough that people had to cover their tracks with a little more effort. It was no issue with Dallas and Carlito though. They’ve been treating this gig as a spy movie for years, it was a game to them. That was the reason that Momma considered them her favorites. That and the fact that Carlito and Dallas were actually blood-related to her.

The sound of a loud crash coming from a room next door snapped Dallas out of her thoughts. She didn’t know what was happening in the other room but it wasn’t her business. She merely shook her head and went to find something that a sleazebag would like for her outing tomorrow.

“Yacht party, huh? Been a while.” She spoke quietly, rummaging through her luggage. If she didn’t have anything here, she could always go shopping.

The first thing she pulled was a tight-fitting and short hemmed LaMe RaRa with a white-colored top and a gold skirt. As Dallas looked it over, she realized something.

“Fuck...what type of sleazebag is he?”

In her time doing this, she discovered that while they all end up being the same, they all had different tastes for specific reasons. For instance, she might wear tight-fitting business attire, one with a pencil skirt that had a tendency to rise up when luring in some gross business type. They usually liked the fantasy of exerting dominance over a woman in their office. Probably a Barbara who denied their advances one too many times or a Laura who’d been outworking him in everything.

Sometimes they’d like a woman who appeared to be an airhead. Twirling a finger in her hair and just so interested. Maybe they’d like someone more who appeared more introverted. The idea of turning out or being some shy bookish woman’s first. There were a lot of tastes that Dallas uncovered, it was an interesting thing to observe.

‘I should write a book when I retire, honestly.’

Next up was a black scrunched-up dress which Dallas held up to her face, examining it.

“Comfy buuut...too much?” She threw the dress on the bed. “Maybe just wear a bikini. I don’t need to stand out, right? Damn, this is always the tough part. Maybe I’m looking for the wrong outfit.”

She dug around in her bag again, this time pulling out a white bikini with a red anemone design decorating the right breast as well as the left side of the bikini bottoms.

“Where is the other piece to this?” She asked, shaking her head and tossing it on the bed with the other outfits. She sighed. “One more time, if I find nothing, I’m going shopping.”

The last outfit she pulled out was a black and white vintage-styled strapless swim dress. Looking over the swimsuit, a satisfied smile gradually grew on Dallas’ face before she let out a lazy chuckle.

“Perfect...almost.” She threw the swimsuit onto the bed and casually declared, “I need a hat...and a wig.”

Next Chapter ⏩

#The Lady Next Door #GTA fic #Tommy Vercetti x OC

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jubilantwriter · 4 years

Text

Jaspvid Week 2020: Day 4 - Hurt/Comfort

(AO3) @jaspvid-week

get ready for a gratuitous amounts of capslock

Remember When They Were Bad Friends in Canon? Well- NEVER HAPPENED. Aha! Oho!

Summary: David was never good at the whole sleeping thing. He’s been working on it, honest! And he’s been getting better at it, even if there are some places he’s better at sleeping with than others. But sometimes... sometimes when he falls asleep, all he wants to do is wake up.

Word Count: 3148

WARNINGS: PTSD, Graphic Descriptions of Wounds (just to be safe)

David knows that dreams aren't real. That the chronic nightmares that plagued his sleep as a child were nothing but the result of his fears and anxieties left unchecked and unacknowledged for so long. He thought he'd gotten over that part of his life - sure, he still had bouts of insomnia every once in a while, especially at Camp Campbell, but he'd very rarely suffered from nightmares that had him waking up screaming bloody murder. And it's all very rare indeed! Gwen has only needed to wake him up a few times throughout their time working together.

He really thought that he was finally okay. That's what he thinks, when he looks down at hands covered in an inky red before looking back up to see Jasper, hunched over with hands trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

Jasper's bleeding.

Pained blue eyes, wide with fear as light fades fast from them, stare deep into David's own horrified greens.

"Davey," he gasps out, before collapsing to his knees.

"Jasper!" He lurches forward and catches his boyfriend in his arms, and it's just a dream, just a dream, just a dream-

"You have to run!" Jasper shoves David away as best as he can, already wheezing as blood continues to drip down his chest. Long, deep gashes that look worse than they did years ago reveal themselves to David through a shredded t-shirt and it's just a dream just a dream just a dream-

"I'm not leaving you here!" David grabs Jasper as he slumps forward, and it's just a dream just a dream just a DREAM-

His hands feel wet and slick and sticky and red red red-

NO.

Just a DREAM just A DREAM IT'S JUST A DREAM-

But he feels warmth, Jasper feels warm, he feels warm and wet and cold and wet and the wet feels warm and Jasper feels cold and Jasper is solid, solid in his arms and heavy and David can feel his body heave with every desperate gasp every pained shudder every wet cough-

JUST A DREAM!

JUST A DREAM JUST A DREAM JUST A DREAM JUST A DREAM-

BUT WHY DOES IT FEEL SO REAL?

His vision swims and swirls and spins and he can't see there's tears falling from his eyes real tears streaming down his cheeks as he cradles Jasper's weak body and he hears every little "plip" and every little "plop" his tears make as they land on Jasper's face-

Jasper's face Jasper's pale face Jasper's dying face and David begs begs begs to wake up, please wake up he wants to WAKE! UP!

He doesn't want to feel like he's losing his boyfriend like he's watching the same scene replay over and over again like he's letting things repeat like he's let this happen before one time two times three million times and he doesn't want to FEEL THIS ANYMORE!

HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE THIS ANYMORE!

WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP BLOOD ON HIS HANDS BLOOD ON HIS CHEST AND IT'S REAL AND WET AND OH GOD PLEASE WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP THIS ISN'T REAL THIS CAN'T BE REAL HE DOESN'T WANT THIS TO BE REAL WAKE-

"-UP!" A deluge of cold water hits his face and he screams, log tossed into the air as Gwen steps back. "David, shit!"

"I- huh- whu-?" He pants heavily, looking wildly around the room as he tries to get his bearings. And then he remembers blood on his hands and blood on his chest-

"Jasper- Jasper! I have to- I gotta-"

"Woah woah woah!" Gwen catches him just as he tumbles out of bed. "David, deep breaths!" Com on, with me now. In, out..." She guides him through a breathing exercise, calming him down just enough for David to finally make sense of where he is.

He breathes in, and he recognizes the cabin he’s in, and where this cabin is.

Camp Campbell.

He breathes out, and feels the heat all around him, hears the crickets, and recognizes what those all mean to him.

It's summertime.

And as he steadies his breathing, all his thoughts connect back to a crucial bit of information.

Jasper's at their apartment, waiting for him to come back.

Jasper's alive. And well. And far far far away from the forest, away from bears, away from childhood memories that still struck fear in both their hearts.

"What..." He blinks blearily, looking out the window and realizing just how dark the sky is. Or still is, rather. "What time is it?"

"Three am." Gwen rubs her temples, exhausted and sleep-deprived. Whoops. That was definitely his fault. "You were shouting- well, screaming, in your sleep. It was damn near impossible to wake you." He looks down to see the mud-caked slippers she still has on and winces.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize." She waves off his guilty look but quickly grows concerned again when his shoulders still droop. "...Listen. I called Jasper."

"You WHAT?" Though peeved at his shriek, she gestures for him to settle down.

"Fucking relax, you weren't waking up and I thought he'd have some idea for how I could wake you. He suggested the cold water. The bucket was all me." David blinks before remembering that, oh right, he's currently drenched. Gwen tosses him a towel before he can start shivering. Just like Gwen to be prepared like this.

