#damn. the second one is probably over a year old. almost done. just needed a few details. but now? i really am my meanest critic. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovebugism · 7 months

Note

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life.

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode.

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings.

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself.

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm.

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring.

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house.

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them.

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now.

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you.

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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drdemonprince · 16 days

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don’t know if this is relevant to your ask box, but I thought you might find it interesting.

I’m a 20 yr old trans man who’s just started an ongoing thing with a new Dom, who is over twice my age. I’m currently finishing up my second year at uni, and he’s, you guessed it, also the, uh…. academic sort.

He’s a busy guy so obviously we can only meet up every once and a while, but we text almost every day. From the beginning he was always curious about my school endeavours, but recently it’s become more of a thing.

He won’t let us meet until certain assignments are done. He’s flexible and understanding, like any good dom, but holy shit this man had me at a cafe for ten hours on 40mg of vyvanse writing my final essay like my life depended on it. I didn’t even know who I was, motivated by the pure need to please and, quite frankly, desperate desire to be absolutely taken and used. This man has “cured” my ADHD (not really, but damn well is he fucking helping it).

I think the point I’m getting at here it that I can’t believe it took the motivation of my D/s relationship to get me to get shit done. Like, I’m done DAYS before the deadline for things I usually would have left last minute. I’ve been honest with my struggles with motivation and difficulties taking care of myself, and he is genuinely invested in my well-being so I know it all comes from a place of care and respect.

At the moment I’m working on my final short film for a class, and he told me to make a list of all the foley sounds I thought would help drive the narrative (he knows I love making lists, it’s also the autism), and as probably one of the best rewards for my good behaviour, he shared with me a collection of audio files (he dabbles in audio mixing) that were relevant to the list I shared. Can you believe this??!!

All these studentxprof fics are getting it wrong. Sometimes nothing comes between a teacher’s genuinely investment in student learning (if they enjoy what they do, like he does) and that is absolutely true in this case. Absolutely unbelievable this is my life right now. Would love to hear your thoughts on this!

This sounds so fucking sweet and HOT anon! I'm so glad you're having an exciting time with an older dom who cares about you and helps you meet your goals! And the phrasing of this guy making you write for hours on vyvanse is especially titilating...making it sound like an intox scene omg drool

ADHDers are generally very socially motivated, which is not rare for human beings at all. It makes sense that having the external structure that an outside observe can provide and the sense that your actions actually matter to other people and that people care about you would help facilitate you focusing on shit and getting organized! Not to mention how much fuckin easier it is to perform any kind of household task or bit of drudgery once it becomes sexual service. Shit gives boring regular life a charge of excitement, and the abdication of power gives you the discipline to actually follow through, because you're not the only one on the hook for everything and that's less scary!

I have nothing much more to say other than this rules and I hope you keep having a fun time!

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unicyclehippo · 9 months

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15. kiss on the back for the prompt thing!

Imogen has spent years submerged in the sweet, babbling waters of Laudna’s mind so, while she may not be able to hear her thoughts now, she still remembers their current. And besides, some things don’t need to be said. It’s an unspoken agreement between them—a quirked brow, the tilt of an answering smile—to return Zhudanna’s coin.

Laudna distracts their elderly friend with an enthusiastic—and slightly gooey—recreation of recent journeys while Imogen carries the groceries to the kitchen. She unpacks jars of olives and honey and jam, every pickled thing they encountered, wax-wrapped cheeses, smoked and salted meats, dried fruits and beans, bags of fine-ground flour and spices. She leaves the fresh fruit and vegetables on the countertop with the pumpernickel loaves and, as she does, pulls Zhudanna’s lockbox from its hiding place beneath the beans with a subtle bit of magic.

It’s easy to use her powers now. She knew she was getting stronger but something about being here—where she spent much of her time in degrees of agony with no way to control it or stop it, her powers flaring whenever they wanted to—the difference is stark. How reactive her magic is now, how finely-tuned to her will. A thought, and the lockbox opens. Imogen busies herself selecting and slicing an orange. Another thought, and the coins lift out of the shopping basket and zip over to the box. She arranges the orange segments on a colourful plate. The box clicks closed and slides back into place beneath the beans. It’s all done in a matter of seconds with Zhudanna none the wiser, even if she had peeked over to check on Imogen despite Laudna’s distraction—though how anyone could look away from Laudna for so much as a second during one of her stories - vibrant, enthralling as she is - Imogen doesn’t know.

She lingers a while, helps herself to a slice of orange. It’s tart, almost sour, the way she likes them. The sun blankets half the kitchen in a square of light. Standing in that warmth recalls fragments of an old dream—baking, home, Laudna. The details are too faded and vanish when she reaches for them; in the space where they had been, her memory provides instead the aroma of baked bread and the cool press of Laudna’s lips against her own. Fingers sticky with orange, Imogen twists her wrist and presses her smile to the back of her hand. We kissed, she thinks, giddy, and suddenly the handful of steps separating her from the sitting room and Laudna is too far.

‘—a shape like dripping tar, a great blob of malice, hovering in the air. It struck Orym with a spiralling bolt of shadow, pinning him against the rock!’ Imogen hears as she rejoins the story.

‘Oh!’ Zhudanna squeaks. Her eyes are wide, both wrinkled hands covering her mouth in horror. When she speaks, she sounds so old—had she always, Imogen tries to recall, or is it all of this…this fucking mess around them? The solstice, the god-damning speeches, the fear suffusing the streets like thick jungle mist, the moon, the way oncoming way tilts the axis of every heart. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small, quavering voice, ‘oh dear, oh no, is he alright?’

‘Who?’

‘Your friend. Orym.’

The question makes Laudna’s smile falter. Zhudanna, half-blind, probably doesn’t notice. Imogen does. She fills the agonising pause, steps between them to put the plate down next to Zhudanna. By the time she plants herself on the footstool, twin to the armchair Laudna has claimed, Laudna has recovered.

‘Yes. Yes, of course! He’s a warrior—a hero!’ Zhudanna heaves a sigh of relief at that, claps her hands. Laudna continues. ‘He pulled free of the shadow spear with a horrid yell and spray of blood—’

Geez, Laud, don’t forget she’s old as shit.

And? She has such a creative soul, she’s enjoying—ah. I suppose…heart attacks…hmm. Should I…tone it down?

Imogen rests her chin on her hand as she settles in to listen to the rest of the story and, catching Laudna’s eyes, offers a small smile. Just for her, darlin’.

With a wobbly nod—one that makes Imogen want to yank off the circlet and dive deep into Laudna’s thoughts, wade through them muck and all, hear for herself the knotted tangle of fear and nervy tension and trust she knows is causing havoc in there—Laudna launches back into her tale.

‘Together with our dear new friend Prism–’

‘I like her,’ Zhudanna says. ‘Sensible, for one of those wizard types. Getting out there and having a go of it. Good for her.’

‘Indeed. Very sensibly, she and I harried the foul spirit with our joined magic, giving our companions time to protect the Heirophant and dragging them clear of the danger of this hungry shadow. We threw everything we had at it—flaying it of its shadow piece by piece, cracking its sallow face, until there was nothing left of it but a slug of tarred shadow that I crushed, sending it back to whence it came, into the merciless dark,’ she hisses, hand closing in a tight fist, eyes a brittle, glossy obsidian. After a moment, her intensity relents; the faint gloom in the corners of the room disperses like an audience post performance, and as it leaves, air rushes in to fill the empty space. ‘Anyway,’ she trills, ‘apparently that wasn’t the first time it had appeared there, can you believe that? The Heirophant—the elf Orym and Ashton saved—told us that they had fought it before—or was it their order that had? Hm. Don’t recall. But yes - it’s like a recurring thing. Like a bad ex turning up on their doorstep. But not a bad ex because Evithorir—’

‘Evi- Evirerth-’

‘Evithorir. I think. It was so hard to tell, it hissed a lot. Regardless, the shadow spirit, it turns out it was some, like, ancient terrible hungry fey spirit that sought to devour everything in the world, blah blah, the usual. Starting with Oma-Dua who is this - get this - equally ancient druid who buried herself in the last moments of her life in the depths of this cavern centuries ago to sustain the land around this mountain for the rest of time and took on the form of an enormous glowing green crystal…’

Laudna drifts into an odd silence and sinks back into the plush armchair, into herself, looking small and troubled. Her teeth dig well-worn trenches into her bottom lip as she loses herself in thought.

Imogen clears her throat. ‘It’s been an awful long time since we got a proper rest, Zhudanna—d’you mind if we rest a while?’

‘Not at all, not at all. Let me move my easel, dear, and - ‘

‘No, please, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll set it aside, if that’s alright?’

‘Certainly, certainly.’

Zhudanna lets herself be distracted gracefully, pulling an old knitting project from the box by her chair. Her eyes—wrinkled, worried—linger on Laudna as Imogen helps her up from the chair, curling a gentle hand beneath each elbow.

She looks so exhausted and Imogen is certain she’s bearing most of Laudna’s weight for her when she pulls her to her feet but she’s so fucking light it nearly has Imogen stumbling, off-balance. A dozen questions cluster behind Imogen’s teeth, on the threshold of her mind. Did you eat at all? Did you rest? Who took care of you? The thought might’ve made her jealous a month ago but now it just hurts. Laudna is too light, bordering on frail. Her hair is stringy—dirty, greasy, like its been a week since she washed it, brushed it, cared for it (for herself)—and Imogen knows the answer. Knows Laudna. She cares like caring is what keeps her alive, will drag the energy out of her own fucking marrow for everyone else and when it comes to her, she shows them something dead and dying, shows them a grinning skull. Something beyond repair, beyond need of care.

Red flickers behind her eyes, smoulders in the cracks that split the tips of her fingers. But her hands stay gentle as Imogen helps Laudna to their old room.

The door shuts behind them, shuts out the world. Blissful. There’s no window in here to show them the ruddy moon. There’s no crowds, no intrusive minds. No guards, no traitors, no one but the two of them.

Laudna’s slow walk turns to a hobble. She sits at the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched.

Giving her a little space, Imogen puts their bags at the footboard of the bed and Pate’s birdhouse on the bedside. He’s sleeping in there or pretending to be. Creepy, beloved spy. She moves the easel like she said she would, tucking it into an out of the way corner.

‘She’s really very good, don’t you think?’

Laudna stirs. Glances over, dark eyes flicking between the easel and Imogen, and the smile she manages is a wavering thing but it holds steady at the corners.

She’ll be alright, Imogen decides. Promises.

‘Yes. Very talented, our Zhudanna.’

Her words trail off again and Imogen watches as Laudna begins to fidget, fingers twisting, tugging, pull and plucking in her lap. Was the closed room not blissful for her? Was it too crowded, with Imogen and her and all her thoughts and Delilah and now Bor’dor haunting her? Or was it as simple as the strain of her journey taking its toll? Or was it…

‘Do you regret it?’ Imogen blurts. Laudna stills. ‘The kiss, I mean. Me, kissin’ you. Because I know I asked and I know you kissed me back but if - if you got caught up in the moment or thought it’s what I want - Laud, you gotta know, it doesn’t matter to me how you care for me, I’m so - I’m so happy. So lucky. Just to have you near me. Truly.’

It takes a hell of an effort to shut up then—to bite her lip and give Laudna the room to speak.

Her stomach flips from nerves and her traitor heart follows suit; it flips, flutters in her chest, so gentle and so warmed by the memory of getting to take Laudna’s face between her hands, getting to touch her after so long of only being able to dream about it, getting to lean in and—that kiss! The memory of it fizzles through her, sweet lightning, and it’s ridiculous, actually, because her hands start sweating and her lips tingle and her skin goes hot all over, sensitive. It’s such a silly feeling; she feels like a stumbling foal - clumsy and awkward, unsure, but so fucking eager to get up, go, explore. It’s silly - she feels silly with it, giggly and warm - and then, of course, sense reasserts itself firmly because Laudna hasn’t said anything yet—is staring over Imogen’s shoulder with a tiny, worried frown—and Imogen’s stomach sinks, veins flooding with ice. If she could just take off the circlet, but…

‘Laud?’

‘Imogen.’

‘Do you?’ It’s harder to ask the second time. ‘Do you…regret it?’

‘No,’ Laudna says in that barely-there way. Imogen wants the shadows back. Wants the intensity. Wants Laudna cackling over one of Pate’s horrendous comments, or chiding her for mussing the bedsheets. Anything but this ghost. ‘No, darling. I was - I was only thinking,’ she sighs, ‘how silly it is, how hard it is to talk about…well. About what we want.’ She blinks, dim and distant. ‘I often think that if only everyone were honest, there would be less space for misunderstanding and heartbreak –’ The words send Imogen’s heart sinking ever lower, but Laudna doesn’t seem to notice and continues, ‘– and cruelty and war and, oh, I don’t know. People wouldn’t get away with murder or inheritance trickery and such. I think about all the people who lie whenever they speak and how foolish it is and then it is my turn to speak and I…I’m terribly afraid.’

At that, Imogen crosses to sit beside Laudna on the bed. She takes one of her delicate hands in both of her own. It’s so light; bird-boned, Imogen thinks distractedly, mind cluttered with midnight-plumed ravens and the Duskmaven, of scavenging vultures and red seeping into cracked desert soil, of a canary in the dark. She hopes—as it gets harder to breathe, lungs struggling to contend with the weight of hope and panic—that Laudna won’t warn her away.

‘You can tell me,’ Imogen says, and her words stay blessedly steady. ‘Even if you think I don’t want to hear it. I do. I do.’

For a long moment, Laudna examines their hands. Intertwined. Her own—delicate, long-fingered, pale. The dark web of stagnant veins. Imogen’s—broader, tanned, calloused. The cracked skin, red seeping out. Squeezing Imogen’s hand, Laudna says,

‘I won’t lie, darling. I won’t tell you I wasn’t surprised. I was. I am. You are—’ Dark eyes lift to meet Imogen’s; without thoughts to skim, all Imogen can see in the depths is warmth, a glittering fondness. Sorrow lurks there too, somewhere, even if she can’t see it. ‘You are extraordinary. Young and beautiful and so very alive. I - you wishing to kiss me - you understand why I might be startled. I don’t know what I can offer you, darling. I will always be at your side, of course—to protect you, to wake you from your nightmares, to support you, to - to tether you against the storm, as you said, but - ‘

‘But what?’ Imogen shakes her head with a gentle laugh. ‘Who could ask for more than that?’

‘And the kissing?’

‘We don’t have to do it again. If you don’t like it.’

Laudna tilts her head; it’s not a no, but neither is it a yes. ‘You could choose anyone—’

‘I want only you.’

‘Even though I am—’ Laudna cuts off the words with a snap of her teeth. Turns away, sending a gloomy look to the dim corners of their room.

Imogen’s heart thuds, hard, against her ribs. She rubs at at it, sympathetic. Her bruised heart. She wants what it wants—to be close, ever closer. To hug her, hold her tight. To love her. To rip Delilah out of her—fry the bitch, burn her to ashes, and the ashes to smoke, and the smoke to nothing at all in white lightning—and then offer up her own heart to fill the lack. To welcome Laudna into the red hollow of her ribs, already wondering what kind of home she could make out of them. To take back the ruby ring and present it again, with all the ceremony Laudna deserves. To kiss her. Again and again.

But right now, Laudna doesn’t need a storm, even one of love. She only needs Imogen to listen to her. So she asks,

‘Even though you’re what?’

Laudna’s hands curl into talons and a snarl erupts from her throat. Earlier, Imogen hadn’t known what to make of the idea that Laudna could summon a wolf but she gets it now. Hears it in that mournful, ragged sound.

‘Dead. Broken.’ She claws at her heart. ‘Weak.’

‘No. You’re not, sweetheart, no.’

Imogen cannot resist reaching forward. She keeps her touch feather-light. Skims a high cheekbone before sliding back to the strand of dark hair that has escaped its high bun. She tucks it behind Laudna’s ear with exacting care, thumb grazing the gold ear-cuff. I see you. Every bit. Laudna’s eyes fill with inky tears and, when Imogen lifts her other hand to cradle her precious, lovely face, Laudna leans into the touch.

For a moment, Imogen can only stare.

There is no one in the world like Laudna—so starkly beautiful, so sweet, so enchanting. There is no one half as creative. She knows Laudna’s story—saw her die—but no one could spend an hour in Laudna’s presence and leave thinking her anything other than vibrant. How could that be death? And as for broken, well, Imogen thinks of the mosaics in Uthodurn’s royal halls, and of stained glass windows in the Dawnfather’s hall—what little she had overhead of that part of Laudna’s story—and thinks of Laudna’s mendings and crafts and the hundreds of achingly beautiful smiles Laudna has made up just for her and yes, maybe she’s been broken, but who hasn’t? How can that make her less? Less lovely, less wonderful? It doesn’t. It doesn’t. She thinks of faith and lets her pinkie slip down to touch, so gently, the ragged mark of Laudna’s first death. She thinks of destiny and meets Laudna’s eyes.

Beautiful, she thinks, and then - because they are being truthful, because they are telling each other the truth - she says it out loud too.

‘You’re beautiful. You’re my—‘ Imogen falters, tries to think of a word that doesn’t stick in her chest like a knife, but pushes on because her love doesn’t make her fearless, it just makes her brave. ‘My favourite.’

Her blush blooms purple under Imogen’s hands. Laudna glances down, shy, then up from under lashes dark and sticky with inky makeup, splayed like delicate spider legs.

‘It is strange,’ Laudna says, covering Imogen’s hands with her own when she starts to pull away, worried. ‘Don’t leave, darling. Let me… Let me?’

Let her lean in, yes, let her press close, forehead to forehead, yes, stay so still when Laudna touches her cheek, fleeting. Laudna trembles—afraid? excited? damn this fucking circlet—but the contact settles her and when she retreats, she pulls Imogen’s hands from her cheeks but doesn’t let them go. She breathes in and out. Then says,

‘Waking from death is much like waking from sleep, except it hurts. Only a little but all the time.’

Imogen’s fingers brush over Laudna’s wrist, where her pulse plods away. ‘Laudna,’ she whispers, not to interrupt. Only because Laudna ought never go a moment thinking she didn’t care.

‘For all those years, even though I…I ran and built my huts and Pate too, of course, and of course I felt things—fear and loss and joy, too, sometimes—I was alive and awake but. So much of me was still dead. I was so - confused. And angry, often. I was surviving, you see. I had strength enough to hold myself together and fix things, here and there, but no more than that. I was hungry, all the time, I had so many teeth.’ Laudna searches her face. ‘And then I met you and you helped. Cared. These past years with you… It used to be that when I wanted something, it - it was hunger I felt. This endless hunger. A great pit in my chest. And it was hard to tell, you see, what it was I wanted except for everything, anything I could get my hands on. Do you understand?’

Imogen gnaws at her lip. Slowly, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’ She dips her head, catches Laudna’s eyes. ‘Explain it to me?’

Laudna’s fingers shake as she slides them over the backs of Imogen’s hands. Long fingers curl around one of Imogen’s wrists and she lifts it to press a chaste kiss to her knuckles, lips cool against the burning ridge of her oldest lightning scar.

‘You have given me so much. You gave me friendship and purpose and trust. Food. Fun and stories. Strength. A bed. A home. And the hunger…it doesn’t gnaw so terribly, darling. Now, when I - when I want something, it isn’t an impossible task. I needn’t lose myself in that great black pit, blinding searching for what I lack. It starts to make sense. I start to make sense. What I want. Outside of her, and hunger. You’ve given me so much,’ Laudna tells her, and her voice creaks with the weight of her words. ‘How can I possibly take more? How - selfish, how greedy it would be to want… To want.’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ Imogen asks, voice soft. She tries not to sound to hopeful.

Launda holds her hands for a long time. It’s maddening, because Laudna never stays still for long; she doesn’t now either, instead stroking tiny patterns against her skin, fingers sliding over and between her own. At the occasional scratch of her nails, a frisson of electricity crackles down Imogen’s arms, through her body. Finally, Laudna nods.

‘I do. Oh, Imogen, I do. I didn’t know it - I knew I would be content for centuries, the rest of my days, if only I could sleep in your bed, stand at your side, content with any touch or favour you might share with me. And then - to be kissed?’ A shy smile creeps across her lips. ‘Would it be terribly unfunny to say it struck me like a bolt?’

Imogen snorts. Pulls her hands free so she can shove at her—lightly, though, barely enough to make even Laudna sway. Her hands settle on the tender branching of Laudna’s collarbones. The fabric of the new dress is silk-smooth under her palms; the lace neckline, though, catches against her work-rough, scar-rough fingers. She strokes it again, entranced. It’s so soft, the lace, in its reluctance to let her go. It’s so beautiful, the whorling patterns of leaves and flowers, and the contrast of blue-black fabric against Laudna’s pale skin is enough to make her glow. And beneath lace and skin, the steady tap of Laudna’s pulse—a knock on the door, on the coffin lid, here I am.