Although he wishes she didn't have to be prepared for this kind of situation.

"Are you gonna call him?" Gwen watches as he dries his hair, towel now resting on his shoulders as he looks to his phone. The device sits unplugged, probably from Gwen yanking it from its charger in her desperation to find a way to wake David.

His very instinct is to dial up Jasper's number, but the time of night makes him hesitate.

"I... probably shouldn't." Though the thought of hearing Jasper's voice, just to hear him breathe and sigh and affirm and reaffirm that he was okay and that it really all was just a horrible nightmare, he thinks about how Jasper also gets up early in the morning to drive to work. If he calls him now, would the brunette even have enough time to sleep? What if he crashes his car because he stood up all night talking with and worrying over David? Jasper shouldn't have to risk that just because David had a nightmare. "It's late and- he needs his sleep. He has to wake up in like, four hours."

"Don't think your boyfriend will be sleeping tonight." Gwen sits on her bed with a tired plop. "He heard you screaming and was about to drive over here."

"What?!" David leaps up from his bed and lunges for his phone. "He can't do that! I have to make sure he stays home-" His speed dial calls up Jasper in a second and he listens to the rings anxiously. "He has work in the morning, and if he comes here, he won't have any sleep AND he won't have any time to drive back-!"

"I know." Gwen's smirk graces her lips just as Jasper picks up. "That's why I convinced him to stay home already."

"Hello?" David's mind blanks as Jasper's worried voice carries over from the speaker. Of course Gwen took care of that already. She puts in some earplugs and puts on an eye mask, already turning onto her side to resume sleeping as he struggles to create words. "Davey? Is that you?"

"A-ah." Well, at least she's giving him some privacy. That's nice of her, at least. "I. Um."

"It's okay, take your time." Jasper's voice soothes him from miles away, and it's enough to get him to relax just a bit.

"...Right." He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, exhaling from his mouth and repeating. Jasper remains quiet, but David can hear his breathing from his side. And it's. It reminds him of where he is, and that everything is fine here. It was just a dream. "Hey, Jasp."

"Sup, homeslice." David sits with his back against the headrest, arm hugging his knees to his chest as he listens to every sound of Jasper he can catch. "You doing alright?"

"More or less." He laughs weakly. "It was just- just a bad dream. A really bad one."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I..." Large gashes that span Jasper's chest flash in his mind. Had they gone lower when he was first mauled by those bears... He sucks in a breath and blinks hard, willing the tears to stay at bay. "I don't think I can, sorry."

"That's okay." Jasper assures him gently, and he wishes, really wishes, that Jasper was here with him right now. It's not the first time he wishes his bed was tucked away in a corner of the room, and not just pressed against the wall. If only so he could feel some approximation of a hug. "...You want me to drive up there?"

"Don't do that." Even though he desperately wants him here. "Y-you have your job to worry about, and there's the bills and rent to pay-."

"I can take a day off, get my shift covered. Wouldn't hurt to use up a little bit of my PTO."

"It was just a bad dream, you don't have to-."

"David." Jasper's voice is firm but still maintains that gentleness he's held since they were kids. "It wasn't just a bad dream."

"...Y-yeah."

"Bud, are you crying?"

"I'm not." He sniffs and scrunches his brows together. "...Okay, maybe a little."

"...I'm driving up there."

"No!" David doesn't need to be there to imagine the shock on Jasper's face. "Don't- don't come here. Please. Please. Stay home." His voice shakes and breaks as he speaks, and he's imagining Jasper in the forest, Jasper facing a bear, Jasper bleeding out and hurt-

"Shhh, okay, okay, I won't." A gasp escapes him and, dang, he really is sobbing now. "I'm sorry, I won't come." He hears the distress in Jasper's voice and immediately panics.

"It's not because I don't want you here!" He tries to wipe away his tears, but they keep coming, and god, god, he wishes Jasper was here. Jasper could easily make his tears go away with his kisses and hugs, but Jasper being here is the last thing either of them need. "It's just- you know, you left Camp Campbell for a reason. And I'm not going to force you to come back here." Just because I want you here, he thinks to himself.

"You're not forcing me to come over there but..." He hears Jasper's weary sigh and imagines the brunette running his fingers through his hair. "...Is this about your nightmare?"

"I..."

His hesitation is enough for Jasper.

"Okay." The soft understanding is clear in his voice.

"Sorry." He mumbles into the phone, feeling like an idiot. "It's dumb- I'm dumb, I wasn't even the one who got hurt- it was you, but I'm sitting here waking everyone up because of a stupid nightmare and I wasn't even the victim, it was you and-"

"Hey hey, wanna slow down for me?" Jasper's gentle tone has him stop long enough to breathe. "What's this about me being the victim?"

"...You know. The... bear attack." There's a sharp inhale from the other side. "It's just- it really shouldn't be me, right? I shouldn't be the one getting nightmares about this, I don't even have the right to, I'm just-"

"You got some heavy thoughts bouncing around your headspace, my guy." Despite David's words, Jasper still manages to chuckle. "Listen man, what happened that day... affected both of us differently."

"...Mmmgh."

There's a creak from Jasper's side. Like he's adjusting his position on the bed. David closes his eyes and pretends for a second that Jasper's sitting next to him, one arm wrapped around him as he hugs him close.

"I'm not gonna lie - falling from a cliff and being attacked by bears was the most unwoke thing to have ever happened to me, like, ever." David laughs a little, because of course Jasper would phrase it like that. "I still hate nature, and I still hate that you're willing to go back to camp every year in spite of what happened. But you got your own reasons. Because that day changed you too." He imagines Jasper leaning against him, pressing his head against David's as he lowers his tone, almost to a whisper. "You saw me die nearly twice. Once, when you couldn't save me from the cliff. And the second time when you found me in the cave mauled and bleeding. You saw my wounds and helped me back to camp. You watched it all happen."

"Yeah, I sure did watch." He grumbles into the phone and sighs. "You were covered in scraps and scratches and then QM took your badge away because I used your shoes."

"To save me." Jasper shifts again from the other side. "Davey, you did way more than anyone else did for me that day. And you were just a kid. We were both kids, and you had to watch as someone your age nearly died because all the other adults barely did anything to help." There's a slight hitch in Jasper's voice as he voices what David won't say. "Maybe you’re not scared of bears like me, or even hate nature like me. But Davey, that day made you so terrified of losing people. Like, really losing them. And that’s a real and justified and valid reaction to what happened, man. Because you don't wanna see another kid fall from a cliff or come back covered in blood. It messed you up real bad, even if you weren’t physically hurt like I was."

"I..." David sighs as he thinks about what Jasper would be doing right now. Kissing his temple? Holding his hand? Looking him in the eye while cupping his face? Maybe all three, knowing his boyfriend. "You sound a lot like my therapist."

"I'll take that as an 'I'm right' card then. Just, don't beat yourself up just 'cause I'm the one with the physical scars. It was a bad day for both of us. Pretty sure if our roles were reversed, you'd be telling me not to beat myself over it too."

"I mean- yeah, I wouldn't want you to feel awful over something like this."

"Exactly." A soft chuckle comes from Jasper as he jostles the phone. "...Feeling better, Davey?"

"A little, yeah." He smiles to himself as he cradles the phone close. "I mean, as long as I can hear your voice, I think I'll be okay."

"What, just my voice? You don't want the whole package deal?" Jasper makes a wounded sound, drawing a small laugh from David. "I thought you loved me!"