Beautiful.

‘That’s dreadful,’ she scolds, wrinkling her nose.

‘That’s me. Full of dread.’ A ghostly visage flickers across Laudna’s face, there—skin and skull shifting, FRIDA’s inspiration?—and gone. ‘And you?’ she asks. ‘You too?’

‘Full of dread?’

‘Do you wish to kiss me, I meant, actually.’

Imogen swallows harshly. ‘Yeah,’ she rasps. ‘Yeah, I do.’

A frown pinches Laudna’s forehead. ‘Have you been afflicted with this desire for long?’

‘Afflict— You say it like it’s a sickness or somethin’,’ Imogen teases, but Laudna flaps a hand for her to hurry up and tell, so she shrugs. ‘Um. Yeah. I ‘spose I’ve been wantin’ to kiss you for a while,’ she admits, cheeks burning. ‘When I could hear you, it was… Do you remember when Dusk was hangin’ around, you told me you hadn’t thought about it? Hadn’t accessed that part of your brain?’ Laudna nods. ‘I know. I knew that. Because sometimes, when we were close and you…’

Imogen pauses. Sucks in a breath—it’s a little stuffy in their room, no windows, but it smells of freshly laundered sheets and paint and wood polish and Laudna and Imogen lets it steady her.

‘D’you know that you say the kindest, sweetest things sometimes? You always know what to do to calm me down or make me laugh, even when the whole world is—’ She gestures awkwardly to the south wall where the moon hovers in her minds eye. ‘You know. Going to shit. And sometimes—I wasn’t sure how much you…’ She stops again, lips twisting, frustrated. ‘I knew that you cared for me because, well, because you do.’

‘Naturally, of course.’

‘But sometimes I wondered if…if you wanted to kiss me, like I sometimes thought of doing. But when I looked into your mind, you were never thinkin’ about it so -’ Imogen shrugs, cheeks hot. ‘I never brought it up. You hardly ever thought about it when other folk were flirtin’ or talkin’ about it, so I figured it wasn’t something you wanted. And that didn’t matter to me! Just so long as you were with me, and we were together, I was happy with that. But then Dusk,’ Imogen strangles the name in her throat, hopes fiercely that Yu can feel it, wherever the fuck they might be, ‘put the idea in your head and then they…left…and you were confused and I’d sometimes catch flashes of it in your head but it didn’t feel right to bring it up, even though sometimes I thought—the way you were lookin’ at me, and not pullin’ away when I was lookin’ at you—I thought…maybe? Maybe it was - Maybe you could. Think like that. And when you died—’ Her voice cracks. ‘That wasn’t the right time either, obviously,’ she scoffs. Pulls a hand back to swipe at her eyes.

‘Darling,’

‘It had to be your choice. All of it. Everything, after what happened. And I was fucking terrified because of all those questions in my head like if I’d be pushin’ you if I asked, or makin’ you more of a target, burdenin’ you with all this Predathos moon shit—’

‘Never. Never a burden.’

‘—and then I got this,’ Imogen taps her circlet, ‘and I couldn’t hear you anymore, couldn’t check, and so, yeah, Laudna, you could say I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.’

‘Thinking about,’ she says, so carefully, like she’s afraid if she speaks it too loud or too fast the whole thing will break, ‘kissing. Me.’

Imogen laughs. Smiles at her with her whole face, her whole heart. Every soft, exposed, grotesque, tender part of it. ‘Yeah, sweetheart. Is that alright?’

Laudna nods jerkily. Eyes Imogen’s mouth curiously. ‘Can I - that is, if it’s alright with you,’

‘Please,’ Imogen whispers, and she isn’t sure if she’s reading her own mind or if Laudna’s is loud enough to overpower the circlet, if she’s letting the power of it subside in her eagerness to know if Laudna wants what she wants, but it’s so clear—Laudna’s dark eyes, warm and kind and wanting; her reaching hands, aligning them hurt to hurt, heart to heart; plum lips pressing, ever so gently, against hers.

The kiss lasts a heartbeat. Barely long enough to register the touch. Even so, Laudna flushes deeply. Touches her fingers to her mouth and breathes out, shaky.

‘Oh. Imogen.’

Imogen lifts a hand—‘Can I? Let me, please’—to Laudna’s neck, grazing the high collar she’d been so jealous of in the store for getting to touch Laudna’s neck, but adores now as she coaxes it down so she alone can see, can touch the soft skin of her neck. Feel the way Laudna’s breath hitches when she does, her shiver as Imogen’s fingers slide forward, following the path of her jaw and swiping beneath the hinge of it—tender, awed, lingering on the mottled silver marks of bullet holes and torn skin—before she slides her fingers into the curtain of dark dark. She presses gently, guides her forward for another kiss. Her lips find the corner of Laudna’s mouth and smiles at the noise of displeasure it pulls.

‘I think,’ Imogen whispers, kisses her more solidly. Tilts her head and loses herself in Laudna: Laudna’s nose nudging into her cheek; Laudna’s hands fluttering between her elbows and shoulders before laying gently on her back; a clumsy bump of lips, which is actually mostly chin, a giggled apology, and then something gives and Laudna’s lips are on hers again, steady and slow and careful, like they have all the time in the world, like now that she is here there is no where she would rather be. Imogen pulls back, licks her lips. Citrus bursts on her tongue.

Laudna stares at her mouth. ‘What - ‘ She has to clear her throat, voice breathy, like Imogen has kissed all the air out of her and the thought makes want crackle beneath Imogen’s skin. ‘What do you think?’

‘Amazing. Great. Perfect.’

Dark eyes gleam. Laudna smiles—no, she smirks. ‘Darling. You were saying something, that you thought…?’

‘Oh.’ Imogen starts to speak—and has to stop. She laughs. ‘Y’know, I’ve totally forgotten?’

‘Oh.’ Laudna’s blush deepens. She’s so fucking pretty. ‘It will come back to you. If it’s important.’ She fidgets. Reaches out a hand to touch Imogen’s elbow, her knee. She looks for a moment as if she is about to speak but then a calm settles over her and she only smiles and nods. ‘Do you mind, dearest, if I take a little time to fix the birdhouse? Only Pate said it’s dreadfully uncomfortable and I think - if I add some soft cushion fabric, maybe curtains - I can fix the place up for him.’

Imogen nods. She understands—and could do with a minute to calm down too. She crawls around Laudna up to the headboard, props herself up against it.

Laudna frowns. ‘Really? Boots on the bed?‘

She smiles, closes her eyes. ‘It’ll be alright, I’ll magic the dirt away after.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Laudna insists. After a few moments of Imogen ignoring her, Laudna sets aside the birdhouse and begins to unbuckle Imogen’s boots. Imogen watches, thoughts far too chaotic to pin down. It doesn’t take long—Laudna has helped her before, when migraines stopped her from doing just about anything—and she pats Imogen’s shin, tuts at the unhappy state of her socks, and mends the hole by her big toe with a needle and thread of black shadow. It looks good as new when she is done.

‘There,’ Imogen drawls, snuggling down into the pillow at her back. ‘What would I do without you?’

Laudna laughs. ‘You’d wear boots in bed and put your cups upside down on the shelves–’

‘First of all, I’m right about that and second of all,’ she nudges Laudna with her toe, ‘I never wanna find out.’

She smiles and, oh, Imogen thinks, Dawnfather, eat your heart out. You don’t know light like this. You couldn’t make a light like hers if you had a thousand solstices.

They spend a lazy afternoon together. They don’t kiss again—Laudna is far too intent on her work, and Imogen merely watches her and allows time and proximity to ease the tight, grating knot of nerves in her chest that had built with every moment of Laudna’s absence. She asks easy questions and retreads old, familiar jokes and stories, and everything resettles. In some ways, it is as it has always been. It’s the two of them, together. It’s also new in a way that makes Imogen’s heart flutter every time she remembers; I kissed her, I can kiss her.

‘Pate,’ Laudna croons, as she takes apart old clothes and blankets, stitches them into cushions for the interior of the birdhouse. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she sings, and the rat-bird clambers out of his wooden house and up her arm, waits until she’s packed the cushions into place to skitter back inside, taking pride of place in the decadence. ‘What do you think of your new ho-ome?’ It’s so fucking weird. They both are. Imogen has to get closer to her. Tucks a foot under Laudna’s knee—who beams at her, wraps a chilly hand around her ankle and keeps her close—and makes a note to kiss Pate on top of his awful little skull soon. Just because. ‘What do you think? Will this be more comfortable?’

‘It’s nice!’ he croaks, little paws patting walls and floor. ‘I do have a suggestion, though—’

‘What! You’ve only been alive for a few months, what could you possibly know about decorating?’ she demands, aghast.

Pate flies from the house, landing on the roof. There are no eyes in his bird skull but Imogen swears he rolls them anyway. ‘Pfft! What don’t I know? I’m the whole package, you know. Bird brains and rat cunning, fanks very much.’

‘Fine, then, if you’re so smart! What’s your suggestion?’

‘Curtains.’

‘Curtains?’

‘Curtains. For, you know, setting the mood, or sleeping in the day. Or if you two need a little, heh, private time to lock lips—’

‘Alright, yes, fine!’ Laudna yelps. ‘I’ll make you some damn curtains!’

Pate chuckles. His wings peel open with a wet squelch that Imogen is never going to get used to—how could he be wet, he’s been dead for years, that’s what she wants to know—and he takes off with one, two laborious flaps of his wings, gliding down to the bed covers and scampering back into his now-comfortable home. ‘Thank ye kindly,’ he calls out from within.

Laudna grumbles as she pulls together curtains rather quickly, delving in her pack for supplies. She pulls out shards of metal–splinters, almost, but as long as her palm.

‘What’re those?’ Imogen asks, as she tries to bully the pillow under her head into a more comfortable shape.

‘Hm? Oh - one of Ashton’s climbing pitons. It shattered.’

The pillow refuses to be comfortable; Imogen gives up, gets up to search the room for wherever the other pillow went. She finds it, after a while, on the top shelf of the little linen closet and jumps for it before remembering she knows telekinesis. How in the nine hells Zhudanna even got it up there, she has no clue. Wandering back to the bed, Imogen watches over Laudna’s shoulder for a minute as she crafts.

‘You went climbing?’

‘When we were separated, that’s where we landed,’ Laudna says. ‘On a cliffside. Jagged rocks, Steam vents. Now that I think about it, we were rather lucky, actually, that we didn’t appear in the air above a sharp spike or roll off the cliff. But yes, we had to climb,’ she says, and tells Imogen all about it— finding Deni$e - Mona, at the time—and the climb and the endless valley of verdant trees.

Imogen listens carefully, heart heavy. She thinks of a long, cold walk and finding truly kind friends at the end of it - a celestial bull they befriended - shopping - the warmth and bustle and commerce and, yes, anxiety, of Uthodurn, and meeting royalty—and she thinks of Laudna, who dislocates something whenever she sneezes, having to pull herself up a cliffside. She rubs Laudna’s shoulder and dips her head, presses a kiss there on her back—because she can, because she wants to, because Laudna wants it too. Laudna hums, a happy sound.

‘I’m sorry you ended up there.’

‘It wasn’t all bad. It was rather beautiful. I would have enjoyed it, I think, if you had been there.’

‘Maybe we’ll go together someday.’

Laudna smiles. Affixes one of the piton curtain-rods into place as Pate guides her—’Higher, higher on the left - other left - all of it lower now - perfect!’

‘I think Ashton will want to go back.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was something of the Hishari there - a town. Cursed now, apparently. He wants answers.’

‘Then that’s what we’ll do,’ Imogen agrees. ‘Kill the moon, then go on holiday to a cursed town in Issylra. Sounds nice.’

‘You were right, by the way,’ Imogen says later, as they walk back from the Windowed Wall to their friends.

‘Of course I was.’ Laudna beams across at her, tone bright, teasing; it’s such a shift from her mood of the morning that Imogen can do nothing but smile back at her. ‘About what, though?’

‘You said if it was important, I’d remember what I was gonna say. And I remember now.’’ Imogen wraps her arm through Laudna’s, pulls her in tight. There aren’t many people crowding the street but she doesn’t need an excuse to hold her close anymore. ‘You know, the thought you kissed right outta my head?’

‘Imogen!’ Laudna slaps her hand lightly, but her eyes gleam. Imogen thinks she might be pleased by the idea of driving her to distraction. ‘Well, go on then. What was it?’

‘You asked if I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Kissin’ you. I was gonna say, I think I’ll never get it outta my head. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about kissing you forever. If that’s alright with you.’

Laudna’s chin lifts - proud, pleased by the idea, clearly - and she gains what could only be called a strut. Her cheeks colour faintly. ‘I’ll be thinking about it too.’ Her eyes glitter brightly over a sweet smile. ‘After all, you’re very capable,’ she teases, and laughs, delighted, at the blush her words pull from Imogen.

They’re still smiling when they rejoin their friends. It earns them strange looks, but fond, relieved. No one pries—though Ashton has a stare like a crowbar—and they say nothing, for now.

#tagging my stories #prompt fill #cr tag #imodna my beloveds #imodna

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kitthepurplepotato · 9 months

Text

MWRMI PART 8

Week 4 Part 2 - The Hero Con! 👾

Summary: Y/N goes to the Hero con with her favorite hero by her side. Jirou wants to have “THE talk.” Midoriya can’t hide his feelings anymore and almost makes a “mistake.” Kacchan is done with Deku’s shenanigans.

Warnings: Swear words, a little bit of jealousy, disgusting amount of fluff!

First Part Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“It’s finished!” You jump up excitedly after sitting in one place for several hours so you can finish your last commission right before midnight; now that your weekly work is done you’ll be able to enjoy the convention and spend your hard earned money on Deku merch.

Also, pro hero Deku will have a signing booth, you can’t wait to meet him in person and tell him how much you love him!

Actually, scratch that, you’ll grow some balls and ask him for a picture together. Yeah.

But wait…

You live with pro hero Deku.

He’s literally sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching an old All Might movie, waiting for you to cuddle up next to him as you always do.

Maybe you should just stay home. The tickets were extremely expensive this year and you literally know everyone you want to meet in person by now. The tickets are also refundable so it won’t be a problem to get your money back.

“What made you frown like that, sweet pea?” Midoriya places a hand on your shoulders, making you jump; when did he come over?! He was watching a movie just a second ago!

“I just realized how much money I spent on the tickets when I can see you guys any time for free. Sometimes, I forget I live with pro hero Deku.” You sigh, looking up at your favorite hero. He’s wearing an old All Might shirt and he looks absolute adorable as always. His hair is really messy, he probably forgot to comb it again. You really like this side of him, the one who doesn’t care about appearances, you really have no idea why you payed so much money to see him in a hero costume when you prefer him this way anyway.

The hero smiles at you, making your insides turn upside down at how fond and loving his smile is.

“Well, there will be an exclusive interview with me and Dynamight. Then there’ll be a lot of cool booths with fan-made comics…”

“Doujinshi.”

“That, yeah.” He nods. “Then… well… I’ll be there looking cute and sexy.”

“You are always cute and sexy.” You mumble with a pout, not convinced. Midoriya blushes and looks away while biting his lips… oh damn, this should be illegal. You’ll never be able to forget this face. You really need to take a cold shower. Like, now.

“Also, I would like you to be there… with me.” He murmurs, touching your hands for a second before pulling away. “I actually wanted to ask you if you would like to come to work with me? Be my helper for the day? You can get a refund on your tickets but come anyway. We both win.”

If this is how Midoriya’s face looks like when he’s asking someone to help him you don’t want to know how he would look like when asking a girl on a date. His face is about to explode, bless his little cute ass. Now it makes sense why the hero is still single.

“Will I get a backstage pass and everything?” You perk up, your eyes shining with excitement. “Can I get a staff discount on your merch?!”

“You can have all my merch for free anyway. Just tell me what you want and you’ll have it.” He smiles, patting your head fondly. You probably look like an absolute fangirl right now, but to be fair, that’s literally what you are and Midoriya knows that.

“OH MY GOD I’M SO EXCITED I’M GOING TO CRY MIDORIYA, THANK YOU!” You yell into the poor guys face who only laughs at your late night shenanigans. “Oh my god, I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Ahh, we should head to bed. We need to wake up early. Ahh, can it be tomorrow already?”

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

“You literally just said you won’t be able to sleep, are you okay?” Midoriya giggles.

“Do I look okay to you?! I’m having a crisis!”

“You are so bloody adorable.” Midoriya rolls his eyes but pushes you towards the bathroom. “Go and brush your teeth then go to bed. Come and see me before getting ready so I can tell you the plan. We need to get out of the house by 8.”

“Roger that, boss!” You run into the bathroom and close the door just to scream into a towel, like a real, mature adult.

You can’t wait for tomorrow. This will be the best day of your life.

~•🥦•~

Needless to say, you didn’t sleep too much but not even the lack of sleep can ruin your excitement; you are going to a convention… with the main star of the convention.

Like, what the fuck is your life, honestly.

Midoriya is already up, making his favorite fancy coffee in an oversized shirt and underwear. You try your best not to look… well, that’s a lie, you do look. His shirt is hiding almost everything anyway. Damn, those tights could kill a person.

“I hope this is not the outfit for the convention, have some decency.”

Midoriya jumps at your voice; he was clearly in his own little head, trusting the safety of his own house enough to not be aware of his surroundings. He looks over at your clothing; your pro hero Deku pajama shorts with a random, old t-shirt; nothing special, really; and grins widely.

“Well I hope this isn’t your convention attire either, I kinda want to be in peace, not chasing random horny dudes away from you every five minutes.” Midoriya fucking winks and you freeze; your heart will definitely explode if he keeps this up. You’ll never be able to come out of your room in these pajamas, ever again.

“Well, maybe I want to be praised by random dudes?” You snap back jokingly but the greenette’s eyes visibly darken by your words; his mouth twitches once then twice before his expression evens out to a normal one.

“I would prefer you not to flirt on the job.” He smiles, like he didn’t just try to kill you with his eyes just a second ago. What the heck was that about? “Oh, talking about our attire, I have something for you!” The green haired hero perks up and runs into his room to give you a neatly folded clothing item in a greenish color. When you open it up, you almost burst out crying. It’s Deku’s famous first hero costume; It has more patches than original fabric, it’s well-loved and definitely well-used, a lot smaller than the hero in front of you.

“But isn’t this supposed to be in the hero museum?” You ask, a little bit confused.

“The one in the museum is the first official one made by UA. This was my first ever hero uniform, my mom got it made for me when I got in. She tried her best to patch it up every single day but after a while I had to get a more durable one. It’s not suitable for fighting villains but it’s still wearable.” Midoriya smiles and you can’t even hide the happy tears trailing down your cheeks. “I want you to wear it today, Y/N.”

That’s it. This is how you die. You are incapable of saying anything so you just jump into the hero’s arms, hoping your feelings will come through the embrace without the need for words. Midoriya’s arms snake around your waist, pulling your body close, squeezing relentlessly; there is a hint of possessiveness in his movements but you definitely don’t mind; the feeling of being needed runs through your veins as you squeeze back with the same fervor, unsaid words swirling around you like tiny butterflies on a warm spring day.

“We should probably get ready.” Midoriya murmurs into your ears, his voice traveling through your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake; he says that but he pulls you closer, not letting you go yet. After a few seconds his hold loosens and you slowly get out of his embrace; you already miss the warmth around your waist but you know this isn’t the last time you get a hug from him so you skip to your room to change into the most valuable piece of clothing you’ve ever had your hands on.

For your surprise, it fits perfectly.

~•🥦•~

“Do I look cool enough, Number One?” You come out of your room in Deku’s costume; one half of the mask piece was missing; or to be exact, it was blown away, probably; so you had to play around to make it stay on your head, but you made it work; you did a dark, greenish make up to make the whole look pop and if that’s not enough, you topped the whole make up look with some fake freckles. You had some extensions in pine green color sitting in your drawer, so you popped those in and curled them together with your real hair, ending up looking like a female version of Deku. The suit is a tiny bit tight in the chest area as it wasn’t made to be worn by girls, but it’s really not that bad all together.

Your words are met with absolute silence, the only sound in the room is the sound of Midoriya swallowing hard. He looks a bit constipated but you decide not to make a joke out of it as he looks like he’s about to pass out.

“Wow. I really didn’t think it will look this good on you. You look stunning, Y/N.” Midoriya swallows hard again and runs back into his room. “Wait for me by the door, I’m just gonna grab my bag.” He wheezes, out of breath. You are a bit concerned for the well-being of your roomie right now but it’s probably just the stress, so you decide to wait patiently by the door for him. Your phone vibrates in your pocket so you quickly take a look.

— Deku’s daycare! —

Pikachu: Y/N’s wearing Deku’s old costume to the convention today, apparently she looks really fucking hot.