"I do love you, Jasp. More than the whole world."

"...Aw, I'm blushing." His laugh turns into a snort. "Want a pic as evidence? I think my selfie game is off the heezy now!"

"As tempting as it is, I think I'll have to pass." Jasper takes forever taking selfies. Something about getting the angle right, then getting the right pose, then making the right face, then choosing the filters, and then he starts all over from scratch if he doesn't like it. David would probably have passed out by the time Jasper manages to send even one selfie. "I'd rather see you in person." David continues to smile when he hears a soft squeak from Jasper.

...Wait. Hold on.

"Is that an invitation?"

Oh hooey.

"No-"

"It's like, what, Friday today? I can take the day off-"

"Jasp-"

"-It's no big deal, I'm good at faking being sick-"

"Jasp-"

"-Rent a room at that dank motel, it's a motel right? All I know is that it's got rooms I can rent, and then we can be alone-"

"Jasper, oh my god!" He covers his mouth to stifle his laugh, but the chortle comes out all the same. "I still have to do my job!"

"Fair, fair. But I can just wait for you. Maybe sneak out during your lunch or something, give me a kiss on your breaks like I'm a prince waiting for a ride-by smooch from his knight in shining armor."

"You're being ridiculous!"

"Am I?" He can easily picture Jasper wiggling his eyebrows on his face. "Or am I just happy to hear you laugh?"

"Both." His laughter subsides as it turns into a content hum. "...I really love you, Jasp."

"I love you too, sunshine." David giggles at the nickname as Jasper laughs along with him. "I'll see you on the weekend then?"

"Alright." It's not like he can stop Jasper once the man's made up his mind. And... he really would like to see him again soon.

"Most excellent, my dude."

"Ah jeez." He shakes his head as Jasper laughs again. "I can't believe you're really coming up here."

"Anything to see your dorky smile."

"You're the dork!" David rubs at his face, the little trails left by his tears now dried up and gone. "...Um, Jasp?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks. For. Just talking with me." He smiles against his knees, a light blush on his cheeks even if Jasper can't see him. "It really means a lot to me."

"...Of course, Davey. I know you'd do the same for me. Hell, you already do!" A sleepy smile matches the sweet laughter on the other side. "It's getting late. I'm gonna call in sick and take a nap. You get some sleep too, alrighty?"

"Mhm." Warmth blossoms in his chest as he gets up to grab his sleeping log. "I can't wait to see you."

"Same, homey. It's lonely without your goofiness to make things bright again."

"Okay, I'm cutting this off before this continues any longer." Jasper chuckles on his end before sighing.

"Right, have sweet dreams, Davey."

"You too, Jasp."

"That's easy when all I gotta do is think of you!"

"Jeez- good night, Jasper!"

"Night, Davey!"

He hangs up the call, a soft smile on his face as he giggles to himself.

Right.

It was just a dream. A bad, awful, horrible dream, sure. But it was just a dream. Because Jasper is still here. Being his goofy, lovable self. And he'll get to see him on the weekend!

So maybe he hasn't quite gotten over it as he'd hoped. But... that's okay, in a sense. He's not dealing with it by himself.

He never was.

He plugs his phone back in to charge and sighs as the time flashes up at him.

Well, two hours of sleep isn't so bad!

As he curls up on his bed, avoiding the damp parts of it in favor of the drier parts, he thinks he'll take a note from Jasper's methods.

And for those two hours.

He'll just have sweet dreams of Jasper.

#camp camp #cc david #cc jasper #jaspvidweek2020 #jaspvid #cc gwen #listen like #what if right #what if david supported jasper after that bear attach #*attack #like sided with him and made sure he was okay and gave him his badge #and david became a ray of sunshine to cheer jasper up #and he got all into camp campbell because #what if he could learn skills to keep others safe #keep jasper safe #and then he becomes a camp counselor to like #make sure no other kid gets hurt ever again #like what if man #what if

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stevenuniversetanzanite · 4 years

Text

The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) part 6

Two posted in one day? what? Never heard of her. Its a short one. Like 2000 words. I considered saving this for the next chapter but I can’t without slipping up that one and I don’t really want to at the moment. Could change later.

Warnings: Murder

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 , Part 6, Part 7 (will be added when done)

Upon heading upstairs and to the woman’s office, the three had fled. The man got enraged, claiming this was unfair. They're gone! Where would they have gone?

Michael spoke to Mead, who told him to forget about the witches and change plan.

You walked around the room getting a good whiff of the air. Your hand glided across the backing of one of the chairs located in the middle of the room. They heard the gunshots and the screams of their students dying. The two older ones rushed to the doors to lock them. Mallory complained telling her that they needed to save them but Mallory wasn’t ready.

“They teleported out of here.”

“Obviously.” Michael spat. “Where would she go?”

“This was the only place that she had. I can’t predict this.” The man huffed. “Ms Mead as a point,” you looked over at the woman. “Not like it matters but isn’t the world meant to end in flames or something. Are witches really worth your time? End the world before she can end you.” You make your move over to Cordelia’s desk chair. Now that she was gone, you could sit there. You’ve never been compelled to sit there until now. Maybe it was the hyperthecial power of it, it is only hers, the Supreme’s. You ran your finger of the grooves of the armrest. Resembling the woman towards the end of her life cycle, the arms had indents from being dug into. “Life is a game of, I don’t know chess- never played but that’s beside the point. You got all your pieces laid out and you go back an forth knocking each other’s out. Some pieces have a power to end the game if you get rid of them, but you don’t have to. There are other ways to end the game if that’s what your wish.”

“I don’t think you understand chess.”

“And now I hopefully never will.”

“You got aboard this really quickly.”

“You promise answers, something these witches couldn’t.”

To test your newfound loyalty to him, he schemed up something that would kill two birds with one stone. The two of you reached the warlock school in record speed. He refused to explain your purpose for being there until you stood outside the sculpture that hid the entrance of the underground school.

Your task was simple and if you chose to accept it would grant you a spot beside his side in the end times. “Kill them all,” was his instructions. “In the name of my father.”

You smirked, “Why not for us? Doing it for someone else seems better than for selfish reasons and I thought we needed to be as bad as possible.” The boy handed you a dagger. You removed it from it’s sheath and ran your finger along the edge of the blade. “A knife?”

“Make it a pure massacre.”

“A bloodbath,” you said chipperly. “Let’s go, Michael.”

There was no way you could fake this.

“Ladies first,” the boy said using his magic to open the door. You skipped onto the grounds. No one was guarding the entrance allowing the both of you to easily slip in. “I should warn you I’ve never killed before.”

“What about all those women- Oh~ I forgot. You’ll do fine.” What women? You shook your head and removed the knife form its cover. “You don’t need to be clean. The messier the better.”

The two of your stormed the school removing anyone who crossed your paths. At first, you had to hide your pained expressions as you had to stab the students. As time went on, it became second nature. Screams filled the air, students crying out for help. Soon you ditched the knife and used your powers figuring out tricks that Michael did and copying him.

The two of you strutted into the last room. Your joints was loose like a ragdolls. You would have toppled over by now you didn’t force yourself to finish the job.

“Who are-” The staff’s eyes shifted from you to your associate. “Michael.”

“I’ve got to thank the both of you, I wouldn’t have found my kin without the both of you,” Michael said. “I would thank the other two as well but sadly there gone. I guess you’ll have to thank them for us.”