Pikachu: Oh fuck, wrong chat.

*Kacchan sugoi blocked Pikachu.*

Glasses 👓 : Ignore him Y/N, Zuku would never say such a lewd thing. He probably just said you look really lovely. I can’t wait to meet you today.

Kirishima: To be fair, he genuinely said “lovely” in our group chat with Katsuki!

Piggy 🐷: He probably messaged him by accident, everyone knows not to trust Denki with secrets.

Freeloader: I will make sure to remember that, Mina! I can’t wait to meet you, Iida-kun!

“Ahh, sorry, I was just messaging Kacchan.” Deku scratches the back of his head shyly. “Let’s go, Y/N.”

~•🥦•~

“I can’t believe I’m backstage!” You mumble as you take in the sight in front of you: staff members running around with random boxes full of merch while there’s a sound check happening on the main stage. You look out to the main area to see hundreds of vendors putting out their arts and comics, hanging up banners and talkers to promote their work. The backstage area is full of heroes, flexing in their fancy hero costumes, getting ready for their interviews and signing sessions. Jirou locks her eyes with you and comes over; Deku leaves your side after leaving a kiss on the top of your head, making you a flushed mess with his affectionate deeds.

“Hey bestie… can we talk?” Jirou smiles but by the look in her eyes, it’s something serious. You nod silently as she leads you to an empty room on the side of the massive backstage area; it’s filled with cleaning products and other necessities nicely lined up on the massive shelves. “You know I don’t beat around the bush so… what’s up with you two?” Jirou asks, her voice full of worry. “Whatever it is, I won’t be mad I’m just surprised you didn’t tell me anything.”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” You sigh. “We are really close. I like him. A lot. I don’t think that surprises you.” You giggle with a sad look on your face; Jirou knows how much of a fanatic you are, there is no reason to hide it.

“No, it does.” Jirou speaks up. “Because we are talking about Zuku, not pro hero Deku here. I see how you look at him, Y/N. That’s not fanatism and you know that.” She reprimands while you try your best to hide behind the shelving system. “But that’s not what bothers me. Not at all. What bothers me is that Zuku gave you his most treasured hero costume to wear on a fucking convention. He likes you enough to do that.”

You really don’t understand what’s going on.

“I don’t see how is that a problem. We like each other. He’s a touchy-feely person who loves to make people smile. That’s all.”

Jirou rolls her eyes aggressively at your words.

“Yes, he likes to hug people but he doesn’t kiss them, especially not in front of the whole staff. But that’s not my problem. My problem is that I’m terrified you are going to get hurt. Seeing your loved ones after a fight is…”

“He came home drenched in his own blood enough times already, Kyou. I know what I’m getting into. Also, he doesn’t think about me that way so don’t worry.” You answer with your voice strained due to the stress. You really don’t understand this conversation.

“Y/N, you are so fucking oblivious I swear to god!“ Jirou yells. “Nevermind, just talk to me. Please. I want you to know I’m here for you if you ever need to talk about this. That’s all I wanted to say. This needs to be extremely overwhelming for you.”

“Thank you, I’ll message you more often. But if you’ll continue treating me like a fragile little quirkless girl…” your voice gets louder as the sentence goes but someone stops you in the middle of the sentence.

“Hey, hey, don’t fight.” Red Riot steps between you two like you can actually cause harm to the hero in front of you. “Y/N, I know this must be a lot for you but this is how we are. We are nosy and way too protective. We also talked to Deku about this the other day. We just want to make sure you two are okay. Not everyone is as good with this whole thing as you are, Y/N.” Kirishima looks at you with a sad smile, clearly knowing what he’s talking about. For your surprise, Jirou giggles.

“We weren’t fighting honey, we just both got a bit too protective.” She smiles and Kirishima nods, leaving without another word. That was weird.

“So what’s his baggage?” You giggle at your friend, the heated argument long forgotten.

“Girl, he lives with Katsuki. That’s enough of a baggage as it is.” She says with a fond smile on her face.

“Sorry for being so sensitive about this. You are right, it’s a lot. And it’s really hard not to love him more than I probably should. And to be honest… I do… love him… more. Duh.” You laugh self-deprecatingly, almost whispering while tears pool in your eyes. Jirou snakes her arms around you and whispers back.

“I would like to be concerned, but the way he looks at you right now, hiding being the door all concerned, I don’t think there will be a problem.”

“Oh my god, do you think he heard what I just said?!” You freak out, not even realizing the meaning of her last words.

“No, he didn’t, don’t freak out.” She laughs out loudly. “Come in, you nosy fuck, it’s not manly to eavesdrop!” Jirou mixes Katsuki’s and Eijirou’s style of talking perfectly which makes you laugh.

“Eijirou said there is an argument and I…” Midoriya stutters as he comes closer, ashamed of himself.

“Yeah, you are concerned, we get it.” Jirou rolls her eyes, looking at you two with a knowing face.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you… for introducing us. I’ll make sure she never gets hurt because of my job and…”

“… and I’m invited to your wedding.” Jirou finishes his sentence with a straight face.

“Yeah, of course you are!” Midoriya jumps in, then pales completely. “Wait, what?!”

“Nice one, Headphones!” Katsuki comes through the door, giving your friend a high five.

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you assholes!” Midoriya whines with a bright red blush on his face.

“You love us.” Jirou taps Deku’s shoulders to soothe the overwhelmed hero.

“I really do.”

Well, you’ve definitely have learnt one thing today; privacy is not a thing in this friend group.

~•🥦•~

While the heroes get ready for their panels you look around at the convention for a bit; you already bought a handmade Deku plushie, a few limited edition hero figurines only available at this convention and you also managed to get your hands on the next volume of the My Hero Academia manga; it started as a fan project but ended up to be a big hit, supported by the whole hero scene; it’s a manga about the history of the current top heroes, it shows their past UA life and also gives the reader a glint into the biggest war of the past decade. After the first volume, Horikoshi-sensei managed to get noticed by all the heroes who were more than happy to give him all the information he needed to keep the story as realistic as possible. The newest volume is officially coming out in a few weeks time but it’s available for purchase on this convention way before its official release. You can’t wait to sit down and read it.

After a bag full of random shit you definitely don’t need you make your way back to your flatmate, who’s just about to start his signing session in one of the booths. You barely make it inside before people start asking for pictures; apparently Midoriya isn’t the only one who thinks your cosplay is amazing.

“Oh my god, you are so cute, what the heck!” A younger guy, around 18, comes over to you with a massive smile on his face. “Can I have a photo?” He asks shyly and you oblige; but for some reason, the poor fella freezes in one place as he stares towards the stage. “Actually, it’s fine, I just wanted to tell you how much I like your style.” He continues staring, so you look the same direction; Midoriya stares at the two of you, black whip dancing around him aggressively as he stops signing a fan’s poster midway. “Is there a reason why is my favorite hero trying to assassinate me with his eyes?” The boy wonders, clearly shaking.

“He’s probably looking at something else. Let’s take that picture, okay?” You smile at the boy who takes a selfie happily and moves into the queue to get his own signature. You make your way over to the glaring greenette with a scolding look.

“Midoriya….” You stop by his side, giving him a sharpie as he managed to break the one in his hand, god knows how. “What was that about?”

Midoriya looks up at you with his signature puppy eyes between signing two posters, topped up with a little smile.

“You told me it’s okay to want things. I wanted you to stop talking to that guy and give me a new sharpie.” He says like it’s the most normal thing in the world to kill a person with his eyes.

You sigh, letting the hero off the hook for the sake of the signing and you are just about to move away when he grabs your hand under the table. He doesn’t say a word nor looks at you, he just keeps holding your hand while he signs with the other. He eventually lets you go when some people ask for pictures and you use the freedom to hide behind the backstage door where you are still visible for Midoriya but hidden from everyone else. He looks at you with a sad smile and turns back to the fans with a long sigh.

“Is he being weird again?” You jump from the sudden voice behind you; it’s Kaminari.

“Really weird.” You murmur, leaving the backstage to help at the merch booth as the poor guys are clearly swarmed up there. Quite a lot of people end up asking for a picture with you after their purchase went through at the tills and you also get a bunch of compliments for your amazing cosplay; you feel content and happy, even though you can feel Midoriya’s eyes on you the whole time.

“Are you Deku’s girlfriend?” A younger girl asks and you can’t help but blush at the question.

“Oh, no, not at all, I’m just helping! He’s… a great friend of mine.” You try to smile, but everyone can see how uncomfortable you are. The other staff members giggle at the awkwardness and ask the young girl to move away and let other people buy their stuff too. You let out a long breath and keep smiling at the customers, getting more and more tired as the time goes by; you get stuck at the tills until the end of the day, only being able to leave when the convention finally shuts it’s doors.

Midoriya comes over to you as you put the few leftover merch into a box to be taken back to the DC.

“Tired?” He smiles, while helping you pack. The rest of the staff members freeze from the sight of the pro hero but continue to do their assigned jobs.

“Definitely. I’m so ready to fall asleep on the sofa while stuffing my face with the fancy mochi I just bought.” You sigh, finishing up. “By the way, don’t do that.” You say quickly, trying to avoid eye contact.

“What?” Midoriya looks at you with questioning eyes.

“That. Staring holes into my skull. You don’t need to do that, I can take care of myself. I’m quirkless, not an idiot.” You sigh, a tiny bit offended.

“You misunderstand. It’s not because of that. I…” Midoriya stutters, making the other staff members stop working completely to be able to listen in. “Let’s talk about this at home, okay?” He says, pointing at the staff members with his eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” You mumble, but he just puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you close.

“Can I have her back now? You guys can finish this, right?” You can’t see Midoriya’s smile but you can feel it in the way he talks. The staff members murmur a quiet “yes” as he takes your hand and starts pulling you towards the backstage. “Thank you guys for today, take whatever you want from the leftover box!” Midoriya says while taking 2 oversized shirts out of the box. “Matching PJs?” He winks at you, leaving the whole team dumbfounded by his words. You don’t have time to answer as the hero pulls you into the backstage area to take his backpack and say goodbye to everyone then moves towards the exit as quick as he can. “I’m so ready to sit on the sofa for the rest of the day, I swear this is more tiring than fighting villains.”

You don’t say anything back just giggle to yourself at Midoriya’s grumpy mood; it’s a new side of him, one even more adorable than all the others; he grumbles in a really cute way, his eyes squished together like a child throwing a tantrum. You squeeze his hand reassuringly as he pulls you towards the nearest taxi, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as soon as you both sit down.

~•🥦•~

“Can I have some?” Midoriya looks at you while you two snuggle on the sofa. You are watching a Crimson Riot movie in your new, matching pjs. The hero decided to wear it with nothing with boxers but thankfully, you are both under a massive blanket so you can’t see it. You can feel it though, which is probably worse and definitely way past the friendzone, but to be honest you don’t really feel like moving away.

“You want me to share my limited edition Deku mochi with you?” You look at him incredulously, keeping the box out of his reach.

“I am literally the reason this mochi exist, sweet pea!” The hero tries to reach again, ending up in your lap, taking the box from you as you freeze from the sudden closeness.

“You don’t get any until you say sorry for this afternoon.” You mumble with a flushed face, looking everywhere but at the hero in front of you. Midoriya decides this is a good enough sitting place and places his butt down right next to you without moving his legs; one of them stays sprawled out on your lap, skin touching skin.

Why can’t he sit like a normal person. Why.

“You are mad. Like, mad mad.” He mopes, looking like a 5 year old who didn’t get a present from Santa this year.

“I am! You scared that poor boy! He was literally shaking when he got to you! Your naked, absolutely gorgeous tights are also on my lap and I can’t focus on the scolding, so can you move them, please?!” You almost screech by the end of your sentence, hiding your rapidly darkening face with your arms.

“Oh, they are heavy, ain’t they.” He mumbles while he nods and moves back to his side properly.

That’s really not the problem you sexy idiot - you want to say, but you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“I’m sorry… I just…” he starts to ramble again, but this time, he doesn’t stop. “I saw him touching you and looking at you with those heart eyes and … I have no idea why is this happening to me Y/N, but every time I think about someone doing stuff like that with you, it makes me so furious I want to demolish them. I am really not an aggressive person but for some weird reason, I can’t control my anger when it comes to these situations. I’ll get better. You are your own person, you have all the rights to flirt, to fall in love and…” Midoriya’s full face is scrunched into a frown by the end of his monologue.

“You are right, I am my own person and I have all the rights to flirt and fall in love.” You repeat, making him bite his lower lip aggressively to ground himself. “But I won’t. I can’t. I don’t want to. Right now.” This time, you are the one who hides her face in his neck to calm down. As always, he smells amazing.

I can’t give my heart to someone but because you’ve already taken it - you want to say. But you don’t.

Midoriya presses a kiss on the top of your head while his hands get lost in your hair again; he massages your scalp soothingly while he says his next words.

“Just give me some time and I’ll be able to let you go.”

The sentence sounds familiar but you have no idea why; you are quite sure you’ve never heard him say anything like this before. Your heart squeezes at the words, leaving you an absolute mess as you mumble into his neck.

“I hope you need a lot of fucking time cuz I ain’t wanna go anywhere.” You mumble into his curls. “I want to stay here forever.”

Jesus, what are you even talking about?! This is pro hero Deku goddamnit!! You are nothing but a really lucky fangirl, nothing more, nothing less. You have no right to…

“Deal. Let’s stay like this. Forever. I don’t need anyone else either.” He smiles with tears in his eyes. “I never thought I’ll ever have this, whatever this is, and I don’t need anything else. Not now, not later.” Midoriya moves you up by your chin and rests his forehead against yours. By the way your heart is beating, you are probably about to die. “Y/N, will you be my roommate forever?” Midoriya whispers but you can’t make a proper answer so you decide to nod instead. The hero smiles and leaves a kiss right next your lips; your breath hitches for a second before he moves back to his starting position, like nothing had happened in the first place.

“You okay? You look really pale. Do you want to go to sleep, sweet pea?” He asks but you keep staring into space with no thoughts swirling in your dead brain…………….

“Yeah, I’m sleepy. Really sleepy.” You stand up and move towards your room without brushing your teeth. Disgusting, but if you need to stay in the same room with this idiot for another second you might combust.

“I’ll go too. It’s not fun without you.” He smiles.

You close the door behind you, then you belly flap on the bed to scream into your pillow.

Needless to say, you won’t sleep a wink tonight, nor the night after. You’ll never sleep again.

~•🥦•~

— Deku’s mental health support group. —

Lovesick Idiot (Zuku): I almost kissed her on the lips.

Ei: Accidentally?

Lovesick Idiot (Zuku): Yes. No. I don’t know??!

Kacchan: Just fuck already.

Lovesick Idiot (Zuku): You are not helping, Kacchan!

Kacchan: You can’t be helped. Now let us sleep.

Ei: Ignore him. So was it an accident?

Lovesick Idiot (Zuku): No.

Ei: Did she move away?

Lovesick Idiot (Zuku): No.

Ei: Why didn’t you kiss her then?!

Lovesick idiot (Zuku): She doesn’t see me that way.

Ei: …

Ei: Katsuki was right. Let us sleep. Good night.

*Kacchan changed Midoriya’s name to “Helpless, oblivious fuck”.

~•🥦•~

Y/N: Is it platonic when your roommate gets all protective over you and asks you to to be his roomie forever then he kisses you right next to your lips?

Jirou: Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?!

Y/N: I know, I’m stupid, but a girl can dream…

Jirou: You two will be the death of me I swear to god. I think you just gave me a brain aneurysm.

Y/N: …

~•🥦•~

Izu-Izu: Y\N, are you sleeping?

Y/N: Yes.

Izu-Izu: Yeah, me too…

…Next part!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- How to ask someone to be your girlfriend without saying “be my girlfriend”, am I right? How long will you two dance around each other? Honestly, I hope it’s long as I really don’t want to finish this series 😂😂😂😂

- Btw, I’m writing week 6 right now and you are not ready for that shit. The amount of stuff Midoriya gets away with even thought you two are not in a relationship is a little bit concerning at this point. 😂

- Weekly shopping obsessed potato ramble: so this week… I bought a Todoroki figurine and 2 funkos. Send help. It’s a funny story though! So I was on my last 15 min break at work, which is a street away from my fav geek store. They posted about the new My Hero Funkos and I literally sprinted down in my work uniform and headset to get a Todoroki and a Shinsou. I arrived all sweaty and panting and they all laughed at me, then my boss also laughed when I came back with a bag full of funkos. 😂

- I’m really broke now. Hopefully, there won’t be a shopaholic potato section next week. XD

- I also need to get a new shelf as I’m out of space. I need help.

Taglist: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @momothemasocist @aymasakusa

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya x y/n #midoriya x you #pro hero deku #deku x reader #deku x you #my hero academia #midoriya izuku

195 notes · View notes

gglitch1dd · 2 years

Text

Day 7: Is this yours?

Dragon Kirishima x Human AFAB Reader

Your grandfather always warned you of the boys with giant smirks and playful eyes, but he never warned you about the kind ones with sharp teeth and dragon wings. 5.8k Warning: NSFW. SMUT. Cute passionate love, cause I was in a cutesy Eijiro mood. Also warning, DRAGON DICK.

You worked picking apples from the trees. It was hard work trying to get them all and collect them again, especially since it was just you working the fields recently, but someone had to get it done. It was hard work as the sun beat down against you, only making you hotter and lazier as you moved, trying to finish picking all the apples and throw them down in a basket. You stood in short overalls and a straw hat, standing on an old ladder to reach the top of the trees.

It was on days like this, you wished you could go out with friends or sit inside all day. You could only wish to wear their nice clothes and walk around town till your heart desired. However, doing that wouldn’t get money to put food on the table. It also would mean that there would be no one else to take care of the farm. There used to be multiple of other workers that worked the farm lands and the orchids too, but since the plague a few years ago, much help had dwindled. It was now all about taking care of one’s own family.

You sighed as you wiped sweat off your brow with the back of your arm. You looked down at all the apples you had picked down on the ground in the wooden sewn baskets. You carefully went down the steps of the ladder, thinking that you had collected enough to take back to the barn and come back with another set of empty baskets. You landed down on the ground safely. You placed your hand on your back trying to straighten up your posture. You didn’t need a bad back to come along with your problems. After a few seconds of rest and delay, you bent down to pick up one of the baskets.

“Uh... Excuse me.”

“Oh gods!” You nearly jumped out of your skin as you quickly turned around to face whoever had spoken to you.

Standing in front of you was a rather tall man, with round red eyes that seemed so soft and caring. He had long Redhair that cascaded down his back that matched his eyes, and surprisingly you also noticed the red flakes that seemed to decorate his skin. You had never seen a man like him before. He looked like he had muscle, easily he would be able to overpower you, but at the same time, he looked like he was thinner than he should have been. His eyes widened at your shout, noticing that he scared you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologised with a bow of his head. He held a red apple towards you. “Is this yours?” He asked softly. It was surprising for you to hear such a soft voice out of a man who looked double your size. “I noticed it just a bit away from here and then I noticed you.”

You looked down at the apple. You had seen so many of the damn fruits, you weren’t exactly sure if that was the apple you pick fourteen apples ago or the very first one you had picked. You nodded. “Probably, how come?” You asked him as you flicked your gaze back up to him. The redhead looked down at the apple almost in disappointment, hearing that it was yours. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the fruit. You frowned. Poor guy was probably hungry. “Do you want it?” You asked.

His eyes immediately flicked up to you, having his entire attention on you. He nodded his head eagerly. He bowed at the waist. “Yes please.” He had great manners for his appearance. He stood in a loose old black tunic and brown pants. He was barefoot but he didn’t seem to mind all that badly. Surprisingly he didn’t have any sort of sun burn.

You smiled. “Well, you can have that one for now, but if you help me with my chores, I can get you more.”

He perked up at the mention of the deal. For a moment, he thought it over in his head before smiling. He nodded his head fiercely, seeing no problem with the deal and really eager to earn more apples. “That would be amazing.” He took the apple in both hands, making you realise how small the apple was compared to him, and he took a huge bite out of it happily. He smiled broadly with really sharp teeth. You heard a sort of purr sound come from him. From his ears and the horns on his head, you knew he wasn’t the least bit human. You wondered what race of creatures he belonged to. You watched him eat the apple very much happy.

While he did so, you turned your attention to picking up any stray apples and putting them in the apple baskets. When you were all done you found him finished with his apple. Your eyebrows furrowed for a moment, realising something. “Where’s the core of the apple?” You asked him with a furrowed brow.

He just looked at you lost at your question with a tilt of his head. “The what?” He asked you.

You opened your mouth to explain, but at the end you decided to leave it be. “It’s no matter.” You waved it down, having little concern. You then looked down to the two woven baskets. “I need your help carrying all these apples,” You lifted your head to point over to a red barn not too far away from where you were. “Over there.” You informed him looking over at the barn. You knew you would have to take strategic stops because of how heavy the apples were when in the baskets, but you didn’t mind all that much. “I’ll have to stop every now and then, but I’m sure if we pace ourselves well then we can- SWEET HOLY GODS!”

The redhead was carrying both baskets in his hands, effortlessly. One on each shoulder stabilised by one hand. He looked at you with a smile on his face. “So just over there?” He asked as he motioned to the barn. It was as if he wasn’t carrying apple baskets that no doubt weighted probably weighed more than an average person. With wide eyes you nodded as you started walking with him. He smiled as he trailed along with you into the sun out to the barn. “Oh!” He picked up as if almost remembering something important. He turned to look at you as best as he could with the baskets on his shoulders. “Forgive me, but I haven’t asked you your name.”

You chuckled and nodded your head to him, with a tilt of your hat. “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, big fella.” That made a sharp tooth grin come to his face. “What’s your name?”

He was silent for a moment, almost as if thinking of the answer. His eyebrows furrowed but then he seemed sure as he turned to look at you with a soft smile. “Kirishima... Kirishima Eijiro... I think.” He said looking away with furrow of his eyebrows. “Forgive me, but I am not fully sure if I may be telling you a fib.” He warned you with a small embarrassed laugh.

You tilted your head confused at his statement. “A fib?” You asked. “Do you not know your name?” You tried not to sound judgemental towards him.

“I’m not sure, to be honest with you.” He revealed to you. “All I know is that one day I woke up in the middle of the forest, alone and without my memories. Slowly I started to remember some bits and pieces from my past but they were not a lot.” He answered to you honestly.

“Oh dear, you poor thing.” You tapped his side gently, trying to be friendly. By the look on his face, he appreciated the gesture. “If you don’t have a place to go, we could always use some company and a pair of working hands.” You offered towards him.

Kirishima smiled down at you brightly. “Do I get more apples?” He asked excitedly. You were sure that if he could wag a tail, it would probably be wagging up a storm at the question.

You laughed with a bright smile on your face to which made him feel happier to hear and see. You nodded your head, affirming what he was saying. “Of course.” You assured him. “You can have as much as you’d like.” You promised him.

The two of you made it to the barn. You pushed opened the door and led him over to where you had put all the other apples. After placing the baskets down, the two of you continued to work until the sun was setting. With Kirishima around, you had finished much earlier than expected and even got to sorting apples. You led Kirishima back to the main barn house with a small basket of apples for the house itself. Sitting on the porch with a fluffy golden retriever at his feet, was your uncle. He wasn’t actually related to you but you knew him well enough to consider him family.

He was family.

You smiled at him. “Uncle Toshinori.” You greeted. Instantly the golden retriever lifted her head and noticed the new person accompanying you. She got up and quickly headed over to Kirishima. Kirishima looked down at her, his pupils widening in interest at the new animal friend. She barked and jumped, circling him in excitement. Kirishima smiled and went down to her level, patting her side. You motioned over to Kirishima. “This is Kirishima Eijiro. He’s been helping me with my chores today.”

The old man laughed. He had two longer strands of greying blond hair that framed his thin face. “I saw, young Y/N.” He told you amused. He turned his attention to Kirishima, who felt his blue-eyed gaze from where he was crouched. Kirishima smiled at the dog before standing back up straight to full height to look at Toshinori. The old man looked at Kirishima carefully, noticing his features. “You’re a dragon.”

You turned to Kirishima in surprise, having not figured that out yet. Kirishima nodded his head. “Indeed, I am, sir.”

“You’re a long way from home.” Toshinori spoke factually. He lifted a frail hand over to the right. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

Kirishima scratched the back of his head. “To be frank, I am not too sure. I lost my memories so I don’t remember my reason for being here.”

You turned to the older man and put your hands together. “Please Uncle Toshinori. Can Kirishima stay here just till he gains his memories back. He’s already said he can help around the farm until he wants to leave.” You begged him.

Toshinori shook his head at you but he chuckled. He wasn’t surprised and didn’t blame your reasoning. He knew you had a big heart, however, he also knew you were lonely here. He turned his gaze back to Kirishima once more. “Can you work hard?” He asked the dragon hybrid.

Kirishima nodded his head dutifully. “Till my last breath, sir.”

“Are you willing to learn?”

“Absolutely.”

Toshinori hummed for a moment, before nodding his head. “Alright.” He stated. “He can stay.” Both you and Kirishima bowed in gratitude to the old man. “But!” He interrupted the celebrations. He pointed a finger to Kirishima with an icy glare to his blue eyes. He was being deathly serious about his next statement. “You hurt my Y/N...” He started with a stoic tone. “And I will pluck every scale from your body one at a time. Do you understand me?” He asked.

Kirishima nodded his head furiously. “Yes sir.”

“Great!” You chirped out. You took Kirishima’s hand making his eyes go wide at the gesture. His big hand with small red speckled scales was so giant compared to yours. You dragged him forward. “Come on, Kirishima. I’ll show you to your room and get you a fresh change of clothes. I’m making apple pie!” You told him.

Kirishima had to bend down significantly to get through the doorway of your home. The sound of apples caught his attention. “Apples?” The large dragon asked looking down at you as you dragged him down the hallway.

Since then Kirishima had been an avid member of Plus Ultra Acres. He was an absolute darling and you wondered how men like him still existed. He was sweet, humble and always looking to help. He did his chores to perfection and even managed to find a way to befriend all the cows. However, the goats didn’t seem to like him all that much.

With his new overalls, a straw hat and boots, he was just like you. However, he was noticeable different. Especially after a few short months of farm work he easily thickened up, exponentially. It was as if he had a growth spurt. He had muscle to him. A lot of it, that went well with his already large demeanour. The two of you did much research on dragons and also relied on his memories and instincts. For example, his wings. They sprung up one day and you took (probably more than you should have) advantage of the fact that he could fly. Mostly by telling him to go pick the apples that you couldn’t reach or other fruits from trees.

The two of you, along with your happy golden retriever some days, were inseparable. It was almost as though the two of you had been friends for the longest of time. He was just so bubbly and sweet. Hell, it was like that with everyone Kirishima met, he easily became much of a town celebrity, being the first ever dragon to be in the town before. At first some were frightened of him due to his very large demeanour, but getting to know him, you would never believe that you were ever afraid of him. He was often off helping people with his unreal strength or tasting some new pastry or dish. He was just such a lively and friendly person, it was hard not to love him.

However, when all was said and done, he always preferred your company the most.

With him you could talk about anything. You could talk about when you were growing up, past relationships even something as stupid as fighting over flies versus bees. Admittedly, Kirishima was a bee patron but you think it’s just because bees wouldn't want to sting a dragon. With Kirishima he made life so much better. Just seeing him made you smile. Talking to him made your day better and being with him was as if you felt whole for the first time in your life.

You weren’t sure how to describe it, but looking at him made your heart swell and beat out of your chest. It made you feel as though you were the brightest star in the sky, the only flower in the field and the only diamond amongst stones. He treated you like royalty and with so much respect it often scared you and made you wonder whether you weren’t suffering from a long case of heat stroke and you were just imagining him.

“I’m pretty sure that one looks like a cow.” He pointed out as the both of you lay in a field of dandelions behind the farm just a bit in the forest, looking up at the stars. The both of you were stargazing tonight, the cool breeze from another long and hard day’s work always made staying outside better.

You giggled at his statement. “It looks more like a pig to me.” You told him putting your hands on your stomach.

Kirishima’s eyebrows scrunched up as he turned to look at you. “But when it comes to it, what’s the difference?” You giggled again at his question. Kirishima’s face softened at the look on your face as he watched you giggle and laugh.

“I think there’s a difference between a cow and a pig, Eijiro.”

“Meat is meat.”

You gasped. “Eijiro!”

He chuckled at your expression, finding it amusing. For a moment it descended back to comfortable silence with the sound of the crickets and the night. Kirishima looked down away from your face for a moment. “I... I remember something.” He spoke quietly as he looked away from you.

“Hm?” You turned to look at him, wondering what he remembered.

Over the course of the past year that Kirishima was with you, he started to remember bits and pieces of the past. Of his past. About how he got to where he was and where he came from. However, most of it was still a bit jumbled up... Or at least you thought it was jumbled up to him. Kirishima sighed as he closed his eyes for a moment. “Back at home... on Dragon Island...” Kirishima started softly. “The stars... were much better than this.” He let out with a soft scoff. He opened his eyes once more, his gaze of a beautiful ruby red, looked up at the stars almost waiting for something more. “There were so many stars in the sky, that at night, you would hardly need a flame to see. The moon and stars were so big and beautiful, every night was like a festival of stars.” He reached a hand up and swiped it over the sky over the both of you. Just then a shooting star came flying by.

You gasped. “Kiri!” You let out excitedly. “It’s a shooting star! Make a wish.” You said as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly as you made a wish for yourself.

Kirishima raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Make a wish?” He asked.

You nodded your head. “Mh.” You opened your eyes done with your wish. “It’s said if you make a wish on a shooting star then it could come true.” You told him. “Don’t dragons worship the stars?”

“Uh...” Kirishima hesitated to respond to that. “We do, but it’s different. We pray to the god the Starry Flame, but we believe that the stars in the sky are dragons that have passed from this world and have return to live amongst the Starry Flame in the heavens.”

You looked up at the stars with a new light. You hummed. “That sounds comforting.” You spoke softly. “I don’t think we humans have that.” You told him. “But if we did, I think I would feel better knowing I could see my family in the stars after the plague.” You expressed to him, more for yourself than for him. Kirishima turned to you worried. He was always worrying about you. Especially when he found out that besides Toshinori, you would basically be alone. Before he could have time to do so, you turned to look at him with a forced smile on your face. “What about your family? Do you remember anything more about them?” You asked.

That’s when Kirishima truly hesitated. He pushed himself up as he looked down away from you. His red eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. He didn’t want to have this talk so soon, but it seems like it everything had a time and place. He sighed as he closed his eyes for a moment. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he tried to find the words to tell you.

Your own eyebrows furrowed as you sat up as well. You looked to him worried. You placed your hand over his in the grass. “Kiri...” You spoke softly. You didn’t receive an answer. “Eijiro... I’m sorry if I touched a sensitive subject for you, I-”

“No, it’s not that.” He told you honestly. He tilted his head back to you. He waited a few seconds before facing you again fully. “Y/N...” He looked sad as he continued to talk to you. “My family... my parents... their alive, on Dragon Island. Or at least the last time I remember them being there.”

Your face brightened up at the happy news. “Well that’s amazing!” You smiled. “That means you can go find them, probably. It mean-”

“But what about you?” He asked interrupting you as his hand took your smaller one fully in his own, swallowing your small hand in his grasp. He looked at you seriously.

You looked down at your joined hands before looking back up at him. You tried to force a smile and a shrug. “What about me?” You asked him.

“I... I don’t want to leave you.” He told you honestly, looking down away from you with furrowed brows. “I really don’t want to leave without you.” His voice was soft and raw and honest. Your eyes widened in surprise at his confession. “I couldn’t have been so safe and looked after if it weren’t for you opening up your home and life to me. I... I don’t think I even wanted to remember anything about myself when there is you in my life to consume my days.” He smiled softly, that smile that always made your heart race and butterflies' storm in your stomach. “But... I know that there are responsibilities and people waiting for me back there...” He stated truthfully looking down away from you. “And you can’t leave Toshinori or the farm here either...”

You hesitated to speak as it once again descended into silence between the two of you. The clearing of dandelion flowers amongst the both of you, settled back into silence. “So... you’re leaving.” You spoke softly. He nodded his head sullenly.

You frowned but you turned to him. Deciding to take a risk. You brought a hand up to his face, forcing him to face you. You looked up at him, making sure to keep your eyes locked on him. You carefully went up onto your knees moving closer to him. Kirishima didn’t move unless you moved him. He didn’t say anything as he stared up at you as you straddled his waist. His eyes wide and his pupils dilated to look up at you with uncertainty and yet he wanted everything you were willing to give him. You both just stared at each other for a moment, your hearts beating fast and your hold on each other certain.

“Then... lets make the most of now.” You whispered down to him, placing both your hands to cup his face.

He placed a hand over one of your own. He closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, before opening them once more to find your lips just a mere inch away from his. “Y/N...” He whispered. He smiled softly. “I guess it can’t be helped then.”

Not letting you respond, he wrapped his arms around you tighter as he filled the space between the both of you. Pushing his body up to meet yours. His skin was like fire against yours. Warm and comforting. It lit and unleashed the tension between the both of you in a way you couldn’t describe. You kissed him with all of your heart, trying to reach him closer than you already were to him. Kirishima placed his hands on your hips holding you down to him. You moved back for air for only a moment, and Kirishima was chasing your lips again. Moving to kiss you and hold you tighter. He felt like you were too far still. He didn’t want to drift away from you. You were the one certainty in his whole life right now that he just couldn’t bear to be wrenched away from.

He pulled your hips down closer to him. Your hands moved down his face, down his neck to his chest. You balled up the material of his tunic in your hands as you tried to chase the burning passion in your heart for him. You sighed, arching your back into him, feeling the tension and need start to build up in your body. “Eijiro...” You whispered to the heavens as his mouth moved down to your neck. He could feel the rushing of your heartbeat and pulse on his lips. His hands moved underneath your shirt. His calloused hands moved around your soft skin, feeling you underneath him. He sighed against your skin almost as if it was relief to touch you. You found yourself moving your hips around trying and searching for pleasure in his grasp. Everything felt too hot for you and yet not hot enough. You moved on of your hands into his thick locks of red hair, feeling the way he sucked on your neck, leaving marks on your skin.

Kirishima moved his hands up your body to your chest, grabbing and squeezing where he could. If this was the time he could hold you and be with you, he was going to treasure and feel as much as he could. A soft groan came out of Kirishima as your grinding had ended up down against his restricted hard cock. He bit his bottom lip as you seemed to also enjoy the place you were in on top of him. He didn’t stop your hips nor your movement, letting his hands feel your insistent gyrating of your hips. Kirishima wanted so much, but he didn’t want to be greedy. He didn’t want to just take and yet he knew you wouldn’t stop him. Yet he was holding back so much from instincts taking way.

He knew that just as much as him, you wanted to be closer. You wanted him to consume your every space and every being. He was a being unlike any other to you, in his personality, in the way he loved and in his entire existence. You looked back down at him, moving your lips to the top of his head as you cradled his head, holding onto his hair. “Eijiro... I want you.” You whisper.

Kirishima, breathless from your constant grinding down on his crotch, looked up at you. “A-are you sure?” He asked you, wanting and needing to be careful. “I need you to be honest with me. If you aren’t’ comfortable, we can stop.”

You nodded your head to him with a smile, certain. “Yes.” You told him. “Please.”

He smiled moving his hands down your chest down to your pants. He very easily hoisted you up off him and yanked them right off of you. You giggled at his rather adamant actions. Holding you safely in his lap, he moved his fingers down into your underwear, to your glistening wet sex. He pushed a single finger in making you whimper as you gripped onto him hard at the sudden intrusion. It wasn’t as though you didn’t pleasure yourself, so it wasn’t too much of an adjustment, but it sure felt intrusive with how thick his finger was.

Kirishima groaned out at the warm wet feeling of your sex wrapped around his finger. He huffed as he tried to work you open and focusing on giving you pleasure. You hummed as you gripped harshly on his shoulders. Kirishima moved a finger up to your clit, making round circle against it. Immediately he felt you jolt against him at the sudden increase of pleasure. With one hand keeping your thighs spread and messaging your inner thigh, the other gave you pleasure like none you could give yourself. Slowly but surely, he eased more and more of his thick fingers inside you, which only made holding in your moans and gasps harder.

You moved your hands down to tug on his shorts. You wanted them off. You wanted them off immediately and Kirishima found it humorous. However, he could often hardly ever deny you anything you wanted. He carefully turned the both of you over so that you could lay down in the grass below him. You gasped as he slid his fingers out of you. You watched as some dandelions flew into the air above you as Kirishima took off his own clothes to match your bare state. It was something out of a fantasy with how surreal it was and how mesmerised you were with the scene around you.

Kirishima found himself caging you underneath him. One strong hand planted down in the grass near you to support his weight off of you, while the other moved your thigh to wrap around his waist. You did as he wanted, wrapping your legs around him, wanting to pull him in closer.

You finally looked down and tensed up immediately. “Oh dear gods.” You whispered.

“What?” Kirishima asked.

You stared down at his cock, rethinking if you were still sane. “E-eijiro, It... will you fit?” You asked him as you stared down at his thick cock in his hands. You had truly never seen anything like it before in your life. You knew that he was slightly different in anatomy sometimes, knowing he could spring wings from his back and a tail as well, but you never truly thought of if he would be different down there as well. It didn’t differ much from a human cock other than the abnormal thickness, size and the subtle ridges to it that you knew you would feel deep inside you.

Kirishima innocently looked at you wide eyed. He didn’t really think much about that, but then again he did already stretch you out. He looked down at his cock then back at your folds. He gulped trying to fight off the urge of just ramming into you and watching as your sex swallowed up his cock. He then gave you a hopeful smile that made you laugh. “Lets find out.”

Before you could comment, you arched your back with a gasp as you felt him push into you, the head of his cock thick and intruding already into your tight hole. You arched your back off the ground as Kirishima dropped his head at the heavenly feeling of you. He bit down a moan as he slowly pushed inside you, your thighs slightly shaking. You let out a high-pitched whine as you covered your mouth with your hand, biting down a cry at the stretch. “Eijiro!”

Kirishima immediately littered kisses to your neck trying to console you. He tried whispering sweet nothings and praises to you for doing such a good job taking his cock all inside you. You hadn’t even realised that you had managed to do that with how blinded by pain and pleasure swirling around you, everything felt. You felt as though you could barely breathe, as if you could feel him all the way in your stomach. You hiccupped as you tried to console yourself with the overwhelming feeling of him.

“F-fuck...” Kirishima let out a dragon whine at the tight feeling of your sex holding him in a vice grip. His hand gripped your thighs tightly with bruising strength. He groaned as he tried to relax but with your walls pulsating and fluttering around him, it was becoming harder and harder to do so. “Please... please can I... Can I move?”

You nodded, unable to speak like this. “Y-ye-AH!”

Every thrust in and out of you, you could feel the way the ridges of his cock gently scrapped against your soft walls making you moan at the extra stimulation that made up for the way he had practically bullied his cock inside of you. You moved your hands to his back as you dug your nails into him, gripping onto him. You moaned freely into the air as he slowly but surely thrusted in and out of you.

Kirishima groaned. “Sh-shit. You’re... you’re so perfect.” He whispered as he placed kisses to your neck and jaw. Even though his instincts shouted at him to take you, rough and hard like dragons did, he wanted to savour you. He wanted to enjoy this for however long it would last. He wanted to hold you and make you feel as big and beautiful as the stars above looking down at the both of you.

The building tension in your abdomen was tight and held as you clawed down Kirishima’s back. You gasped and mewled at all the pleasure he was gifting to your body. Being connected to him felt mind numbing but at the same time made you feel as though a fire was lit on the inside of your body. You moaned as you squeezed your eyes closed in ecstasy. “Eijiro.” You cried out as you opened your eyes to look up at him.

He smiled down at you. You were so beautiful like this. Breathless, wanting and loving. He brought his forehead against your own, closing his eyes alongside you. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Unexpectedly, with a well aimed thrust you felt yourself clamp down on him hard. You gasped as you let out a silent cry. Your body shaking at the orgasm that hit you sudden and hard. Feeling your sex tighten around him and Kirishima was following you shortly after. He buried his head in the crook of your neck as a shiver ran down his back. He held onto you tightly almost afraid he would float away during his high. Hot amounts of cum filled you up making you feel impossibly fuller. You whined at the feeling, as you wrapped your arms around him lovingly.

The both of you stayed in the dandelions, holding each other and kissing each other’s skin as if you were the only two people in the world that mattered.

Just underneath the stars and amongst the dandelions.

You remembered every interaction with him so vividly. Even as you lay in the field of dandelions once more, staring up at the stars. You hadn’t seen him in over a year. He had left, much with a broken heart from you, but you told him you would be fine. You told him to go be safe and go home. To go live his life with others like him and love every minute of it. Of course, you meant every word, but you also said it to console your aching heart.

You droned yourself in work and chores and apples, to try and make it a bit easier knowing he was far away. But even as you stared up at the sky right now, you hoped he was staring right back at the same stars you were seeing now.

“Hey...” You sat up in the dandelion field and turned your head. Standing not too far away from you was a dragon, with red long cascading hair and round ruby eyes. He held a red apple in his large hand and looked down at you softly. “Is this yours?”

You smiled as tears came to your eyes, hoping this wasn’t just a dream.

“Probably.”