John’s eyes flicker back to you. He analysis your face. It was Behold that said your name first, “Y/n?” it came out more of a question unsure due to you ghastly appearance.

“Bingo.” You cackled yourself to insanity. The man found you to be nothing but nice to him when he had his short stay at the school.

“The She-devil,” the other man muttered out.

“Hey! That’s mean,” you squeaked out getting up close and personal.

“You don’t kill men-”

“-I kill whomever I like.” You stabbed him in the chest. Michael made quick work of the other man.

“I warned Cordelia-” the man crocked out. You got into his face and dug the blade deeper into him.

“She’s dead. All the witches are dead-” you ripped the blade clean out of him. “and so too are you.”

You watched the man’s life fade from his eyes. Michael clapped and congratulating you on passing his test with flying colours. The man worked on his little display piece as you cleaned your blade on your skirt.

You caught a glance of yourself in the mirror, your skin paled revealing noticeable veins in your face. Eyes pitch black, covering the white of the eyes. No wonder they didn’t recognise you. The ‘you’ was gone. The colour came back into your skin and your eyes settled down by the time Michael was done with his inverted pentacle of human corpses.

“We should head home.”

“Home?”

The two of you ended up at mead’s house. The three of you rested at Meads dinner table. In the short time you were there you’d gotten along well with the woman which shocked you since she was a Satanist and that went against everything you had stood for… You guess a lot had changed today. You spent half an hour in her bathroom reliving what you had done. Crying didn’t solve your problems. You didn’t cry because of what you had done, you cried because you enjoyed it. You wanted your old life back and if you had the chance, which you were well aware you didn’t, you would have to burn for your sins. You played your part, slowly loosing yourself in the act.

Mead ended up suggesting going to the men that rebuilt her after all of Michael’s terrible ideas of how to end the world including the plot of omen 3.

You asked about these men she spoke of, and Michael filled you in about these two coke heads with bad hair that ran a robotics company. You said you wouldn’t mind meeting the men who played god by creating a replication of a life. Worse case, you waste a day. You asked Mead to call them up and telling them you were heading right over. You grabbed Michaels and asked him where it was located. A second later you were outside a tall white building with the company’s logo pasted up the top. “Not bad,” he complemented. You told him you would stay by his side and make sure he didn’t accept any stupid ideas and just introduce her as a business partner or something.

The men hand him a list of names and all of them were members of the Cooperative which was really the Illuminati but with a new name. All members had they've sold their soul to the devil and therefore, Michael controls them. Jeff and Mutt encourage him to use nuclear weapons to end the world, You second the idea. Michael agreed but only if it'll also destroy the witches. Jeff and Mutt reassured him that it will, but he needs to talk to the Cooperative first.

“Will it kill them?” Michael asked you. You had stolen one of the desk chairs and you were now playing with a robot part. You looked at them like they asked you’re the stupidest question on earth.

“They’re human, of course nuclear bombs will kill them.” You wouldn’t allow it; you’ll find them before the bombs go off and save them. Then you can warn them of what’s to come.

The idea for the end of the world was simple, a few hotspots full of people will be saves. The richest of the rich, and some others to help work. But all, the best in their fields. Michael placed you in charge keeping Jeff and Mutt in line as well as overseeing the project. You had managed to gain the antichrists trust by then.

You sat in the corner of their lab reading one of their occupant leaders strange requests. “God this woman is a riot,” you chuckled to yourself.

The clicking of heels signified the entrance of their secretary/Human resources person along with everything else important. For someone who walked with a can, she was quiet with it, her heals made more noise than it did.

You never bothered to turn around and look at her, too busy working to care about the likes of her. Your back was always facing her, so she never got a good look at you either. She gathered you worked there now even though it was never passed through her. One day you didn’t work here and now you did. The men the woman worked for acted like you’ve been there for years, they didn’t even call you by your name anymore but by an assortment of nicknames, none of which you were fond of.

“Thanks Ms Venable. Oh, that minds me, you will receive an email about the purchases for outpost… which one again?”

“3 and 4,” you answered.

“Yes, 3 and 4 by the end of the day, we need to you place the orders today before you leave.”

“Can you also order some cigarettes? I’m out. Order a lot please.”

“Is that all?” The woman was dismissed.

“Wait? Is that Venable?” You spun around to see the woman, but she was already gone. “You gave your secretary a job as outpost leader?”

“That or she would quit.” You nodded before going back to work.

“Hmm~” After sending your email, you decided to go one break. You groaned, your eyes aching from the constant strain they’d been forced to endure. You tossed your glasses of your head and rubbed your eyes furiously. “Stupid piece of shit doesn’t even work,” your eyes were better off without the stupid eyewear. It was probably time for a new pair you thought. You swung your chair around notifying the two you were popping out for a bit. One of them men notified you that a packet of cigarettes had been brought up for you. They tossed it to you as you walked towards the back exit.

When you returned you noticed a change in the air immediately. A presence that didn’t belong here entered when you were gone. Light. “Did you two have client while I was out?”

“No. We did however get four tickets bought for outpost 3.” You hummed, walking up to the board to see who bought it. St. Pierre Vanderbilt. Oh, those witches, they are good.

“All good. This works with my order. Everything’s good.” You were happy at the knowledge that at least one of your students was alive.

#cordelia foxx x reader #cordelia x reader #cordelia goode x reader

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musette22 · 5 years

Text

Kiss the Boy

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Rating: G

Word count: 1419

A/N: Fic number two in my 700 followers celebration! I’ll be posting a short fic every Sunday for the next four weeks. A while ago (like, last year lol) I had a conversation with someone on here (pretty sure it was @safire182??) about that interview where Sebastian admitted he tried picking up girls with his rendition of ‘Under the Sea’ from the Little Mermaid. I wanted to see what would happen when he tried it on Chris. So, it took a little while, but here’s the fic - short but (hopefully) sweet! ❤

Read it on AO3

The blinds in Chris’s trailer are adorned with a hundred and twelve tiny, printed daisies. He knows this because he’s counted them. Twice.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up a pillow and puts it over his face, idly considering smothering himself with it. He’s just so bored.

He doesn’t usually get bored because there’s always some adventurer’s biography to read, some political travesty to rant about, but in his current hungover state he doesn’t think he can summon the mental energy for any of that. They’re doing a night shoot for The First Avenger today, meaning all the cast has the morning off. Which suits him fine in principle, since most of them went out on a bit of a bender the night before, but unfortunately, Chris is incapable of sleeping in when he’s had too much to drink. He’s been awake for three hours and already he’s going out of his mind.

On a whim, he digs his phone out from between the couch cushions and shoots Sebastian a quick text.

C: Bro, I’m bored. Are you bored?

Sebastian replies within thirty seconds.

S: OMG I AM SO BORED

C: Wanna come to my trailer and be bored together?

S: Omw

---

Being bored together is a lot less awful than being bored alone, but it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re both still bored as fuck. Usually, they’d be chatting a mile a minute, talking about everything from work to philosophy to space stuff, but today… You know, hangover.

“Let’s watch a movie?”

Slowly, Chris turns his head to look at Sebastian, who’s slumped next to him on the couch, long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him.

“Sebastian,” he says gravely, “you’re a genius.”

Huffing, Sebastian counters, “If I was, I wouldn’t have had those last three shots of tequila yesterday, now would I?”

Chris makes a face. “Meh, maybe not,” he grins. “So, what d’you wanna see?”

Seb rubs his tired eyes. “Nothing with explosions, please. My head’s doing a pretty good job of that all on its own.”

“Tell me about it,” Chris groans, cracking his neck and shoulders, then blows out a slow breath before casually suggesting, “So, Disney movie?”

Sebastian chuckles. When Chris just keeps looking at him expectantly, however, it seems to dawn on him that Chris is serious. “Really?” he asks, surprised, before suddenly snapping his fingers. “Oh yeah! You’re a huge Disney nerd.” He grins impishly. “How could I forget?”

Chris doesn’t even bother denying it. It’s not exactly a secret at this point, and besides, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Disney movies are works of art and he’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.

He hands Sebastian his laptop, open on Netflix. “You pick.” He’s feeling magnanimous.

A few minutes of humming and hawing later, Sebastian decides on The Little Mermaid.

“Oohh, excellent choice!” Chris crows, punching the air.

Sebastian winces. “It is?”

Chris nods and claps a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Did you know,” he says, leaning closer as if he’s letting him in on a secret, “that I know all the words to this one?”

---

Chris wasn’t kidding. He basically recites the whole first quarter of the movie verbatim, including all the different voices. Sebastian is reluctantly impressed.

When the first notes to Under the Sea start playing, Seb is suddenly hit with a memory from his childhood.

“You know,” he says, turning to Chris with a lazy grin, “I used to try and pick up girls with this song when I was little.”

Chris gives him a quizzical look. “As, like, Prince Eric? He’s not in this scene, is he?”

Sebastian blinks. Does… Does Chris think he looks like Prince Eric? He can’t help but preen a little at that. He supposes he has got the hair for it. Still, that’s not what he meant, so he clarifies,

“No, no, as, you know – Sebastian?” He snaps his hands in his best impression of a crab.

“Oh my god,” Chris breathes, delighted. “That’s incredible. So how did that work out for baby Seb, huh? I bet all the pretty girls wanted to hold your pincers, am I right?”

Seb rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I wish,” he sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the backrest. “It was not a success.”

That makes Chris’ forehead furrow up into a frown, which Sebastian can’t help but find endearing.

“You’re shitting me,” Chris says. “Surely girls would totally dig that?” He huffs out a laugh and adds, “I know I would.”

Suddenly, an excited glint appears in his eye.

Uh oh, Sebastian thinks, and sure enough, a moment later, Chris pokes him in the side and orders, “Try it on me!”

When Sebastian just makes a face, Chris, the bastard, turns the puppy dog eyes on him.

“Aw, come on, Seb,” he says, pleading. “I’m dying to experience this thing first-hand, buddy. You’ve gotta give me a sneak peek.”

Sebastian stares hard at Chris for a second, then lets out a sigh.

“Fine,” he says, sitting up and reaching for the laptop. He skips back to the beginning of the song and warns, “You asked for it, pal,” before clearing his throat and starting to sing along.

Although, ‘singing’ may be a strong word for it. Mostly, he’s just goofing around, imitating his crustacean namesake, trying and largely failing at a Jamaican accent. To be fair, he does know most of the words, and the ones he doesn’t he just sort of na na na’s, and it’s not long before Chris is cracking up, head thrown back and clutching his chest. His laugh is so infectious that it’s a testament to Seb’s acting prowess that he doesn’t break down laughing too, just keeps on singing, determined now to give Chris the full Sebastian experience.

When the song gets to the The newt play the flute bit, Seb decides to crank his performance up a notch. Turning to face Chris, he spreads his arms wide and basically starts serenading him, throwing in some shoulder shimmies and exaggerated winks for effect. That only makes Chris laugh harder, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes now as he lets himself sink back into the cushions.

As he nears the grand finale, Seb plants one hand on the back of the couch and hovers over Chris, who’s sliding slowly onto his back, dropping sideways until he’s slumped along the length of the couch, clutching his stomach.

“That's why it's hotter, Under the water,” Seb croons loudly, singing the last lines directly into Chris’ face. “Ya we in luck here, Down in the muck here, Under the seaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

As the last note dies out, it’s replaced by a rather abrupt silence.

All at once, Sebastian becomes acutely aware of the fact that he’s basically lying on top of Chris, as well as of all the places their bodies are touching. Since they’re both still breathing hard and there is also only about an inch or so between their faces, Sebastian can feel Chris’s warm breath fanning his face. Chris is still smiling, cheeks flushed and blue eyes sparkling, and his lips… Have they always been this pink?

Sebastian feels flustered all of a sudden, his eyes flitting restlessly over Chris’ features, feeling oddly like he’s seeing them for the first time. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest, and he’s still breathing faster than usual, but all of that’s no doubt due to his rousing performance. Nothing to do with his sudden proximity to Chris, no sir.

A few seconds tick by in which they wordlessly stare at each other. Then, gradually, very slowly, Chris’s smile starts to fade, and Sebastian watches in fascination as the look in Chris’s eyes turns from amused to curious, and then to… intent?

He has a split second to think holy shit, before Chris is surging up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, there and gone again.

Sebastian sucks in a sharp breath, staring down at Chris with wide eyes, heart pounding in his ears.

“Wh- what was that?” he asks weakly, voice cracking on the last word. His lips are tingling, the phantom touch of Chris’ mouth on his.

Chris blinks up at him, looking a little shocked himself.

“Guess it worked,” he whispers, after a beat.

“Oh,” Seb nods, dazed, and then Chris is burying his fingers in his hair and pulling him down for another kiss.

Sebastian lets him.

#evanstan #sebastian stan #chris evans #chris evans x sebastian stan #my fics #my writing #fanfic #fluff #so fluffy y'all #see #I can do G rated #the little mermaid #ao3 #musette22followercelebration

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rui31 · 4 years

Text

Alpha Stiles Part 3

An update because @superfamilylove reminded me I was writing this before my masters killed my writing inspo.

I’ll try to finish this as I actually really enjoy it. Just a note; I never watched Teen Wolf passed Allison dying because FUCK THAT NOISE. So I cannot reference any of what happened afterward cuz I have no idea and I don’t know any of the character, ie Ethan and Theo?, so don’t expect them in here.

ONWARDS INTO MY BOYLOVE MADNESS

Derek spends the rest of the day in relative peace, he wanders the town until he finds the local garage. He gets hired on the spot by some harried looking kid, rambling that the regular mechanic was on mat leave and the cars we’re starting to pile up and he didn’t know shit about engines and brake mechanics and....

“What the hell even is this thing?” he asks, flailing a piece of machinery between the two of them

“The transmission,” Derek answers hesitantly, not sure if this kid is seriously like this or pulling his leg.

“Not to mention Jackson had to bring in his car for an oil change and OFCOURSE it’s the newest Ferrari, because his father bought it for him as a graduation gift. Not saying I’m jealous, but dude...” the guy ends with some gurgling noises and flops back on the desk chair, banging his head on the table softly. “Ryma will serve me my ass if I lose him as a client.”

“I can work today if you need,” Derek offers, slightly off kilter by how the guy is acting.

“You serious?” he demands. “oh my god that’s great, super great. Dan should be coming in any time now, but Dan is old and he forgets things. He’s reliable and knows a shit ton of stuff, but I would not have him near my car.”

“So.... should I get started?” Derek asks instead of trying to discern what this kid, who’s obviously on some sort of drug, is saying.

“Yeah, sure. Let me show you around. Names Louis by the way,” and the guy, Louis, is grabbing some keys off the wall and opening the back door.