-Glitch1d

Thank you all so much for going on this adventure with me! Its been a fun Monstertober Week and I am so happy you all enjoyed it. Tell me in the comment section! It really makes my day and I love to interact with you guys when I can. <3

Also... Happy birthday Kiri!<3

#eijiro kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima #mha x y/n #kirishima x reader #dragon kirishima #dragon kirishima x reader #hybrid kirishima #kirishima eijiro #kirishima thirst #kirishima smut #eijirou kirishima imagine #dragon kirishima eijiro #mha #bnha #happy birthday Kirishima!<3 #16 Oct

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storybycorey · 1 year

Text

Birthday Party

author: @storybycorey

rating: NC-17

timeline: somewhere between IWTB and the revival

summary: He clutches her against him, surrounds her small little body with his and cries as well. For William, for her, for the mess his whole damn life has become.

occasion: @txf-fic-chicks-blog anniversary!

He leaves the front door unlocked. No reason to lock it these days anyway; weeks go by with no visitors this far from the city. But old habits die hard, you can never be too careful, blah blah blah. Paranoia and overused cliches still run his life, even now. Doesn’t matter how many years go by or how many miles distance he puts between himself and the rest of humanity.

But he leaves the door unlocked tonight.

It’s 11 before he unfolds his body from its position in front of the screen, 11:15 before his clothes take up residence on the floor and his body relaxes beneath the sheets.

He washed them this morning. The sheets. It’s the least he could do. It’s been probably a year since he’s done that; in fact, it’s for sure been a year. To the day.

He tries to sleep.

He can’t.

Most nights at this time, he’s knee deep, arguing conspiracy theories via the furious tap tap tapping of his keyboard until the wee hours of morning. Most nights he doesn’t use this bed at all. His usual sleep is intermittent and slumped in a rolling chair, disrupted every few minutes by the alert of someone miles away tap tap tapping on their keyboard as well.

Tonight though, instead of peeling his ears for a message board ding, he’s peeling them for the telltale creak of the second patio step, the one he promised to fix at least five years ago. He’s peeling them for the clunk of the screen door as it closes too hard, even though he’s adjusted the spring at least a dozen times. And he’s peeling them for the soft sniffle of a nose that’s been fighting tears for hours, probably days, a nose he’s known and loved for over twenty years.

It's 12:15 when the porch step creaks. 12:16 when the screen door clunks.

He feels everything. He feels nothing. He’s probably not even capable of emotion this many years deep into the game.

But she. She’ll fix that. For tonight anyway.

By 12:17, her silhouette darkens the doorway to the bedroom, sad sniffle there, too.

It’s been a solid year since she’s stood there.

She hesitates, body swaying. He wants to call to her but doesn’t.

“Mulder?” she finally whispers.

A question. As though he wouldn’t already be awake, as though he hasn’t been looking forward to this moment, dreading this moment, scared to death of this moment for weeks.

He folds down the bedsheets, motions for her to climb in. Her side. It’s still her side. It’ll always be her side.

“I didn’t plan to come,” she says, still standing in the doorway. “Really, it wasn’t something I—”

“Scully,” he reprimands, “Come.”

Her overcoat gets folded over the back of the chair, just as it would have been in the past, those late nights home from the hospital, not quite making it onto the hook in the closet. Shoes paired on the floor by the door. She climbs into the bed, clothes and all.

She’s still at first—stiff—her internal battle almost audible in the quiet of the night. She’s pretending she’s not here for a reason, he understands this. The first couple years, he fought that battle, too.

He gives her a moment, allows her the fight.

He spent close to an hour this morning tracing a fingertip round the worn and faded outline of chubby baby cheeks, a bald baby head. But she, she’s spent the last fifteen years tracing fingertips over stretch marks at her hips, passing Mother’s Day cards in the drugstore each time she needs to buy aspirin.

This is for her more than him, they both know this.

He reaches finally, pulls her to his chest. Her battle lost, she breaks into sobs, loud ones, desperate ones. Her tears soak his chest, and those emotions he couldn’t quite reach just moments ago are suddenly there, too, overflowing. He clutches her against him, surrounds her small little body with his and cries as well. For William, for her, for the mess his whole damn life has become.

The pain is hollow, an empty, aching hole that nothing can fill. They’ve tried through the years to fill it. They’ve failed. It's something they don't talk about, something only acknowledged like this, silently, indirectly, and precisely once a year.

For him it’s awful, but for her he knows it’s worse, much worse. He can’t even begin to imagine.

She reaches the stage of grief where her body grows limp, where her sobs are wet, muffled hitches against his chest. Her hair is longer than it was last year and he pets it, twines the strands through his fingers and kisses the damp tendrils at her temples. She feels like home in his arms and he hates that, that this day in particular is the only day in a year he can feel that, that his home will never feel like a home unless she’s here.

His kisses, like they sometimes do, trail from her temples and down to her cheeks; they brush across her eyelids. She tastes like salt and it’s a horrible, welcome thing to discover. When he reaches her mouth, she doesn’t stop him. Last year she did. He feels lucky tonight, disturbing as that is.

Her shirt comes off easily, her bra as well. His teeth scrape their way down the column of her throat.

Instead, she digs her fingers into his ribs and lifts her chin in invitation. When pressed, her lips fall open, and the kisses they share are desperate— wet, snotty, wonderful things. He forgets what it’s like to feel sometimes, to have emotions. With Scully, it all comes back though. The sadness, the desperation, the urgency. The love. She gasps when his lips reach that spot below her ear, and it makes him dizzy.

“Mulder,” she urges. “God, Mulder.” He nuzzles her pulse points, breathes in her perfume. It’s not one he recognizes, and he wonders for a moment whether she’s been with anyone else this year, whether another man knows this scent. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now but her.

She reaches for his head, threads manicured nails through his graying hair and tugs him toward her breast.

He latches onto a nipple, suckles there the way he knows she wants him to. Her breasts ache each year on this day. The tears roll down her cheeks, yet she arches her back in pleasure, urges him on with whimpers and small, satisfied sighs. When he moves to the other breast, she drags his hand up, encourages him to play with her slick, abandoned nipple with his fingers. His dick is hard and he grinds it against the mattress.

Soon she’s tugging him back though, sliding her tongue into his mouth and kissing him desperately, almost painfully. Her tears wet his cheeks and her nails dig into his shoulders. She needs more. He knows this, knows everything about her yet nothing at all. Half their lives they’ve been intertwined yet she’s still a complete mystery to him, now even moreso. Her body though—her body he knows, her body he’s somehow always known.

More.

He reaches to fumble with the fastenings on her trousers, slips a hand beneath satin to find her slick and wet. She moans, canting her hips to meet him. Scully, she’s still Scully there, still fits into the curve of his hand the way she’s done from the very beginning. Doesn’t matter that her hair’s longer, that she’s wearing a new perfume, she still rocks against him the very same way, still whines in the back of her throat with each dip of his fingers, still grips at his neck and squeezes shut her eyes, still is the woman he loves, has loved since the moment she walked into his life.

Doesn’t matter that she’s since walked back out. It doesn’t.

She’s sobbing again—soft, desperate cries pressed to the crook of his neck, coupled with moans of pleasure and gasps of his name. The dichotomy of it all is almost more than he can take, and he shoves down her pants, shoves his boxers down as well. Together they fumble to slide him in, together they cry out in relief, together they sing happy birthday, William—with bodies instead of with voices. It's sad and it's perverse, but it’s the only way they know how to celebrate this sort of thing, it’s the only way that's ever felt even close to right.

She weeps as she comes, chants “Mulder Mulder Mulder,” and for a moment he allows himself to believe she’s weeping for the loss of him. She’s not though, he knows this. She chose her losses, but his is not the one that haunts her each year on this day, it’s not the one she wishes she could take back every second of her life.

He grips her ass and he pounds, expends probably more energy than he has in months, gives it all to her, sobs as well but clenches his teeth to keep her name inside. It’s a moment of cruelty, keeping that from her, but sometimes love is cruel. Dear God, but he knows that, too.

They hold each other afterwards. Just for a short while. He wants her to stay. He wants her to go. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s forgotten how emotions work once again. Already. Her cries soften until all that remain are the quiet sniffles he’d trained his ears for an hour ago.

By 1:56, she’s out of the bed, by 2:02, she’s fully dressed and on her way to the door.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, looking back at him from the doorway, “Really, I hadn’t planned…”

She doesn’t finish her statement, just gives him a sad look then slips away.

At 2:04, the screen door clunks, 2:05, the porch step creaks. He wonders how long her hair will be the next time he sees her, whether his own temples will be closer to white.

He rises, watches from the window as she drives away. He locks the front door behind her. It’s stupid. No reason to lock it these days. But he locks the door and heads back into his office. There are bound to be messages he’s missed.

#that's right: I'm back!#and I need validation #please?#I'm excited though you guys!#my fic

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punkassfrance · 1 year

Text

Some NSFW Hcs for Joel

Finals are over and I want to write SOMETHING before I go to bed so enjoy (Tess hcs may be on the way)

Also this (like many of my headcanons) exists in a total vacuum- this is just one possibility of many and I will explore them all with love. I will post conflicting hcs with no hesitation depending on whatever the brain worms are whispering to me at the moment. (I'm calling this headcanons, in reality it's just a disjointed string of horny thoughts I'm sending into the ether.)

Drop some hc requests (for Joel, or Tess, or both) in my inbox if you want! Usually happy to oblige.

CW- NSFW (of course,) AFAB kind of implied, x reader, touch starvation (sortakinda)

He's more passionate about sex than you've ever seen him about anything.

He'll pull the "frail old man" act until it's time to actually get down to business.

"I'm too old for this, you're gonna give me a heart attack darlin" right up until he gets to touch you, then something snaps.

He'll spend hours learning how to fuck you right, exploring every erogenous zone in every way he can think to figure out what you like best.

Much more willing to kiss you than you'd predicted.

He's rough and eager, not at all the cool, gruff man you thought you were seducing.

Rough and eager is an understatement.

He's barely even domesticated, to be honest. You've never seen a grown man act so much like a feral animal.

Biting, growling, scratching, doesn't care at all who could hear.

There's no "can you be quiet for me, baby?"

He's way too busy not being able to shut the fuck up to try and keep you quiet

Way chattier than you would have thought, constantly praising you and muttering whatever comes to mind.

In months of knowing him, you haven't seen him smile nearly this many times

He adores any position that keeps you pressed together.

Missionary, mating press, he'll even lean his chest on your back during doggy just to be close to you.

He's probably a little more touch starved than he'll ever admit.

He's just so fucking psyched to get to touch you and experience any physical comfort in such a hellish world, why would he try to play a tough guy now?

He's been wanting and admiring for weeks, and your skin is too damn soft to play it cool.

He's looking at you like you're a deity.

Maybe if he hadn't been fighting for his life for the last twenty years he wouldn't be acting like such a teenager.

Make no mistake though, he's a very generous lover. That excitement for getting to touch and fuck you 100% extends to giving oral. You've never seen a man so enthusiastic to go down on you.

Enthusiastic is honestly a good word for the whole experience. You really walked into this expecting to be doing all the work, he seems like that kind of guy.

Nope.

He's stoked.

You would tell your (close) friends how different he is in bed if you weren't too busy describing the best lay of your life.

He definitely came first, and he definitely needed a second to recover, but you didn't need to say a word to get his face back between your legs.

Has zero reservations about making a fucking mess. You think you saw some fluid on his nose by the time he was done and he didn't bat an eye.

He's not quite so lovestruck afterward, but he's definitely not back to Joel Miller, the Badass Terror of the Town yet.

Almost no pillow talk unless you lay there for a few hours- he's exhausted and elated and probably a little embarrassed (even if he won't admit it.)

Still, way more willing to cuddle than you would have thought. Not at all the type of asshole to kick you out of bed.

Hope you enjoyed the horny thoughts that kept me awake!

#joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller #headcanons #x reader #pedro pascal #tlou joel #the last of us #joel/reader #joel miller x gender neutral reader

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queenvidal · 1 year

Text

The Missing Piece

Chapter 1: Just A Tingle

Chapter Summary: It's been a long time since Hancock wasted his time thinking about soulmates. Until the night Nick brings a woman from a vault into his town.

Wordcount: 2481

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

Masterlist

The night air is cool against Hancock’s overheated skin. The sweet taste of mentats dances all over his rough tongue while he's leaning on the balustrade of his balcony. The streets below him are mostly empty except for only a few loner souls wandering around.

Behind him, he can hear his office door getting closed silently, careful not to attract attention. John has a smile on the remains of his lips as he lights up the cigarette. It's not like everyone in the Old State House heard him doing that gal just a few minutes ago.

There was no need to go outside for a smoke, but John wanted to give that woman some privacy to get dressed again and the said toy’s just left. Lover would be a too hard word for that lass, what was her name again? Never mind, toy is as a fitting name as any other and John doesn't intend to learn her actual name anyway. It was just a one night stand, like always. No strings, just hurried sex for the sake of the release.

The ghouls smile slowly fades and he takes a long drag, the gleam of the cigarette the only light source up there. The smoke fills his lungs and is kept in there for a long moment, before getting exhaled through John's broken and scarred nostrils.

On the street below, he can see the gal from before hurrying to the hotel. Poor thing probably doesn't want to be seen escaping the Old State House this late in the night. John's eyes linger on her as she makes her way. Red ginger hair, freckles on her nose, cute but other than that? Meh. Nothing that would keep his interest for long. And obviously she doesn't want a second run herself, if her lowered gaze and fast steps are any indicator.

In times past this would have hurt him, no one wants to be known as a ghoul fucker, even if the ghoul was the damned mayor of the damned city they were living in. But John doesn’t really complain in his position. After all, quite a lot of folks found their way into his bed regardless.

Sure, all of them were seeking something - power, caps, chems, you name it. But John’s not naive, he knows they are always trying to gain something from him with sex. And that’s something he can use for his own advantage. He'd sleep with them and wave them out, simple as that. With no shame or regret really. Most of the time he doesn't even bother to get undressed, removed sash and open pants are enough to get the job done.

After another long drag, John tries to think of something else, there is no point in indulging in reminiscences of past releases. Almost automatically his eyes wander down to his left underarm. His scarred skin, all grooves and ridges ruined the name that used to be there long ago.

For whatever reason the very spot of what used to be pitch black letters doesn't stop tingling. He first noticed it when things got heated between him and the little toy a while ago. His eyes instantly went to her arm. Veronica. John didn't know if should laugh or feel pity for her.

After all this years he didn't give one single fuck about soulmates. Why should he? Even if there was someone with his name on their arm, he'd scare them right away, no doubt. He knows what he looks like and if he is honest with himself, that's the main reason for staying dressed when fucking gals he most likely won't remember the next morning.

Damn, he should have taken jet instead of mentats, he is not in the mood of overthinking this bullshit, for stupid emotions. And he doesn't believe in finding his mate anyway. For a soulmate you actually have to harbor a soul and John is more than certain he's lost his in Diamond City. Well, if you are believing in the spiritual part of that, which he doesn’t also. The tingling is most likely just a symptom of his drug abuse, it has to be.

With the burning smoke captured between his lips, he traces the line of where the name used to be with his free hand. Sotiria. What a fucking odd name. Never, not once has he ever met someone with that name. Sure, better a rare one than those everyone seems to call their kids nowadays, like Lisa, Mike - or John. Fuck, how many gals and guys has he seen with his name on their arm? And fucking allways he felt hope inside him rising. Pathetic.

But there was never a connection, not the weird feelings people used to describe once they found their missing piece. A pleasant prickle of the name on each other's arm. The attraction, the unsatisfiable need to be close to the person - like an addiction.

Maybe it's just an itch. Yeah, that sounds plausible.

Suddenly there is yelling at the gate of his town, catching Hancock's attention. Was that Nick Valentine’s voice? What the hell is he doing in Goodneighbor this late in the night? John flicks the butt of his cigarette away and goes back inside. He grabs a new pack of smokes on his way to the stairs. He'd prefer alcohol right now but one of his supply lines got cut by raiders, a problem he has to deal with tomorrow. Hm, maybe buffout? That's a topic for later, first of all he has to know what is going on at the gate.

The tingling on his arm seems to increase as he takes the steps down to the exit of the State House. When he opens the door, the guy Finn can be heard talking. Hancock rolls his eyes, Finn is doing his old insurance scam again. Damn this idiot, does he really dare to threaten his visitors again? Finn already got a warning and is really testing Hancock's patience. Looks like John will have to send a few guards to visit him later. A quick reminder to behave inside the town's walls.

Once stepping outside, John’s eyes land on the new visitors. It sure was Nick Valentine’s voice he’s heard but the old synth is not alone. A woman is with him, one arm around Nick’s shoulders for balance and her other pressed on her abdomen. Blood is leaking out of what seems to be a nasty wound, turning her blue suit crimson red. She looks up from her wound towards Finn.

Damn, she's a sight! She looks like she’s stepped out of one of the pinup posters. Blonde, shiny hair, pinned up in various rolls, a light blue bandana wrapped around as decoration, sharp eyeliner, purple lipstick, curves to die for. Damnit, if she wouldn't look so disheveled and injured - injured?

"Fuck your insurance! Move, rassgat or you’ll gonna need one!”

John is blown away. He’s forgetting how to breathe, his lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen.

John immediately snapps out of his trance. Shit, that woman needs a doctor at once!

"Nice try, doll." Finn sneers at her. "You'll pass out before you could raise your little pistol. Caps or bleeding to death, your call, sugar."

That's enough! Line crossed, brother. John is more than fed up, ready to beat Finn out of the misery he calls life. "Move your worthless ass out of the way, Finn." John starts, walking up to the other man. "You lay off that extortion crap right now. Obviously she needs help and we ain't turning people in need away, nor do we threaten 'em."

Not impressed in the slightest, Finn turns to face the ghoul. "The fuck do you care, Hancock? You don't know her, she ain't one of us, would be a waste of stimpacks!"

Slowly and a bit over dramatically Hancock moves further towards the stupid bastard. "Better keep your tongue in your mouth! I said she can pass."

Finn crosses his arms over his chest, not stepping to the side like he was told to. He even straightens up, trying to look intimidating. "Soft, Hancock. Way too soft. Keep letting scum enter our city, let them benefit from our supplies. But one day there will be a new mayor."

John just huffs a laugh. That daring asshole. "Heh, lemme tell you something, brother." With the flash of a smile the ghoul comes closer and when he is close enough to smell the jet in Finn’s breath, he rams a knife into his chest. Twice, no better make it thrice, for good measure. Finn is dead before he hits the ground, blood slowly pooling around him.

"Quick." John stresses. "Bring her to Amari in the Memory Den."

Nick nods and tries to help the woman walk through the street. John takes the lead, while cleaning his knife off of Finn. "Sorry for the harsh welcome, this probably wasn't the best first impression but the rest of us are civilized - usually."

John can hear Nick snicker behind him. "Uh-huh, always making a show, huh, Hancock?"

"You know me, Nicky. Ain't gone miss a chance to show off." Although Hancock is playing cool and collected, he is everything but at the moment. His arm is killing him. The tingle got really bad, now it feels like tiny electric shocks are running through his skin and flesh. That's not tingling anymore and it's starting to get fucking annoying. He'll have to talk to the Doc himself later, maybe his last batch of psycho was bad. But didn't he use his right arm? Hm, maybe -

"Damnit, Blue! Stay awake!"

Nick's sudden panicked voice brings Hancock’s mind back to the street. He turns around to find the Synth trying to stabilize the woman. "Shit, we better fuckin' hurry!" Hancock says, when Nick quickly picks her up, carrying her.

Both men start to run towards the Memory Den. John slams through the door, holding it open for Nick and Blue to enter. Was that her Name?

"There!" John points at Irmas chair in the middle of the room. "Lay her down there. Doc! Quick, got an emergency in here."

Nick carefully puts Blue down onto the lounger. His clothes are blood soaked as well. Hell, she lost a lot of it.

"My lounger!" Irma yells in anger when she enters the room as well, woken up by all the noise.

Doctor Amari storms into the room with a bed head and in her pajamas. "What's going on, what happened?" She asks. Hancock just nods at the lounger and the doctor quickly moves over to Blue.

“A gunshot wound.” Valentine answers. “Got ambushed by Supermutants. We had the upper hand until they sent a suicider. We had to retreat but she got hit before we found cover."

John rolls his coal eyes. "I'll buy you a new one." Damn, she's really worried about that stupid piece of furniture, while the girl is bleeding to death?

“Looks like the bullet got caught in her rip.” Amari tells them. She takes a pair of thin tongs out of her bag and buries them into Blue’s flesh.

Irma is about to argue about that, when Amari orders her to shut up and get her medi-bag. While still mumbling to herself, Irma is doing what she’s been told and hands her friend the bag.

The doctor skips on the gloves and gets straight to work. Everyone watches Armari unzipping the woman's suit in order to get better access to the wound. Hancock recognizes the suit, she's a vault dweller? Vaulties usually never leave 81, what the hell was she doing out here and in company of a synth?