He works on that kids, Jackson?, car first. He’s half impressed with the car also but still feels like it could never match up to his Camaro. Dan comes in around the same time he’s done, giving him a nod and walking over to another car. They don’t really speak as they work, Dan turns on the little radio and plays some old blues music, the melodies smoothing over the jarring sounds of the electric drills and sander.

Derek turns to work on a hunkered old jeep that’s painted an obnoxious lime green next. He’s changing out the old brakes when Louis drops off some Chinese for him and Dan. The guy chats him up a bit, gushing about his girlfriend and complaining about the office work still left for him to do.

He cleans up after the three of them, picking up the white delivery boxes and chopsticks. Derek is grateful for the food and the companionship, though he probably didn’t show it what with his face in a half frown as he fought with the jeeps old screws.

Derek is shooed out of the garage at 8, Louis fixing up his shaggy brown hair behind his ears and his cheeks a dusty pink from excitement is rambling with nerves about his hot date. Dan pats the both of them firmly on the shoulder after lighting up a cigarette. He sets off on a slow pace into the dark and Derek doesn’t comment on the fact he hadn’t heard the man speak all day. He goes back to his own car after seeing Louis slide into a car with a curly haired girl with glasses.

He’s back at the motel room, exhausted and fully dressed, staring at his bed and, instead of falling into it and sleeping like a normal person, he’s fighting with the anxiety that’s kicking in. Panic seeps into him and he sits on the chair in the corner of the room, cradling his forehead in his hands as he takes deep and even breaths. Meeting the alpha and getting the job still hadn’t erased the feeling of dread and engulfing loneliness. His instincts are screaming at him to stay awake, stay on guard, knowing hunters are nearby and being without his pack.

He falls into some sort of meditation, keeping his eyes closed, he lets everything fall back to hear and smell, letting the rest of his mind rest. He comes to when there’s a knock at his door, he’s half jolting in panic when he realizes its Stiles and, by the time he opens the door, he’s back in control.

“Yooo, so I came to see you. Heard you got a job at Ryma’s place,” he grins at Derek. “You look like shit man. Did you sleep?”

“No,” Derek answers, his voice hoarse and dry. He swallows thickly and turns back into the room, keeping the door open so Stiles can follow him in.

“You staying here?” he asks incredulously, sitting up on the coffee table.

Derek grunts his response as he wanders over to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He walks back into the room, wiping his mouth with the small hand towel and Stiles is squinting around the room and back at Derek. He feels his heart race for a second but chalks it off to the lack of sleep before walking over to his luggage and pulling out a spare shirt.

There’s a shift in the room and Derek looks over his bare shoulder at Stiles, who’s twitching on the table and coughing.

“Nice tattoo,” he says to fill the silence. “What is it?”

“A triskelion,” Derek answers.

“Cool, how did you keep it there? I mean, Scott wanted to get one a couple of years ago but it faded/healed in like a day,” Stiles rambles and Derek cocks his head at him.

“You need to use fire.”

“Fire great so?”

“A blowtorch in my case and very steady hands,” Derek smirks and Stiles sighs.

“Ofcourse,” there’s silence as Derek throws his dirty laundry in the growing pile.

“Sooo....” Stiles fills in, jumping off all fluid and he’s suddenly in Derek’s space. “I know I said you’d have to speak to Scott and all, but he’s not going to be back for another couple of months. And you can’t keep living here. I’m pretty sure we exorcised a ghost at this place in highschool.”

“I’m going to find a place,” Derek tells him, his eyebrows scrunching down in confusion.

“And also are you sure you’re related to Peter because that guy was crazy and you’re...”

“Not?” Derek offers.

“Broody and you have that whole tall, dark and mysterious thing going for you,” Stiles says instead.

“I can rip your throat out with my teeth,” Derek replies, looking at Stiles sideways and the alpha breaks out into chuckles.

“Come on, you’ve met the ladies. I have some of the guys meeting us for breakfast. You don’t have work yet right?” he asks and Derek shrugs, grabbing his jacket and his wallet as they leave the room.

“Cool because Isaac has been hounding me with questions and Boyd has just been staring at me all amused and I just can’t handle them anymore.”

“It’s been a day since I got here,” Derek says and Stiles groans.

“I know right? But Scott knows how to deal with Isaac and I’m just floundering around with him,” he sighs and Derek stops his hand as it wanders over to pat him on the shoulder.

They walk into the same diner and the waitress, Tara he remembered, is walking towards him with a warm hello honey and a smile that Derek matches without even thinking about it. She guides them over to a booth when he says others will be joining them and looks over at Stiles when the guy doesn’t say anything.

“You smiled,” he says at last and Derek barely looks up from where he’s flipping through the menu.

“I do that sometimes yes,” and he’s trying not to think about how tired he feels right now, how warm and safe in the presence of this kid, that the words on the menu are blurring together.

He sighs heavily and looks up at Stiles when the guy remains quiet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks and Derek smiles weakly, or tries anyways, he doesn’t know if his lips quirk up or not.

“Just tired, I haven’t been sleeping well,’ he responds.

“Why?” Stiles inquires. “I mean, I know what happened with the fire. Peter told us everything and it was basically why most of us got turned but...he killed Kate right and...”

“I’m an omega,” Derek explains, sipping his coffee when Tara brings their drinks without even asking. “Which means I don’t have the comfort of a pack as you do. You feel their presence so you know you’re safe because they’re close enough to be there if you’re in trouble. The last time I was here, my house had just burned down killing my parents and a couple of my cousins. My uncle ordered my sisters and I to leave, basically kicking us out of the pack. The place was swarming with hunters and wannabe hunters itching to put a bullet in our skulls at any sign of aggression. We barely made it out here in one piece and being back here after all this time,” Derek sighs again, grasping the cup tighter so the heat of the coffee could burn into his palms, the pain helping him focus as his eyes glow in the already bright room. “Everything has changed and yet, some things are the same. This place, the vet, it’s like there are two realities fighting in my head right now. The one I’m in and the one I left behind. The lack of sleep isn’t really helping either.”

“I can tell, those were a lot of words for guy who barely spoke the day before and dashed out of my presence,” Stiles says and Derek grins up tiredly.

“Yo Stiles,” a guy says, standing at the table. “Did you order yet?”

“Nah, Isaac this is Derek. Derek Isaac.” Stiles introduces and then there’s another guy slipping into the booth next to Derek. “That’s Boyd.”

He nods to both and he’s suddenly more awake than before, Isaac and Stiles are arguing about breakfast foods and Boyd is silently texting on his phone, sometimes eyeing Derek sideways.

“Erica says hi,” he says suddenly and Derek fumbles out a greeting when Tara is back, taking their orders in stride and waltzing away.

“So Kira was right, he’s not like Peter at all,” Isaac says when she’s out of earshot. “I mean he doesn’t even have the crazy eyes, he just looks sad.”

“Isaac,” Stiles groans.

“No but seriously, I mean Chris said not to judge but Peter was a psychopath,” he continues undeterred. “Just wondering if it was hereditary.”

“Chris?” Derek asks and Stiles reaches over to grab Isaac, but the guy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Yeah, Argent?” he replies, shrugging off Stiles’ hand. “Allison’s father.”

“His girlfriend,” Boyd supplies helpfully, barely looking up from his phone.

“I’m going to kill you all,” Stiles growls, turning to look at Derek worryingly as his face shuts down.

“I knew they were still here,” Derek says and Stiles smiles tightly.

“They’re not Kate,” he supplies but Derek wants out, wants to leave because everything in him is screaming and he’s barely keeping it together.

Boyd’s hand on his shoulder is a shock, Stiles, reaching over the table, holding unto his wrists right above where he’s clenching his hands, they’re both solid presences that give him something to center himself but he’s still shaken.

“We won’t let anything happen to you,” Stiles says and Boyd grunts in agreement.

“Why are we promising this?” Isaac asks, leaning back on the booth with his arms crossed. “Peter turned most of us, he tried to kill ALL of us, we don’t owe his nephew anything.”

“We owe him common decency,” Stiles snaps back and his eyes flash a quick red. “No one should be judged by what their families have done, you should know that best of all Isaac.”

There’s silence and the curly haired boy frowns; the food comes at that point, breaking the silence temporarily. Tara frowns at Derek and asks if he’s alright, she doesn’t seem pleased with his quick shrug and walks away, glaring back over her shoulder at the other boys.

“Stiles mentioned you’re staying at that dingy motel,” Boyd says around a mouthful of waffles.

Derek, focusing on his plate of eggs, grunts in response.

“I know a place, it’s not too expensive and it’s got some personality if you’re into that kind of thing,” Boyd continues and Derek stares at him sideways, still poking at the eggs.

“Eat Derek,” Stiles commands and he barely has it in him to snap back, so instead he shoves a forkful of runny eggs unto a piece of toast and then his mouth.

“Oh you mean the place Danny had that rave once?” Isaac comments, pouring a hefty amount of syrup on his pancakes.

Stiles sighs again and turns a pleading look to Boyd.

“Yeah, it was nice,” he says instead.

“Well it held our whole grade plus most of our upper class men,” Isaac adds.

“Look can we not have the selling point of that place being that we went there for a rave like 8 years ago?” Stiles pleads.

“We can bring you there when we’re done,” Boyd supplies and Derek nods in agreement, mostly because if that place could hold a rave then it could definitely hold himself & his sisters comfortably.

Turns out the place, when it’s not packing, is a pretty low-key apartment with an almost industrial style with its spirally metal staircase and brick walls. Derek likes it, likes the tall windows and the high ceilings, and when it turns out to cost less that his dingy apartment in New York, he doesn’t stop himself from signing the lease. His landlord is almost crying in gratitude when Derek hands him the cheque.

The guys help him pack up his meager possessions and drop them off, but Derek has work and he’s almost grateful to leave the presence of the three guys. Not because any of them are being particularly strenuous in their interactions with him, but because he can’t handle being around people anymore.

When he gets back home that night, he phones his sisters to tell them he got a place and tries his best to describe it as best as possible when he can’t send over some pictures. Laura sounds concerned and Cora wants him out when she finds out the Argents are still there. The three stay on the phone for a while and Derek tries his best to console the two through the distance.

The place is barren and he’s left to curl up against a wall, facing the doorway, and his phone cradled in his hands. The place smells of the guys, of Stiles and Derek doesn’t know if it’s because of that, but he nods off.

#alpha stiles #my writing #Sterek #Fanfic

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the-recusants-sigil · 5 years

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Hello, hello! Thank you for the warm welcome!! <3

OK so I absolutely ADORE this idea and I love writing for these four so so much!! I couldn’t write just a couple of sentences and these turned into novel chapters, so I’m splitting your request into 4 parts. That way, I’m not just dropping a 10K word document on you asfhsfshfhsf

Here is Part 1 of your request- going numerically, that’d be Xigbar!

Thanks again for stopping by, I hope you like this one and the others to come!!

Xigbar

Words: 2388

-The mission started out simply enough. It definitely wasn't anything outlandishly difficult: just track down an overgrown Heartless, eliminate it, and report back. Absolutely no big deal.

-Except it WAS a big fuckin deal. There he was, wandering the Land of Dragons in the dead of winter, on the edge of hypothermia and certainly not thinking straight. Perhaps he was no longer capable of feeling emotions, but frostbite was another story entirely. He knew better than to RTC without finishing a mission, so here he was,in the dark, trudging through waist-deep dnowdrifts on a fucking mountain to find this stupid thing.

-Xigbar had been walking since he arrived that morning. In fact, he'd started out in a slightly warmer climate miles away at this point, and he'd briefly pondered taking off his jacket to cool off a bit despite the risks. Now, his teeth chattered violently and he wished with every fiber of his being for a fire. Just a small one, to warm his toes and keep his fingers firmly attached.

-In the faint light of the half-moon, he caught sight of something that stopped him dead in his tracks: a single, enormous footprint.

-Squinting into the darkness, he peered ahead and made out another, and another, heading up the mountain towards a small cluster of coniferous trees up ahead. Ah, shit. More walking.

-Before he could take a single step, a low, rumbling growl came from behind him. The Freeshooter turned, slowly, to face the biggest fucking Heartless he'd ever seen in his life.

-Glistening fangs, beady yellow eyes, twisted horns and inky black scales covered the thing. If he had to guess, Xigbar figured the thing was at least twelve feet tall and built like a tank.

-As he discovered, it was fast, too- even its eyes, glowing bright in the darkness, were impossible to track as the thing closed the distance between the two. It swiped at him with claws like kitchen knives and put him on the defensive immediately. No doubt, the beast had his number; at every point he warped to, it was waiting with jaws wide open, ready to crunch down. It batted him around, tossing him in the air and catching him in its jaws once it had its fun.

-Between the cold and the brutal sneak-attack, Xigbar found his energy fading fast. He raised his only free hand and squeezed his eye shut, focusing the last of his energy on getting somewhere, anywhere, safe.

-......

-....................

-Look, all you were trying to do was keep your head down and out of trouble. There were a lot of vibrant characters in San Fransisco, but all you cared about was doing well at your job and enjoying your ground floor studio apartment. Affordable housing of any kind was a rare luxury in the city, and you'd struck gold with a landlady who just wanted a good, responsible, quiet tenant. For her, you checked all the boxes.

-You certainly weren't looking to get involved with anyone else. Not platonically, not romantically, not even as roommates.

-And yet, here was this man leaned against your trashcan in the alley, bleeding everywhere and groaning. Despite the summer heat, he was dressed way up in a long black trenchcoat (torn to tatters though it was), trousers, knee length boots, and gloves.

-What was his deal?

-You'd never seen a dying person before. OK, so maybe he wasn’t dying. But as it was, if anyone else were to witness him in the alley, in front of your place, bleeding out with only you around, they might assume it was you who did it. Your brain short-circuited and, unable to fully think through the situation, you dragged the man inside your apartment and slid the patio door closed.

-So there you were, panicking inside your studio with an unconscious dying dude bleeding out on the floor. What would your landlord say? Would you ever get your deposit back for damaging the green shag carpet?

-At the very least, you figured you could ask him some questions when he woke up and help him contact the cops, in case he'd lost his phone. In the meantime, you put on a pot of coffee and watched the man sleep, contemplating his features. He was handsome, with nicely tanned skin and long, dark hair shot through with streaks of brown. A deep scar ran the length of one cheek, and the opposite eye was covered with an eyepatch. He sort of looked like an anime convention escapee, you thought, but then again, folks in the city proper were often just like this.

-”Ugghhh....” the man stirred gently, and you jumped. The single remaining eye fluttered open, and you were struck by the color: bright yellow, like your little Volkswagen Beetle parked outside. He glanced around slowly at first before sitting bolt-upright and grimacing. Perhaps he forgot about his injuries.