Irma gags before she quickly turns around, covering her mouth. "I want a giant couch after this!" She glares at Hancock before heading for her bedroom again.

"There you are." The doctor smiles slightly when she removes the tongs with the bullet inbetween it. She drops her equipment on the ground and continues. After a quick inspection of the wound, she gets two stimpacks out of her bag and injects them on each side of the lesion. The tissue starts growing back together but only very slowly. Amari frowns at that, this doesn’t look too good. With quick hands she wraps a bandage around Blues middle. “Alright, all done.”

"Will she make it?" Both Nick and John ask in unison.

The doctor nods in confirmation. "Yes, but she'll need rest, a lot of it. It was a very close call, she’s lost a big amount of blood. Two weeks of strict bed rest would be the best for now."

“No problem, Nick.” Amari smiles at him for a moment, before continuing to search her bag. She returns back to Blue, after she found what she’s been looking for. She rolls up Blues sleeve on her right arm and injects a dose of sedatives. This way the vault dweller should sleep through the majority of the pain. Amari zips the suit back up and covers the sleeping woman with a blanket.

Nick lets out an artificial breath in relief. John can't recall having seen the synth that distressed ever before. Must have been a hell of a fight. "Hey, Nicky, go and get a room in the Rexford. At my expense." John knows synths don’t sleep, but Nick seem to be in need for some space to cool down.

“Thanks, John.” Nick gladly takes the offer. “And thank you as well, doctor.”

“Nicky, don’t worry,” John grabs Nick’s shoulder, trying to sooth him. “We're gonna take care of her.”

Nick only nods a few times before patting John’s shoulder in return, his silent thanks. After one last glance at the sleeping blonde, Nick eventually takes his leave, disappearing through the door.

“Your arm.” She turns around to face him. “You kept rubbing it the whole time. Bad batch?”

“Alright, Mayor. What was it this time?” Amari asks while gathering her equipment.

John raises a nonexistent eyebrow in question. “What was what?”

Only now does Hancock realize he’s holding his left arm. “Heh. Can’t do shit unnoticed by you, huh?”

He tries to play it off, but Amari won't let go. “Come one, let me check you.” Amari stands up and moves to her office. “Bare your arm, Hancock. You probably missed the vein again.”

Hancock follows Amari into her office. On his way he decides that he doesn't care about the name.

Hm, yeah. Maybe he missed it.

John takes one final look at the vaultie. For a moment he considers to roll up her other sleeve and have a look on the letters of her arm. But something's holding him back. Maybe his deeply flawed conscience. Afterall he can’t just put his hands on a blacked out woman, also the name of someone's piece is a very intimate matter. He has no right to know.

Soulmates are bullshit.

Masterlist

Chapter Index:

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #john hancock #fallout companions #fo4 oc #john hancock x reader #john hancock x sole survivor #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #soulmates #hancock x reader #hancock x sole survivor

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sweepseven · 2 months

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Cirque du Soleil Alegría In a New Light review

So far the kindest thing I've done for myself in 2024 was go all the way to London to see this show. What a lovely, desperately needed reset. No need to linger on the preamble because team: this show continues to be damn near perfect. It felt like a true gift to be there. There are three total changes I would make if it were to suit me perfectly. Just three. That's insane. For comparison I love Ka with all my heart but I'd make probably fifty changes if given the opportunity. The three I'd make are:

Less clown time (though I swear the reason is different from my usual clown complaints)

Replace duo adagio

Reinstate Valsajoïa, the single greatest original song Cirque has produced since probably 2016. Possibly even 2008.

So let's talk about those three, and also the other one million reasons this is Cirque's greatest show in nearly 20 years.

Preshow animation: My friend and I had a time getting to Royal Albert Hall on time so I didn't get to soak in everything to quite the extent that I prefer to before a show starts, but the moment I walked in my guess that this show in this setting was the most perfect pair imaginable was validated. I don't think I'm even being biased because it's so recent - I genuinely think the only set that could maybe suit this theatre better is Quidam. The crown of the stage disappeared into the darkness above, creating an astounding sense of immersion and scale, and even the iconic mushroom acoustic diffusers look like they belonged to the set. The rigging was a delight to see too - I'm always fascinated by how they adapt the rigging to adjust for the lack of pylons. It wasn't as cozy as a Grand Chapiteau, of course, but the audience is so dense and extends so high, and the entire setting is so elegant, that the size and scope were a perfect match.

The animation itself was Fleur messing around with the Old Birds. Pretty unremarkable. He didn't shout Alegria! like in the original show, but then again I'm not sure I remember him doing it back in 2019 either. Bring it baaaack, it's iconiiiic.

Opening: Gonna confess up front that I was in tears for the duration of Mirko. The current singer duo, Sarah Menesse and Cassía Raquel, are incredible in every way. I'll talk more about them further down but it bears stating now that I was in shambles within the first five seconds. Details I never want to forget: the silhouette of the Nymphs' wings behind the curtain; the sharp, prim, yet commanding presence of the White Singer on the right side. I was completely taken by her in four notes.

Acro poles: This was a strong act five years ago and I think it's only grown tighter with time! This show wastes no time on ceremony and dives right into the action, which is a fun contrast between the old and new versions. The original made a grand show of parading and presenting the different factions. Here it's more bam here are the Aristocrats, bam here are the Bronx real quick, now everyone out of the way, we're getting right to it. Where the original was the story of forcibly overthrowing an old order, this one respects the structure of the past while willingly - if cautiously - making way for the future. This act does a very good job of illustrating that. The Aristocrats look like a fun, if slightly catty bunch! You almost want to be one... until you meet the Bronx.

Cyr wheel: I completely forgot Rinalto Vera is back for this act. I had only just recovered from Mirko and then this fucking song starts and I'm beside myself all over again. This is the kind of thing that makes me hold onto faith that the old Cirque is still in there somewhere - this, the musical refs to La Nouba in Drawn to Life... they know how to respect their old shows! When they bother, they do it beautifully! I only wish they treated their new creations with the same respect and care they pay to their golden era.

Anyway Ghislain Ramage is the only person I want to see on a cyr wheel ever again. I saw him work magic in Kooza and that was without the deliberate weight that comes from a non-rotational act. Something about him seems impossible - like he's too tall to be that lithe and fluid, or that you couldn't possibly evoke so much emotion from a cyr wheel act. He does. Every moment of it was mesmerizing.

It's the nitpickiest thing I could possibly say, but I do think something is lost in not having this act performed by an Old Bird or Aristocrat. Though since the mirror imagery of the original wasn't brought over to IANL, I suppose it's not completely necessary. Still. That was an element that really brought an inimitable quality to the original act and I wished there was an analog in this version. It could very well have made it the best act in the entire show. Yes, the entire show, which is crazy because you already know how I feel about.......

Duo trapeze: Fuck me, people. This act. It's a wonder I can be relied upon to behave rationally because it. is. utter. perfection. The only thing that holds me in my seat is the fear that if I move or blink I'll miss a split-second. I forgot the White Singer was onstage because I was too busy watching. That is fucking unheard of. My hands were clasped over my heart. I was beaming in awe the entire time. No other artist has had the particular effect Nicolai Kuntz has on me. Fucking this?? That relaxed, cross-legged on a goddamn trapeze gazing in admiration? That is shit designed to kill me. That is fucking lethal.

Anyway the skill level in this act is exquisite from both Nicolai and Roxane - another perfect act that has somehow grown more perfect with time. And what I love most about it is that though although they're a duo, although the song is called Querer, although the entire point is that they're impossibly aligned, it still feels just shy of romantic. The love being expressed here is not specifically for one another, but for flight itself, and the joy of sharing it with someone who understands. I might be projecting, since this act feels like a live illustration of my personal love for trapeze, but they have never seemed like lovers to me. More perfectly kindred spirits, and it serves the act beautifully.

Fire knife dance: Excellent! Impossibly high energy! The crowd adored it! We had one drop, which I've never seen in a fire act, but the artist handled it with fun and grace. There is nothing negative to be said for this act, but I can't not mention how exceptional Tuione Tovo was. Holding that against this artist feels like a teacher never giving A+s because "there's always something better." But there really was something undefinable in Tuione's energy and smile that isn't quite here.

Aerial straps: How many times can I say "a perfect act has become yet more perfect"? I've seen a lot of straps acts, people. Like, too many. I have immense respect for the discipline so it's not hard to impress me, but it's quite difficult to surprise me. There is a drop to ankles in this act that surprised me. I gasped. This act looks at every other romantic straps duo act and says "ok amateurs." The little smooch had the audience in raptures. The snow is used to better effect than the world deserves. It's just exquisite.

Hoops: I know Elena Lev is the queen, but I think this artist might actually be better! And she's so young! She's got her whole career ahead of her! This is probably the best hoops act Cirque has going for it right now, and that's really saying something. She does the "spin like fifteen hoops" thing better than I think I've ever seen anyone do it. Her control over her apparatus is unmatched.

Powertrack: OOO-EE! POWERTRAAAAACK. Top five act in the show right here, and it would earn that position through energy alone. And it's got a fuck ton going on for it besides. Every trick is massive. Every one is executed with fierce, tangible joy. Fleur has an excellent highlight moment that's indicative of a character adjustment in the new version (see below) that I really loved. I wanted to see Lucie Colebeck's triple bad (the first and so far only female triple tuck in Cirque history!!) but it was performed by another artist tonight. Still amazing. Watching this act makes you feel like you can run a marathon.

Duo adagio: The one and only let down of the whole show. I just do not like these Nymphs. I don't like their wings, I never have, and I can't believe Cirque is so opposed to returning to something just a notch closer to the luxurious feathers of the original. Their wings feel like a symbol of their overall impact on the show: kinda just there and we don't really know why. This act was the same. And it's a goddamn shame because Cassía's Vai Vedrai is power made musical. Slotting this act so late in the show makes it feel like a rotational act and it's just not fair to the artists or the song, probably the second most famous in Alegria's history. Last time I got handbalancing in instead and it was a gorgeous story of an Angel supported by a Bronx that was reiterated in high bar. Any sort of connection to the broader show is unfortunately missing in this act, which seems to only exist to remind you that the Nymphs are characters. I'd prefer to see this replaced with a return to the slow, luxurious contortion style of the 90s. Or imagine Dralion's ballet on lights here!! Or ribbon manipulation from the early days. Maybe a little too similar to hoops, but don't forget this is the show that has swinging trapeze and aerials traps and...

Flying trapeze: My light, my love, my delight. The Flying Tunizianis are immaculate. This is perfect flying trapeze act construction imo: some swings to let the audience know what's happening, an easy trick or two (planches) to prime them, then flips and twists galore to show what the fuck it's really all about. And! Importantly! A pause in the middle with a few styles and splits to bring back some grace and remind you trapeze is more than just guessing what the fuck you just saw. It is so, so good. For myriad stupid reasons I haven't flown in a month, and I'm so excited and inspired to get back at it after seeing this act. iirc the biggest tricks were triples and a double double (or full out? it all happened so fast!!). Either way, difficulty level second only to Mystere and I would argue better act composition overall.

However. I felt the removal of Valsajoïa acutely. It was nice to hear a little Icare, but if we didn't need it for aerial high bar's comeback, we certainly don't need it here. I suppose they were going for a more "daring" sound, but tbh I don't think it does a lot to enhance the act further, especially with the way the Tunizianis have choreographed it. The result isn't as graceful nor as impactful, even with the (tragic! teasing!) snatches of Valsapena and Valsajoïa still left in there.

I spent the whole act praying for some kind of suicide dismount and the very last was a reverse one and lost my fucking mind. My inspiration trick, my signature, my beloved!!! I gotta learn a reverse one bad.

Finale: What is there left to say? It's brief, it's gorgeous, it's effective: just like the transition from opening to acro pole, the transition from flying trapeze to finale is quick and honest, and the whole thing is over before you know it. It feels like a real thank you for joining the cast in the journey of the show. A joyous, magical feeling.

Music: I leaned back and scrubbed my face with my hands just now. That's what it's like trying to summarize what the fuck was going on vocally and instrumentally in this show.

It. Was. Splendid. I was utterly convinced that no one could do an IANL White Singer like Irene Lombard, and then here's comes Sarah with a flavor and characterization all her own. Where Irene was an angel, Sarah was a witch. She was sharp, she annunciated, every note was a call to action that drove the plot forward. Some songs were her strength (like Mirko), and some I prefer Irene (like Querer). At all times both singers' presences were impossible to ignore, and for a show with such a reputation for well-recognized, highly awarded music, the legacy is not lost.

This is also a very mobile band, which I always love. Accordion and cello parade around at times, sometimes even to emphasize character arcs (like the accordion following one clown after he's cast out of court to highlight his sorrow to both comical and emotional effect). Drums have a fantastic, well deserved Kooza-esque highlight moment during fire knife dance. Though you don't see them every moment, there's no point in the show that you can miss the fact that the music is live. They've struck an exceptional balance between highlighted and unobtrusive.

If anyone would like a recording of this performance's audio, drop me an ask and I'll be glad to share.

Clowns: My primary critique. Listen: they are so good. But I think Cirque noticed that and responded by giving them too much time. Their every act is strong but maybe 2-3 minutes too long, and it has the effect of pulling focus from the theme of the show and settling it on their shoulders instead. The result weakens both: they are not highlighted enough to carry a show like the Luzia clown main character does, and they take up too much time for the audience to realize they are meant to be one story among many.

Taken as they are though, the clown acts really are excellent. They are not tedious in the moment, only when held up against the broader landscape of the show. Their relationship still feels a little transgressive in a beautiful, comforting, validating way. Muted though the love story is, something about that adds to the honesty as much as the bravery. It deserves a ton of praise for that. Everyone in the room was fully invested in them. Snowstorm was beautiful and the music does so much to enhance the storytelling they give us.

(I did not remember the extended gun cleaning/masturbation gag from 2019 but that was the only part where I was like okay, let's move it along, boys.)

Misc.

Fleur doesn't seem like much of a bad guy anymore, and though I miss his old ornery edge, I'm not bothered by his current phase. He helps paint a picture not of a broken kingdom, but of a confused one, which leaves room for collaboration and acceptance reinforced by acts like acro pole and powertrack. There is room for both regimes in this new future. When it comes time to hand the crystal over to the White Singer, he does so without an ounce of reluctance or apprehension. It's a gesture of "let's do this together," not "you take the lead." It's very warm and effective.

Le Bal isn't quite as fun as it was in 2019. It wasn't positioned as a joking funeral march but rather just further hijinks between Fleur and the Old Birds. Like the lack of mirrors in cyr wheel, this wasn't a detriment to the show as it exists today, but it was a simplification of something that was once a little more dynamic.

Overall: As always I am exhausted just writing this. I beg you: see Alegria. Travel as far and as long as you can to make it happen. It is worth it. I live in fear that it'll never come back to do a full and proper North American tour (NYC deserves it, god damn it, it's been over six years), but if it never does, I'll know I made every effort, and I'll know it paid off in droves.

#cirque du soleil #alegria #reviews

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jack-daww · 1 month

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Fanfic writing asks!

2, 4, 7, 10, 29, 35, 49, and 77?

Ooh, thank you for the ask! Let's see...

2: Where do you get your fic ideas?

Hard to say. I get inspired by just about anything. Stuff I read, conversations I have, situations I've either been in or heard about, you get the gist. When something catches my interest, my brain will start screaming ideas at me until it either leaks oit of my ears or I start writing it down and throw it into the ideas folder. I'm almost constantly spewing ideas, but not all of them are good, so sometimes it just gets put in my notes app on my phone and deleted later for lack of detail.

4: How do you choose which fic to write?

Well, I have a folder on my laptop in which every fic idea gets noted down as its own document. When I finish a WIP, I look through that folder and choose whichever I have the clearest picture of. I usually keep every idea in mind and only need a small reminder of what I had planned for it, so it really comes down to where my mind goes. Sometimes I'll also have a plot for one of those ideas in mind, so I don't need to spend time choosing at all.

7: Post a snippet from a WIP

Well, it might take a little while for me to post this WIP, but have something from my latest oneshot:

"There are shelves upon shelves of books and other nick-knack, making the room look bigger and more cramped at the same time. The walls are full of paintings of all kind and there is a single lamp hanging in the middle of the room."

This story is about a tea shop (vaguely based on a shop I have been to irl) and its weird regulars, as seen by an outsider. I haven't managed to work on it since I got sick, but it's about 1/5 done, I think?

10: Do you work on multiple WIPs or stick to one fic at a time?

Uhm, I do work on multiple fics, but I try to keep it to two at most, a longer one and a oneshot. I mostly write oneshots, so yeah. Sometimes I also work on three (when counting my very long-time project) but more than that gets overwhelming and ends up with me not writing anything.

29: What's something about your writing that you're proud of?

Probably how I write emotions. I'm an angst writer, so you can imagine that a lot of situations I write tend to get messy. But I've been told my characterizations are realistic, as well as how I write emotions, so I'm pretty proud of that.

35: What's your favourite fic that you've posted?

This is hard. Uh, let me take a look at what I've posted. (I am opening multiple tabs to look through my fics for this question and the next one)

This one is probably it? I really like how I wrote magic here and while it's not my typical style (normally I'm not quite this poetic) it was fun to write! I like most of my fics, so this was a hard choice, but I feel like this is a s close to a favourite as it gets.

49: What fic of yours would you say introduction to you as a writer?

This is hard too, damn. Hm, I would say my first fic, but I don't think that would be accurate to who I am as a writer today? My writing has improved over the last two years after all.

I have two different main writing styles and different dynamics depending on what fandom I write for, so I can't really tell which one it should be. I hope naming two isn't cheating, lol.

I think these are pretty good examples of my typical writing style and they're rather recent too, so they don't have as many mistakes as my old fics might have.

The first one shows a group dynamic I enjoy and the second one is pretty good too, though from a different fandom and with a different focus. Both fics are mainly about interpersonal relationships, which is what I mostly write about, and the level of angst my fics reach on average. I was tempted to pick one of my mcd fics for this, but that wouldn't be very representative of my writing.

77: Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

Well, I enjoy writing because I like creating scenarios and trying to get people to feel stuff. But if the question is why I enjoy writing fanfiction specifically, hm. Probably because I like exploring how characters react or playing around with character dynamics? Sometimes I want to portrait a specific dynamic/scenario/emotion and I can do that easier when the characters already exist. Also, the community is nice.

#answered asks #ask game

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deadcactuswalking · 6 months

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 11/11/2023 (Olivia Rodrigo, Jax Jones/D.O.D/Ina Wroldsen, The Kid LAROI)

Welp, with a ton of sales and some actually good streaming traction, the Beatles have done it. With their supposedly final single, they now have 18 #1s, the second most of anybody charting only second to Elvis. It’s their first #1 since 1969, “Now and Then” surging up to the top spot this week. So what about the rest? Well, welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

It should be no surprise that “Now and Then” hit #1. They sold 78,000 units - a lot of it being physical copies - which naturally stomps on the usual sales figures we get nowadays. They set all kinds of chart-span records, including gap between #1 singles, and whilst it’s far from the only story this week, it is pretty great to have a genuine chart moment much like the Christmas #1 where the average person may actually give a damn about the chart. Now that you’re interested, here’s what’s on the chart, our notable dropouts - songs exiting from the UK Top 75 after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40. This week, we say farewell to all the Halloween-related re-entries and debuts - probably not worth listening here, just make five guesses and check last week’s episode, you’re probably correct - and then it’s just “ONE MORE TIME” by blink-182, “bad idea right?” by Olivia Rodrigo, “Bittersweet Goodbye” by Issey Cross and “Kill Bill” by SZA, it’s not exactly a week for big losses.

This is also one of those weeks where we do see resurgences of old songs, with “Bad Habits” by Ed Sheeran back at #74, as well as the return for “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls at #67. This is its first time in the top 75 since 2014, and it has a bit of a bizarre run in general. It charted at #50 on release, died almost immediately, came back the next year at #26 before soon drifting back away. With the introduction of digital sales and eventually streaming, however, “Iris” has won out, going in and out of the charts for 100+ weeks since 2006. It peaked at #3 after a performance on The X Factor in 2011 pushed its sales up, which meant it was competing with Sak Noel’s “Loca People” and Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger”. Elsewhere, we see gains for “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac at #61, “Someone You Loved” by Lewis Capaldi at #58, “As it Was” by Harry Styles at #57, “Another Love” by Tom Odell at #51 and the earliest defrosting of the Christmas hits ever, with “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey at #40 and “Last Christmas” by Wham! at #37. Therefore, Christmas rules need a reminder: I will not discuss Christmas gains past the top five unless they are entering the top 75 for the first time that year in that week. It means the rundowns get a lot less tedious during the holiday season.