-”Uh... are you okay?” you asked dumbly. His head whipped around to meet you, and the intensity of his glare instantly made you feel... small.

-”Yeah, definitely, just dandy,” he grunted and waved flippantly in your direction. Steadying himself against the wall, he tried and failed to rise to his feet. The man raised a mangled hand into the air in front of him, ever so briefly, then sighed and let it drop to his side. “Can you... can you maybe tell me where exactly I am?”

-”Uh, I mean- it's, uh. My apartment. San Fransisco? California? Planet Earth?” You licked your lips and sighed. “I found you in the alley. Did you get hit by a car?”

-”Car? What are you talking about? I don’t know what any of that means. I need to get home. I need to get out of here and report back- OWWWW!” Xigbar yelped as his second failed attempt at standing brought him closer to the ground.

-”No. I don't think so, Mister. You might have a concussion.”At that point, you'd already folded the spare futon down from its hiding spot in the wall and tossed down some spare pillows and blankets.

-“That means lots of rest. I thought they were worse, but your cuts don't actually look horrible. Let's get you cleaned up and laying down, then maybe we can get you an urgent care appointment to look at your head.”

-”No. No doctors.”

-”You religious, or scared or something?”

-”Er- yeah. Somethin' like that.”

-.............

-Xigbar really knew he should have RTC'd as soon as he was able to stand. He should have reported back a week ago. Yet here he was, truly a stranger in a strange land, crashing on this good Samaritan's couch, eating good food, and- for the first time in a really long time- relaxing.

-For him, some peroxide, butterfly bandages and ibuprofen were the trifecta- his wounds cleaned up nicely and the pain was definitely more bearable.

-You called out of work for the week shortly after he woke up, feeding them a line about your brother-in-law dying or some shit; you didn't have one, of course, but nobody had to know that. He told you his name was Xigbar, and that's really all you knew. The dude was tight-lipped to say the least.

-Xigbar went with you on every trip you took. At first, he was pretty wary of your little yellow Bug, but he warmed up to it pretty quickly- at least, until you dumped the clutch and stalled on a hill for the first time. He jumped like he thought the thing was trying to kill him, and you couldn't help but laugh.

-He went with you on trips to the grocery store. You showed him your favorite restaurant (and taught him how to talk to the server like a person rather than a barmaid). He sat next to you on the sofa as you pointed angrily at the TV and complained about some goings-on in your world. He helped you uncork a cheap bottle of Trader Joe's wine, then another, and another, and you ended up talking shit about your coworkers. For you, it was the guy who followed you all over the office and wouldn't leave you alone for anything. Xigbar offered to punch him as a show of gratitude, but you assured him that no, it was really okay, the guy was just a little weird.

-On the other hand, Xigbar's work stories were different. You surmised that his office was comprised entirely of... er, vibrant characters. Like, for instance, the one that ditched work every single day by hanging out in the break room right next to his manager. There was also the “gambling addict in denial”- according to Xigbar- who had, just a few weeks ago, literally swindled the pants off of a man in a bar. And there was the one who could, and would, electrocute and stab anyone and everyone for the slightest of infractions.

-”Uh, dude. Have you talked to HR?”

-”...What's an 'HR'?”

-”Human Resources, duh!” you sighed dramatically.

-The loud, barking laugh that followed told you that he had not, in fact, talked to HR.

-.........................

-Six days had passed since you'd found Xigbar bleeding all over everything in your alley. Since then he'd improved dramatically, and when you could tell he was feeling well enough to stand on his feet, you decided that his seventh day with you would be devoted to seeing as many tourist attractions as possible together. The guy didn't have any memories, he told you, so you wanted to help him “start fresh” with as many happy ones as possible.

-This was, of course, a total lie: Xigbar remembered everything in his life, he liked to think, with the exception of how he got here. He was totally content to live the lie and continue following you around.

-In just a few days, something about you had grown on him. He couldn't quite place it, but it was something about your smile, your ripostes after his witty comments, the way your hair fell over your face when you slept, your tendency to rant and rave and scream at the endless city traffic... he didn't know what to do. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

-You took him absolutely everywhere you could think of: a boat tour of the bay, a cable car ride up Telegraph Hill, a brief stop for brunch at a local bistro, gift store browsing, and finally a walk across the Golden Gate Bridge to watch the sun set. The roads were more peaceful than they normally were, even for a Sunday evening. Perfect, you thought.

-If Xigbar had a heart it would have been racing: being near him made his mind do backflips and twist itself into knots. He enjoyed being there, but more than he liked the sight of the setting sun, he loved the wind in your hair and the glimmer of joy in your eyes. Those beautiful eyes.... God dammit.

-”Hey, let's take a picture!”

-”Huh??”

-Before he could stop you, you'd produced your phone from your pocket and turned on the camera.

-You held the phone in front of the two of you, snapping a seies of pictures, and drew it close to examine. In all of them, Xigbar smiled even wider than you had- genuinely, not his usual, wolfish grin.

-He has such a nice smile, you thought.

-He peeked over your shoulder at the picture, too, and felt his chest tighten in a way he'd nearly forgotten.

-.......

-After that, Xigbar knew it was time for him to head back. Xemnas would surely drill him about his whereabouts. Xigbar thought it odd that he hadn't seen so much as a single Shadow in his time here. Even if the world was really as bad as you said it was, he supposed that a world yet untouched by darkness must have some kind of hope.

-The minute you got home, you printed out two copies of the picture of the two of you on glossy photo paper, each picture small enough to fit inside a wallet. He took it gratefully from you and turned it over in his hands, the tightness in his chest creeping back.

-”This has been a really great time. Thanks for takin' such great care of me. You really got a knack for it,” he started. Suddenly your chest, too, felt heavy. “But I really oughta get back to my life. Boss Man's gotta be wonderin' about me by now, ya know? Same with yours.”

-”Yeah... I guess so,” you sighed. It had been nice having him around, despite the rocky beginning. Your eyes swept over his lithe figure and settled on his face- angular, ruggedly handsome, and watching you intently for a follow-up to your response.

-”I'm actually going to miss you,” you admitted. “Who's gonna sass me for running stop signs and stalling on hills? Or talk shit about my coworkers with me? I hope I get to see you again. Please don't be a stranger.”

-He reached forward, fingertips brushing over your face, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't brush him off when he laced his fingers through your hair, and when he pulled you in for a kiss, you grabbed his coat and pulled him in as close as you could.

-He drew away sooner than you would have liked. Than you would have both liked, really.

-”I'll make a point to stop back by, 'kay?” he assured you. With a sad smile, he lifted a hand and was surrounded by wisps of inky black and purple smoke. Just like that, he was gone.

-”W-what?” Wide-eyed, heart racing, you glanced around your apartment and resisted the urge to scream.

-”What the FUCK was that?!”

-.................

-As soon as Xigbar was back within the walls of the castle, he realized he'd fucked up.

-”Aww, shit!” There was no way she hadn’t seen the corridor of darkness, and there wasn’t really a good way to explain it, either.

-Mortified, and more than a little tired, he reached into his pocket and checked to make sure the picture was still there. Xemnas could wait until tomorrow; he'd sleep on his little snafu and figure out what to say the next time he visited you.

#considermeafriend #kh imagine #xigbar x reader #xigbar #organization xiii #kh x reader #i accidentally posted this on my main and had to reformat it all asfkasfhs

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