To be fair, we have some more contemporary gains, like “MONEY ON THE DASH” by Elley Duhé and Whethan at #63, “Black Friday” by Tom Odell at #54, “Dance the Night” by Dua Lipa, “Would You (go to bed with me?)” by Campbell and Alcemist at #29, and “On My Love” by Zara Larsson and David Guetta at #22. Additionally, Jung Kook’s solo debut album GOLDEN debuts at #3 on the albums chart, thus we see gains for “3D” featuring Jack Harlow at #45 and a re-entry for “Seven” featuring Latto at #35, alongside a new single in the top 10 which we’ll talk about later, standing right next to Taylor Swift swapping out “Slut!” for “Cruel Summer” returning at #7, and speaking of the top 10…

The top five this week consists of “Water” by Tyla back up to #5 with Tate McRae’s “greedy” at #4, Taylor Swift’s “Is it Over Now?” holding on at #3, “Prada” by casso, RAYE and D-Block Europe at #2 and of course the Fab Four at the very top. Now for our pretty scarce but vaguely interesting batch of new songs, though I say the term “new” a bit loosely.

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 - “The Night We Met” - Lord Huron

Produced by Ben Schneider

Okay, so we have another weird chart run here. This song by California indie rock band Lord Huron was originally released in 2015 - which is soon, terrifyingly, near a decade ago - and did not make much noise until it was featured on the soundtrack to Selena Gomez-backed polarising Netflix show 13 Reasons Why in 2017, the year in which this song actually charted below the top 75 for a brief couple weeks. The year after, a remix featuring Phoebe Bridgers of boygenius was featured in the soundtrack for the show’s second season, and gave the song a bit of a third wind… and now it’s back for a fourth because God knows why, probably TikTok because the show is long cancelled. Thankfully this constant slow-burn of a chart run is for a song that is genuinely very good, going for a slightly retro-sounding guitar lick with the haunting doo-wop vocal lead-in, for a song about losing the spark and connection of a relationship and just desperately wanting to recapture - or honestly, escape - the initial moments. I wish the lead vocalist would really get into it a bit more as whilst his fried devastation is effective, I’d like to hear a real belt considering the desperate melodrama of these lyrics. It’s also not the bets co-ordinated-sounding chorus in the world, isn’t really that impactful, and the mix can feel a bit compressed, but as a song, the qualities are there, and I think it lacking a bridge or real climax is by design. It’s the closer of the album after all, and I’m not about to complain about something that could be corrected by listening to the full record. I prefer the Bridgers version, primarily because of how a female perspective in the second verse just touches a better note for me, I don’t exactly know why. It doesn’t make any major differences to the composition so either will work, and if it ends up sticking around, it’s far from the worst indie pop track to have lying around at the bottom of the charts. Isn’t that right, Vance Joy?

#66 - “Brilliant Mind” - Blanco

Produced by Jensmuller

We’ve seen UK rapper Blanco, specifically accompanied by Central Cee, and he didn’t make much of an impression then, though the song wasn’t bad. Here he is backed with what may be one of the best drill beats I’ve heard this year, if it counts as one, applying the rhythms to a club bounce and some African-influenced blocky percussion, as Zelda-sounding flutes ring off in the background and as soon as Blanco starts rapping, a warm sax joins the mix, adding a lot of richer potency to otherwise standard flexing and violence, though the rhyme schemes and flows are on point, and Blanco has a fantastic delivery to sell all of this. I find the lack of ad-libs for the most part really interesting too, it makes the song feel a lot more self-interested, inward-looking rather than flexing on the audience, where each thing he’s grateful for in his life has the added caveat of what should have happened or what eventually does happen to defy the purpose and meaning of it, like when his old gang friends hop the gated fence he has up. It’s a shame that the name of the song comes from a corny sex pun in the hook because there really is a lot to this one, and I think a better outro would seal it for me, but as this there’s still a lot of quality here, especially in the production and that frankly fantastic second verse, for me to call this a pretty excellent example of where British hip hop could be going. Check this out.

#41 - “BLEED” - The Kid LAROI

Produced by Billy Walsh, Omer Fedi, Blake Slatkin and The Kid LAROI

So The Mid LAROI has slowly been drip-feeding songs from the new album he just released this week, and whilst rap is still an influence, LAROI is moving further into the pop rock direction Post Malone kind of took, which makes complete sense for LAROI considering he is some kind of amalgamation of Posty, Bieber and Juice WRLD, with the only thing that really makes him all too recognisable being his hate-it-or-love-it voice. Now I love “WHAT JUST HAPPENED”, but that’s not the single that charted this week. Instead, we have “BLEED”, which just goes for a similar indie pop-influenced acoustic rock sound, except more familiar and laidback than what the other single went for. It’s not bad at all, even if LAROI’s rawer lead vocal take seems a tad detached from the backing harmonies. I do quite actually like that interplay - or more accurately counterplay - on the chorus, where LAROI’s vocal inflections seem particularly dejected when he’s not going for a half-rap angst. The soaring backdrop makes this a pretty solid track, even if perhaps a one-note one that doesn’t go for much more than the one cool trick it saves for the second verse, that being the fast-pace build-up with the distorted guitar and synth flutters sliding in, but it doesn’t lead up to all that great of a final chorus, especially since some of the extra layers are stuck in the back of the mix or only in the left channel. There’s a good song here, but it’s not really fully realised and I don’t think it’ll ever be a great one.

#28 - “Won’t Forget You” - Jax Jones, D.O.D and Ina Wroldsen featuring The Blackout Crew

Produced by Jax Jones, D.O.D and Mitch Jones

Part of me perhaps optimistically hopes that D.O.D will offset some of Jax Jones’ copy-and-paste house-pop genericism by a lot trying a little, and we have Ina Wroldsen - who you probably heard on Jones’ older hit “Breathe” - on the meaningless vocals, so it’s not exactly a good sign, but hey, it’s not awful. Wroldsen sounds frankly terrible but the Euro-trance revival is still in full effect and that slightly jerkier take on the beeping trance synths is actually a bit of a cool, different touch amidst the rest of the oddly drowned-out atmospherics that Wroldsen is mixed way over. It was probably D.O.D’s idea but that’s not important, it’s still there… but it loses its novelty past the first drop. It’s an earworm for sure, though and for whatever reason, the Official Charts Company credits “The Blackout Crew” here for the less-streamed “donk edit”, which is basically the song sped-up and with comical rapping over the drop. Welcome back, Blackout Crew, you haven’t charted since you “Put a Donk on It” in 2008, and you haven’t gotten any better in those 15 years, but it’s still… just delightful. In fact their style of comical EDM-rap they introduced with that classic novelty single is probably more influential than I’d like to admit nowadays. I’d like to see them collaborate with some of the people that clearly take influence from them, like Kak Hatt or, uh, the “give me some time, I’ll have that Rover” guy. Yeah, that would work.

#18 - “Can’t Catch Me Now” (from The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes) - Olivia Rodrigo

Produced by Dan Nigro

Welp, there’s a new Hunger Games, and Lorde isn’t hip with the young-adult demographic anymore so guess who’s back? This seems to act as a semi-motivational semi-revenge track that makes many direct references - albeit through metaphors and imagery you could absolutely apply to, say, a breakup - to the film’s plot, or at least seems to. Rodrigo plays a powerful woman responding to mistreatment by just being everywhere and having whoever wronged her constantly reminded me of O-Rod, without them being able to “catch” her. It’s a cool idea for a song, but perhaps not an acoustic ballad? Rodrigo doesn’t feel like she’s signifying much power here, even if the acoustic guitars sound a lot richer this time around and the harmonies are pretty gorgeous as one would expect. For an acoustic Olivia Rodrigo ballad, it’s actually up there quality-wise, even if just for the swell and for the lack of annoying wordiness that is a bit of an O-Rod trademark at this point. The haunting strings do a pretty good job at feeling surrounding and particularly enclosing, giving a ghostly essence to the reverb and echo on Rodrigo’s “oohs” in the post-chorus. In fact, the bridge kind of seals it: her performance is fantastic, the initial hit is great, but then it repeats as a mantra, gaining swell but losing most of its steam. Unlike LAROI’s ballad from earlier, there IS a great song here, somewhere, but the structure of it - and perhaps my lack of connection of the franchise - doesn’t do it as many favours for me. I can see it growing on me or really being a fan favourite but for now, I just think it’s pretty good.

#6 - “Standing Next to You” - Jung Kook

Produced by watt and Cirkut

I’m still yet to be impressed by BTS solo work and whilst Jung Kook is somewhat close - he definitely has the charisma of a pop star - I feel like he ends up losing me just in the songs department, as they really end up being a competent version of a mostly competently-written song with a fun performance, and nothing more. They’re so fine-tuned and well-done it makes me forget that he was at some point a K-pop singer, and that’s definitely true for this one that just throws 80s synth funk grooves, harmonies and disjointed blasts of horns and bass at you, to convince that there’s some kind of bombast. But I’m honestly not convinced: it’s trying a lot, trying to make some kind of epic, but it doesn’t have a lot of the guts. One of the big lines in the chorus is “it’s deep like DNA” and the wham line it drops on is just a stuttered, kind of weakly-sold “take off”. There’s also just not a lot lyrically here at all, and I mean that in quite literal terms of how many unique words there are. It’s not bad, it’s just a nothing burger.

Conclusion

And sadly, on a decent week, that’s enough to get Worst of the Week. I probably have to clarify given it’s Jung Kook that I have absolutely nothing against the boys, just I’m not a fan of the song. I can’t sincerely give out a Dishonourable Mention so I’ll tie the Honourable Mention between “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron, specifically the version featuring Phoebe Bridgers, and Olivia Rodrigo for “Can’t Catch Me Now”, whilst Best of the Week goes to, surprisingly enough, Blanco for “Brilliant Mind”. I guess, keep it up, man. As for what’s on the horizon, we’ll be in festive season soon enough, but maybe PinkPantheress will give us something less confectionery to chew on in the interim? I don’t know. Regardless, thank you for reading and I’ll see you next week!

#uk singles chart #song review #pop music #jung kook #olivia rodrigo #the kid laroi #blanco #lord huron #phoebe bridgers #jax jones #ina wroldsen #d.o.d #blackout crew

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ezzydean · 11 months

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birthday blitz

just a fun little 2k jolt of excitement and fun for my dear @notsuchasecret for their birthday

going back to the original Samezuka Trio content here. if you want OG Samezuka Trio, shenanigans, tomfoolery, tentative relationship/friendship anarchy, adult language and not so adult actions, and Seijuurou questioning his life choices then this is the thing for you. if not? that’s cool. dldr and all that jazz :D

happiest of birthdays my dear gremlin

(click here to read on my tumblr and not on the dash)

Ai rolls over and yanks the blankets away from Rin for the third time in as many minutes and Rin reminds himself that he loves Ai and that wrapping him in the damn blankets like a mummy and throwing him out the window is something he really, really probably shouldn’t do. He rolls over and buries his face in Seijuurou’s shoulder and listens as he starts taking deep breaths.

Maybe the throwing Ai out the window thing wouldn’t be so bad? Maybe Seijuurou would go along with it this time?

“Imagine if you could peel your nipples off like a sticker. And replace them with, I dunno. googly eyes.”

“Can you, for one night, not talk like a shitpost from 2012 at one in the morning?”

Ai scoffs. “Can you, for one night, not be a funsucking vampire looking for a snack when I ask you a question?” Ai mocks him.

Seijuurou lets out a sigh so deep it’s almost a growl. “Can you both, for one night, just shut up and let me sleep?”

Rin rolls over and looks at Ai, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face. Ai grins back at him, sharp and sweet like only he can really manage.

“Nope,” they shout in unison as they scramble over and around each other in an attempt to wrap Seijuurou in their blankets and roll him off the bed. Seijuurou lets them for a few seconds before he starts fighting back. Seijuurou grumbles and growls but Rin catches a smile on his face as he throws the blanket off himself and tries to wrap it around Ai.

—

“I. Uh. I have questions.”

Seijuurou barely even looks up from where he’s crouched down tying his shoes. He doesn’t need to look. He already knows the disaster on display in the other room. He’s been blatantly ignoring the disaster for the last three and a half hours. Which is why he called backup. He’s still not entirely sure he chose the correct backup. But he was kind of desperate, okay?

“Don’t,” he says as he finishes tying his shoes. “Just. Don’t.”

“Don’t have questions?” Sugawara asks. “Or don’t ask the questions.”

“Either. Both. Just.” Seijuurou waves his hand towards the other room. “It’s safer for everyone if you just ignore it and get the hell out while you can.”

Sugawara nods. “I roomed with Tanaka and Bokuto one summer. I understand.” Seijuurou grabs his keys and wallet from the jacket he had left them in and shoves them into his pants pocket.

“Okay,” he says, gesturing to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Sugawara’s head is tilted to the side like a curious puppy and he’s blinking rapidly and making a quiet, almost distressed noise as he stares into the other room.

“Uh, Mikoshiba?”

“Shit,” he sighs.

“The broccoli is on fire.”

“You mean the oranges, right?”

“No. No, it's definitely broccoli.”

“I’m done. I’m too old for this shit. Let’s go.”

He snags Sugawara’s elbow and pulls him out of the house, determinedly not looking at what he’s leaving behind.

Disaster One and Disaster Two don’t even seem to realize he’s left. He’s not sure if he should be offended or relieved. He loves them. He really does. But some days he wonders just what the hell he was thinking when he agreed to move in with them all those years ago.

Sugawara keeps quiet for the entire walk from the house to the shopping district. Which is nice. It’s one of the reasons he enjoys Sugawara’s company. They can spend most of a day together hanging out and actually spend very little of it talking. It’s especially refreshing on a day like today where he’s spent the last week cooped up with Rin and Ai both because their schedules all managed to align with the same stretch of free time. Which unfortunately aligned with the rainiest, windiest week they’ve seen in months.

“I have one question,” Sugawara says eventually. He’s staring off into the distance when Seijuurou glances up from the display of keychains he’s been poking through. Sugawara’s got the kind of look on his face that makes Seijuurou both curious and mildly uncomfortable because he’s never sure if the look is going to lead to a hilarious story from Sugawara about something one of his many crow friends did once upon a time or if it’s gonna lead to the two of them missing ninety percent of their clothing running away from a swarm of bees.

Again.

“Okay,” he says warily.

“Why was the fact that it was broccoli and not oranges the bigger issue and not the fact that they were on fire in the first place?”

Seijuurou groans softly. “That’s a long story.”

Sugawara shrugs. “I mean. I’ve got all day. Tell me a story and I’ll buy you lunch?”

He doesn’t necessarily want to tell the story. But he’s also not about to pass up free lunch.

“Okay. So.”

—

“Rei. Rei Rei Rei!” Rei looks up just in time to catch Ai as he trips over his own feet and tumbles into Rei’s lap. Ai immediately latches his arms around Rei’s neck and grins at him. “I have to tell you something!”

Ai’s whisper is more of a shout but no one else really pays them much attention. Which has more to do with most everyone else in the room being just as wasted as Ai is than it does them being granted a smidgen of privacy.

“What do you have to tell me?” Rei does his best to keep his voice at a reasonable level. But he’s not totally sober either so he’s only moderately sure of his success.

Ai starts giggling and Rei can’t help but laugh along with him after a moment.

“I just. You have to promise. Okay? You have to promise.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Rei manages to control his laughter. “What am I promising?”

“Not to be upset that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Oh. Okay.” Rei nods. “I’m not upset you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Ai snorts and Rei tries really, really hard not to start laughing again.

“I haven’t even told you yet.”

“Oh. You’re right. What do you have to tell me?”

Ai looks around the room with wide eyes. He looks around too but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Rin and Seijuurou are sitting on the couch across from the chair Rei is currently sharing with Ai. Haru, Nagisa, and a couple of Seijuurou’s friends that Rei can’t quite remember the names of are in the kitchen. Momo disappeared down the hallway with Sugawara and Makoto a few minutes ago and Rei has half a second to wonder what, exactly, they’re up to before Ai tightens his arms and catches Rei’s attention.

“I have to tell you.” Ai takes a deep breath and holds Rei’s gaze. “I’m gay.”

Rei blinks a few times as this rolls around in his head.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ai’s jaw drops with a gasp. “That’s it? Just ‘oh okay’? That’s all?”

“I mean. Your first kiss was with Uozumi followed immediately with a second kiss with Minami. Your first date was with Nagisa. Your first wet dream was about Rin and Haru. Every person you’ve ever crushed on or gone out with has been a male. So I kind of am not super surprised?”

Rin lets out a startled noise that has Seijuurou shushing him with a laugh. Rin bats at Seijuurou’s shoulder and leans so far forward he almost falls off the couch.

“Haru was part of that dream?” Rin hisses. “You never told me that he was involved!”

Ai blinks his big blue eyes at Rei and Rei quickly shakes his head. He did not know that Rin didn’t know all the details and he may have accidentally just spilled the news but he wants no other part in this. He’s clearly done enough.

“I trusted you,” Ai whimpers. “I just told you I was gay and you, you, you spill my secrets like this?”

He can hear Rin grumbling in the background as Seijuurou makes comforting noises that Rin grumbles even louder at and he can see the starry watery sheen of Ai’s fathomless eyes and he feels a little bit like he’s about to be pulled underwater by something dangerous and very toothy and just out of sight and he swallows so hard that he’s sure the people in the kitchen can surely hear it. He has a fleeting thought about sharks and blood and something else that’s on the tip of his tongue.

Cool hands land on his shoulders and he jolts, Ai nearly falling off his lap. He tilts his head back even though he already knows who is standing there.

Haru quirks a smile down at him and the fleeting thoughts about sharks and blood are much less fleeting. For all that he’s often characterized as a fish or a dolphin among their friends Haru is more of a fucking shark in the water than any of the Samezuka team have ever been.

“Aiichirou,” Haru says in a quiet, firm voice that has even Rin falling silent, no doubt holding his breath to hear whatever Haru is about to say. “You told the wet dream story to Nagisa. While he had you on speaker when he was in my room with me and Kou. You went into terrifyingly explicit details. I very highly doubt Rei is the one spilling your secrets.”

Ai pouts up at Haru for a few seconds and, once he realizes that Haru isn’t going to crack, he sticks his tongue out and wriggles himself out of Rei’s lap so he can flop on the couch with Rin and Seijuurou.

“Thank you, Haruka,” Rei whispers. Haru smiles sweetly at him and kisses the top of his head softly.

“You’re welcome.”

—

“You need new friends.”

Rin startles a little and looks over curiously. “What?”

“I said that you need new friends.”

“I heard you. But. What the fuck do you mean by that, Takuya?

Uozumi shudders. “First of all. It’s weird when you say my name. You’ve called me that like three times in the decade or so we’ve known each other please don’t. Second of all. I am classifying myself in that category. Get new friends. Please release me from this torture.”

“Torture? I am a delight to be friends with.” Nagisa snickers and Rin smacks him on the back of the head without even looking. “You will never find another friend as great as me shut up, Nagisa.”

Uozumi points at Nagisa like he’s making some grand point of some kind. Rin rolls his eyes because, really? Any point you’re making using Nagisa as an example — good or bad — is kind of a ridiculous point as far as Rin is concerned.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Nagisa protests. “Damn.”

“You didn’t need to. Your face says plenty even when your mouth is shut.”

“Oh yeah?” Nagisa smacks Rin’s shoulder. “What’s it saying now? Huh?”

Uozumi sighs — in a way that is far too dramatic for someone who willingly chooses to spend time with Momotarou of all people — as Rin turns to glare at Nagisa.

“It says you’re just jealous that I’m hot and have two hot boyfriends while you have… whatever it is that you have with your odd looks and strange little squishy cheeks.”

Nagisa’s eyes narrow dangerously and Rin grins in response.

“Your boyfriends are about to become widows,” Nagisa growls. Rin has enough time to jump to his feet and get a few long strides away before Nagisa launches himself at him.

He thinks he hears Uozumi mutter something about new friends again but then Nagisa somehow manages to catch Uozumi’s elbow and then Rin is running for his life as they chase him down the beach.

—

Seijuurou rolls over with a groan when Rin pokes his side.

“Breakfast in bed,” Ai coos. “Just for you.”

“Happy Birthday, old man,” Rin adds.

“Thirty is not old,” Seijuurou grumbles.

“Yeah.” Ai pokes him this time until he opens his eyes and sits up against the headboard. Ai hands him a plate and kisses his forehead. “Thirty isn’t old. You’re right.”

Rin kisses his cheek. “But thirty-one is,” he teases.

Seijuurou’s gonna get him back for that.

Later.

After he eats his breakfast in bed. And maybe takes a nap.

It’s his birthday, after all.

#free!#free! writing #Samezuka Trio #Samezuka Trio fic #mikoshiba seijuurou #nitori aiichirou #matsuoka rin #NitoMikoRin #NitoMikoRin fic

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deathlysilent13 · 2 years

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FMA Fic Snippet: Modern AU, Ed’s in college.

((Basic idea here: Modern Amestris, no alchemy but automail is still a thing. Jean Havoc teaches at Central University, and Edward Elric is a student in his class. He and Alphonse are orphans (though Team Mustang doesn’t know this yet) and Alphonse is too ill for in person classes. Edward agreed to take them instead of continuing online to gain unrestricted access to the University Library for anything Alphonse might need. Jean Havoc (and all of the team, honestly) is always on the lookout for those who need a little extra support and Ed’s on Jean’s radar))

It’s been three weeks since the start of the fall term. Jean’s already half-buried by grading assignments, which means most of his colleagues are probably already in over their heads. He tries not to assign much, since anyone who’s taking his class is likely taking a full schedule of specialized courses that are going to be exponentially more demanding. He just teaches them how to research, he doesn’t go into nearly as many specifics as just about anyone else teaching masters level courses.

This particular Friday night finds him in a restaurant and bar, nursing a beer. He’s got his old team around him, and they make a regular habit of meeting up to keep track of one another’s moods. He hasn’t said much tonight, even though he’s the one who called them together. He can’t help it. He hasn’t had anyone come through his class before who invoked such a visceral urge to kick in doors and make them listen as the boy he’s had on his mind almost constantly since the first day of the semester.

A flash of gold catches his eye, a gleam he’s coming to recognize well, and he turns his entire torso to scan the street until he finds the source. Gleaming gold silk held back in a loose braid catches the streetlights and passing headlights. It’s the purest identifier, since the owner of that shocking head of hair isn’t wearing the usual attire Jean sees on him in class. Instead he’s in a simple t-shirt, an olive bomber jacket with a fur-lined collar warding away the evening chill. Hands are tucked into the pockets of comfortable jeans, and black boots lace all the way up his ankles. Considering the kid wears a damned tie to class, the look throws Jean.

A hard thump to his shoulder reminds him that he’s sitting at a full table. “There can’t be anything out there that pretty,” Heymans Breda quips, earning a round of chuckles from the table.

Jean snorts. “I don’t give a damn about pretty, I want to know what that kid’s story is,” he says, and this time the looks are sharper. Their former commanding officer, Roy Mustang, pins him with a fierce look second only to the one of the woman next to him. Riza Hawkeye might technically be Roy’s subordinate, but anyone who values their life and their blood volume does as she says the moment she says, Roy included. Jean and Heymans had retired at matched ranks lower down the totem pole.

When Roy just lifts an eyebrow, Jean points the kid out. Kain Fuery, their tech wiz, whistles softly. “He looks way too young to be in one of your classes, Jean,” he says. Their last companion, Vato Falman, nods in clear agreement. He’s usually quiet, but he’s a walking encyclopedia so when he does speak, they know to listen.

Jean doesn’t even bother trying to argue. “He’s 16. Graduated high school at 13 and secured his Bachelors last year. He’d done everything online until now. Masters at most local colleges requires in person courses.” He glances out the window again, watching the way the kid moves through the crowds and manages not to be jostled despite the crush of people. Touch is a significant issue with him, Jean just doesn’t know why.

“Why haven’t you directed him to the rec center?” Roy asks. His parents, whom he’d never met, apparently left him a fortune. He opened a medical and rehab facility for vets when the government funded one proved its inadequacy one time too many, and has since expanded it into a recreational center and library for street kids and kids with bad home lives.

Jean lifts his hands briefly. “Look, I tried, okay? He acts like I’m luring him into the back of a van with a lollipop every time. Kid’s polite enough in class, doesn’t talk to anyone, but he bolts the minute the clock hits time. Doesn’t let anyone touch him, doesn’t stay in the quad. Shit, Roy, I don’t even know where he lives. He needs something, I just can’t figure out what.” Roy’s brow furrows, clearly thinking.

Vato hums thoughtfully. “That explains why we got together a week early,” he says. He’s not angry, none of them are when there’s someone who needs their help. Jean just can’t get a handle on this one. He’s usually good at this, but he’s off balance by this kid.

Roy looks like he wants to speak, but Riza, who’d watched the kid until he’d turned the corner, cuts him off. “I’ll take this one,” she says. All eyes turn to her, and they’re all shocked. Jean doesn’t think she’s ever approached the kids, she’s too straight laced for them. There’s a reason she usually oversees the vets who come in.

Roy looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Riza, are you sure?” he asks, risking a stabbing. Heymans backs a few inches away from the table.

Riza folds her hands on the table, which does nothing to soothe anyone. “Positive. I might know why he avoids the rec center, but I need to confirm.” They’re all blinking now, but no one challenges her. She’s damned near a force of nature, and they were with her on those sands. They all owe her their lives.

They glance at one another around her, mildly concerned but having no way to voice it that doesn’t come out making her sound incompetent. With a sigh, even Roy finally gives in, agreeing to table it but they’ll all keep a much more active eye out until Riza’s made contact with the kid. After that, none of them can say yet.

#wip excerpt #work in progress #Fullmetal Alchemist #edward elric #alphonse elric #team mustang #modern au #no alchemy

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shadesofmauve · 2 years

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WIP Whenever

Tagged by @swaps55! Tagging, uh... people? Someone? @pagerunner-j and @fenmere.

I'm going to try to share something from the Prequel I'm Not Writing, Alejandro Geltz Has A Year/Rhiannon in Prep School. It's the things that's made me the most teary-joyful of all my writing in the past year, partly because it only happens when it happens, and partly because it just... adds layers and folds and depth to these characters, in a way that owes almost nothing to the canon. Because the level of caring and not-understanding-caring just feels so right, and so bittersweet.

Because it only happens when inspiration strikes, I haven't stitched scenes together.

———

“This says you can’t go on the school trip.”

She scuffed her toe against the floor.

“Rhiannon —” Alejandro swore under his breath. “I don’t understand you. You’ve been doing so well, then this? You want to get out of here, and you get this chance, and you throw it away?”

“Yeah. Well.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What, they’re going to sleep in the cold? Already done that, thanks.”

He supposed it didn’t matter one way or another, in the long run. She was missing a school camping trip. So what? But god damn it, why didn’t she care? He kept thinking he’d reached her, and then something like this would happen, and he despaired.

At least she wasn’t automatically rebelling anymore. She wasn’t glaring at him; wasn’t even looking at him. Like she was suddenly far more interested in the a bad bit of molding on the wall to her left.

Like she was avoiding his eyes.

Not angry, not defensive. Hiding something.

Months without a fight. Months when she’d come eager to practice, even to tutoring sessions. She’d been on good behavior for this reward. This adventure. This shot at something new.

What changed?

“What happened, Rhiannon?”

She gave him that ‘old man, what the hell are you talking about’ side-eye. “School. Kids. Got pissed.

———

The teacher had balked at sending him the pre-camping parent note. After all, "We’ve given her second chance after second chance. We have to draw some lines." And he wasn't even a guardian, let alone a parent. But he needed to know why Rhiannon'd exploded, and it was all he'd had to go on.

And it explained everything.

He shoved the pad with the list aside, open to page one: Required and Recommended Supplies. Rested his head in his hands. Scrubbed his eyes.

Damn that kid. Damn that school.

Rhiannon had done it on purpose.

Over boots. Boots, and a raincoat, and a sleeping bag. A few other things that any kid of a well-off family probably had just laying around, or a spacer parent could easily afford. If the teacher had sent him the list, he’d have made sure it was all there — but they’d passed it out in class, for the kids to send on to their parents.

Except for the one who had no parents. Had nothing but the clothes on her back. The one who’d never think to send it to him.

So she’d punched a random girl to get herself barred from the camping trip.

God. His shoulders shook, somewhere between tears and laughter. Forty-five minutes. She’d received the list, seen a problem, figured out how to ‘solve’ it, and put her plan into action, all in less than an hour.

Tactically superb, really. It was self-destructive and it didn’t solve a damn thing, but full points for execution.

"Mapache, you broken little genius," he muttered. "What am I going to do with you?"

#it's about privilege #and family #and love #and the things we don't notice #yes he takes her camping #yes I made an OC and I cry about his relationship with Shepard #Rhi Shepard #Alejandro Geltz #Shades writes #this feels so much more exposed than other fic #closer to original fiction I guess?#I'm not even worried about the writing per se #just 'what if people don't LOVE THEM?'

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skrunklybf-archived · 2 years

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darling; jean kirstein x f!reader

chapter three: dirt

chapter summary: sometimes, the biggest obstacles we face are the ones we can't see right before our eyes.

tags: childhood friends, slight jealousy, a little fluff, familial issues

wc: 2.5k

notes: this takes place in a universe adjacent to canon -- there are similarities but i'm taking liberties (:

series guide | previous chapter | next chapter

One fairer than my love?

the all-seeing sun

Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.

Gustav Kipp carried himself with a solid air of authority. His slick ashy brown hair stuck to his head like a helmet, but he ran a hand along the side anyway, smoothing back any potential flyaways. Cool brown eyes scanned over the street before his home.

It'd been a few years since his discharge, following a particularly gruesome accident which left him crutch-bound, only a leg and a half remaining below his waist. Despite no longer being a soldier by trade, Gustav took to becoming a neighborhood beacon of sorts, posting up on his shady porch and putting his watchful gaze to use.

"I'm not a damn babysitter," he had gruffed one day, "these damn kids just won't leave me alone."

Catty-corner to his modest stone home, Gustav watched two familiar figures skip closer, abandoning the town square with ripe fruit in their grubby hands. The ghost of a grin twitched at the corners of his lips for a mere second before melting back into the cool hard line he favored.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kipp!" [Y/N], Lukas [L/N]'s girl, threw a chipper greeting over his yard. The old soldier offered her a tip of his head. Out of the gaggle of kids he found himself watching over, she was one of the few he didn't mind lingering around, with her mild temperament and generous use of manners.

At the girls side trotted Marco, another good example and damn near wonder-child. "Hello, Mr. Kipp." the boy also greeted.

Gustav coughed into his fist. "Staying out of trouble, the both of you?"

"Naturally!" Marco replied, his freckled cheeks rosy from the sun.

Though the sentiment normally rang true, [Y/N] couldn't help but feel the slightest bit guilty about her friend's answer, knowing of the kernel of a plan that had been rolling around in her head for the past few days. An extra bundle of fruits hung down at her side, bumping against her leg as they walked. Gustav and his home slipped behind them before long. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"D'you think it's almost done?" the girl wondered, turning a corner with her friend.

Marco popped a grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Probably not. It takes a lot to build a house," he said, "my dad helped build my uncle's house, and it took, like, a year!"

[Y/N] paled, aghast. "A year?!" she whined. The children weaved in and out of thoughtless passerby, careful to pepper out little 'excuse me's as they journeyed. "That's so long..." the girl chewed her lip.

"Yeah, but it's really big and nice, and all of my cousins have their own rooms. Me and Jean only need to make a couple." he smiled.

How Jean managed to wrap Marco up into his grand scheme, she'd never know. The boy was too kind for his own good. Drawing closer to their destination, the two tuned their ears past the idle street chatter, toward a small commotion cropping up just outside forbidden territory.

Kirstein's Kitchen.

A line out the door, the little bakery homestead combo was positively bustling, with awaiting customers impatiently tapping their feet along the cobblestone ground. Even from several buildings away, the heavenly scent of fresh bread permeated the air and washed over the neighborhood. [Y/N] could barely pick up on it anymore, but Marco took a generous whiff, sighing in content.

"He's probably busy." [Y/N] mumbled. "Maybe we should just wait at the house."

House was a strong word for the slabs of wood piled together at the edge of the forest mouth.

Sitting just south of the bustle of town, acting as a border between any curious eyes of Trost and the meadow that had become a frequent destination for the children, the meek foundations laid for a fabulous hideaway home. Mismatched sizes and lengths of lumber laid in a haphazard heap against the thick base of the tree. [Y/N] shook out a blanket underneath the shadow just on the other side, becoming partly shaded from the beating sun.

The brunette eyed the construction materials with a curious gaze, while [Y/N] watched him in a similar fashion.

Marco was fun to hang out with. Surely more calm and mild-mannered fun -- but still fun nonetheless. He wasn't nearly as boisterous or obnoxious as Jean, a fact that came as a blessing on days where the pastry-scented boy manages to fray her last nerve. Marco was always willing to lend an ear; it wasn't too rare that he himself would get caught up in whatever mess Jean wanted to orchestrate for the day.

Part of the young girl wondered how the two boys even became friends. Knowing them then, the duo as they were, it was hard to picture them apart -- but knowing them separately, the tale must've been an interesting one.

[Y/N] could recall fondly how she and the brunette crossed paths, just a year or so prior: Mr. Bodt worked various labor jobs around town, lending his skillful hands as a makeshift carpenter of sorts. [Y/N]s father had paid Mr. Bodt to fix up their delivery cart that had suffered damage during a particularly rough storm. The little boy tagged along, peeking curiously from behind his father's slightly rugged form.

She watched Marco dip and dig into the stolen toolbox he stashed behind a few choice rocks. Perhaps stolen was a strong word -- Marco simply borrowed the old hand tools from his father's workshop, fully intending to return them once their little project was complete. He hummed to himself, pushing the gears in his brain to imagine exactly how he wanted the little clubhouse to lay out.

Bored, sleepy, and perhaps a bit overheated already, the girl leaned herself against the trunk of the tree.

"Wouldn't it be cool if your room had a little balcony?" Marco quipped suddenly, one eye squinted in forced concentration, "and maybe those swirly steps like you see in the tall houses by the square. Reminds me of a castle, yknow, like from those books."

The idea sparkled inside her minds eye. "Woah, yeah! I could be like a princess," she cooed dreamily, "and you and Jean are the knights."

Marco seemed to flush at her words, scratching his head and watching the grass sway through the field. Him, a knight? Surely not. "Well, I dunno about that... I mean... Jean's definitely a knight," he laughed and turned to face the meadow instead, "and you're definitely the pretty princess." He busied himself by brushing wayward dirt from his pants. [Y/N] cocked her head to the side lazily. "What would you rather be? Oh, maybe you can be my royal advisor," she hummed in thought, "or maybe the prince! Eh, who knows, we can figure it out when it's all built."

Sluggish, beat, Jean trudged his way through tickling grass, past a line of familiar greenery. He wanted nothing more than to forget about the beginning of his day. An endless line of customers shoved the tiny family into quite a stressful box, clearing out their shelves and tacking an extra set of orders on for the rest of the week. It felt like hours before his mother released him to the wild with the help of expertly executed puppy dog eyes.

Striking somewhere along the noon hour, Jean knew his friends would be arriving to their spot soon enough. He hoped to beat them there and get a head start on the skeleton of their grand plan. Curiously, though, the sound of a chiming voice caught his ear not too far away.

Leaning past the trees, he could spy the faraway form of Marco, scratching his tilted head. He seemed slightly troubled. The brown eyed boy muttered something or another about a knight, looking a bit despondent. Jean lightened his step, wondering if maybe someone else had stumbled upon their hideout, someone uninvited, but blinked incredulously when the only other body around turned out to be their other baker friend.

"-- and you're definitely the pretty princess," Marco turned away.

Jean furrowed his brow. Marco was definitely a kind and compassionate friend, but the comment felt out of place. He watched his own feet for a moment, taking note of the little ants that began to crawl over his shoes, letting the words sink in further.

Suddenly, Jean didn't feel like playing carpenter. He didn't want to build the house for you three, he didn't want to do much of anything -- a bubble of negativity burned up his throat.

There's so much about life that felt positively unfair to the brunette. He'd griped about it plenty in the safe presence of his best friend, the pretty princess, but nothing ever changed about it all. Was there anything to do about it, anyway? He thought the house would be a step in the right direction; having a place safe from prying eyes, somewhere just for them -- and, by extension, Marco -- but maybe it was a bad idea. Jean felt a wave of selfishness wash over him as his legs carried his body out into the open.

[Y/N] was the first to notice the boy, his face twisted into a somewhat nasty frown. "Hey, Jeanbo!" she beamed from her place on the blanket, smile wide and welcoming as ever. She motioned to the bundle of fruit at her side, "we saved you some berries."

Tight eye contact was briefly shared between the boys before Marco looked away, a quiet sense of embarrassment falling over him. What all had he heard? Hopefully not too much.

"We saw you were busy so we thought we'd get a head start. Well, mostly me, since [Y/N] didn't wanna get dirty..."

"Hey, Gramma would kill me if I tore this skirt. Probably bake me into a pie and serve me to Mr. Kipp."

Jean stood at the edge of the blanket, eyeing the bundle of berries wrapped in a nice little handkerchief. "Y'know, I can do it myself." he muttered. Marco straightened his back, letting the hammer dangle at his side. "I know how to build a house, 's easy." Jean continued. Though he was lying through his teeth, he figured it'd be simple enough to work out, if he were determined enough. And he was, suddenly, for some reason even he wasn't privy to.

Marco blinked quizzically. "It'd be faster if you had help, though. Just putting together the foundation is hard enough by yourself."

"I said it's fine. Aren't you still in trouble with your mom, anyway?"

Marco flushed. He kicked at the dirt beneath him. "Eh, a little bit... I just have extra chores and stuff. What about you?"

A weird sense of tension fell over the friends when Jean began to sputter. The girl, curious, simply switched her gaze between the boys, innocent to the fire flicking away in Jean's belly. "I never got in trouble," he lied, running a hand through his ashy brown hair. Marco made a face that told him he knew better, but let the subject drop where it was, instead turning back to the project with a quiet hum.

"Well, I think we can put the skeleton together before it gets dark, if we start now."

Feelings were an odd concept to tackle for a young boy. How could one put a name to something they couldn't even see with their own two eyes? With night pulling a heavy blanket over the tiring town of Trost, the twelve year old burdened himself with existential questions far beyond his realm of understanding, earning a bitter headache in its wake. He had already parted with his friends, since his home was the first along the line of destinations, and awkwardly watched them bumble away in the thickening twilight. Jean wished he could've walked [Y/N] home instead. Of course, Marco would suffice, but it's the thought that counted, right? The idea of Mr. Kipp seeing them together brought a certain soreness to his behind -- he had blatantly lied earlier, about not getting in trouble. He most certainly took a punishment from his irate mother, thanks to the old soldier himself, one he wasn't keen on reliving if he could help it.

Dejectedly, the boy shuffled through the back door to his home, the smell of savory stew and fresh bread beckoning his heavy heart further. The telltale sign of large and dirty boots poised at the mat in the mud room told him one thing: his father had returned from his work trip.

Jean often wondered what exactly his father was doing during these long absences. What could possibly take up so much time, only for the man to return with meager coin and a rather sour attitude to boot? He knew the official title he took on: Chief of Forestry. What he couldn't wrap his head around, though, was why his father got to travel and do whatever he wanted hundreds of miles away while he and his mother slaved away in a hot kitchen day after day. There were little stories or explanations offered to tide the boy and his slightly bitter curiosity -- only a gruff greeting and curt shoulder squeeze as a welcome.

"My boy," the man in question tousled Jean's hair as he passed by in the kitchen, "you're looking worse for wear."

Ida Kirstein offered a small quip of a laugh at the stove, stirring the stew and smiling down into the pot. "He's been up to quite a lot since you've been gone, dear."

Jean looked down at his dirtied clothes. For what felt like the tenth time that day, he didn't want to be where he was. The warm kitchen suddenly lacked the sweetness that had almost been baked into the walls before.

"So I've heard. In case you've forgotten, Gustav is a friend of mine. He says you've turned into a little spit fire." Oskar Kirstein was never as soft as his wife, in any sense of the word. Even his voice felt like concrete to anyone close enough to catch it. Jean felt himself wanting to shrink away, but stood in place, caught in the doorway between his parents and the freedom of the empty hallway. His father leaned down from his hulking, nearly domineering position seated at the dinner table, catching Jean's reluctant eye. "Never start something you can't finish, son."

"Oskar," Ida chided, "that's my sweet boy you're talking to. Don't go giving him ideas."

With her back turned, the two males shared a double edged look -- one giving a sense of flat seriousness, the other looking humbly vulnerable. Jean simply nodded at his father, looking into eyes the same shade as his own, despite how foreign they felt boring into him.

Perhaps Jean envied Marco for a multitude of reasons, reasons he couldn't quite unpack on his own.

Dinner was a tasteless endeavor. Not the food -- his mother was a decent cook, it tasted just as good as it always did -- but the air felt unbreathable as the boy sat in his own emotions. He had quickly excused himself, cleaned his dishes, and tucked away into his room. Nimble hands unearthed perhaps his biggest secret hidden away in the back of his closet, underneath piles of old blankets and thick sweaters meant for the bleary winter.

A leather bound book, with thick paper pages and a knot of string holding it tightly closed.

#jean x reader #jean kirstein #attack on titan #aot #snk #shinjeki no kyojin #jean kirstein x reader

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