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ellsbclls · 3 years

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The Fire Escape

warnings ➛ A couple of swear words here and there, mentions of death, endgame spoilers, and a dash of far from home erasure.

word count ➛ 4.7K

synopsis ➛ After the events of End Game, Peter Parker takes a break from his crime fighting persona, but when Spider-Man is called to a mission in Sokovia, he realizes that you might not be ready to handle the life of an Avenger’s girlfriend. There’s a little bit of angst, but not enough to keep you up at night.

“Y/N… Earth to Y/N.”

Peter ropes you back to reality with a light squeeze of your hand, a simple gesture that you return two-fold. On normal dates, the competition would ignite almost immediately, squeezing each other’s hands back and forth, under varying degrees of pressure, until one of you cried uncle — but this is far from a normal date.

It had started innocently enough. Peter had begged Dr.Banner to let him leave his “internship” an hour early just so he could surprise you at work. You assumed — after some superb groveling on Peter’s part — that Bruce agreed, because the end of your shift was met with a parchment wrapped dozen of blushing roses, accompanied by your equally blushing boyfriend. The two of you were able to snag one of the emptier carts on the N train, and were accompanied by a small Greek woman who sent a warm smile when you nestled your head into Peter’s shoulder. The smile disappeared as soon as he started using the poles as his personal jungle gym, but your laugh made up for its loss as he offered his hand out, begging you to join him with a Gene Kelly-esque flair. He ushered you into one of your favorite ramen places during your stroll down Ditmars, pulling out your chair when you were given a table, pretending not to notice how you snuck a noodle or two from his bowl when he wasn’t looking. Your heart felt so warm, you’re surprised it didn’t melt.

So why does everything seem so off now? You and Peter are walking side by side down 37th avenue, he’s rambling excitedly about some new enhancement he made to his web slingers, the evening breeze is kissing your cheeks as it waltzes around the autumn foliage, and somehow, you feel like you’re in the eye of a hurricane.

“Where’d you go?” Peter tries to reel you back in once more and succeeds, craning his head to meet your gaze.

“Oh, just a quick jog.” you tease. There’s a thin edge underlying your sarcasm, and you wonder if he can hear it, too. You’re only a block away from your apartment, and the tiny voice in the back of your mind rationalizes that nothing could ruin your impromptu date night if you were tucked away in your home — because you always feel safe when you’re home. Yet, with no solid evidence to confirm or deny the thought, you’re in a race with the block to dig through your purse.

“Oh, well don’t forget to warm up.” he teases back. His caramel hues, once alight with a mirthful glint, start to descend into an uneasy resolve that only confirms your suspicions, but you’re too occupied by the whereabouts of your keys to notice. “Speaking of warm up, actually, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Shoot.” you reply offhandedly.

“Well, I- I don’t know how to say this.” The tremor in his voice is subtle, but just present enough to pull you from your search. “There’s- uh- there’s something going on in Sokovia, or at least what’s left of it. There’s a lot of feedback coming off the maps, like a… a hotplate of cosmic activity, so Captain wants the entire team there.”

There it is — that dark cloud that hung over your head this evening finally drenches you in a sharp, cold blanket of realization. Your heart stops, aches, and then crumbles to the pit of your stomach, waiting to be washed away by the waves of terror that crash upon your airways, and despite the wash cycle of emotions you’ve just endured, you feel far from clean. In fact, everything feels heavy — from the weight of your heart to your ragged breath — paralyzed by the idea that each thump, each exhale, brings you closer to the moment where Peter has to leave.

You started dating a year and a half ago, and two years have passed since half of the population was restored to its rightful plane of existence. Iron Man’s death left a massive hole in Peter’s morale, as well as a nagging doubt that he would never be able to take on the mantle he was left with. So, for the first time since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, he cowered in the face of adversity. Not only had he lost a mentor, he had lost his friend — and when Tony Stark sacrificed his life, he was under the impression that the heroes he saved would continue to protect the world, but sometimes Peter wonders if that still reigns true. If Mr.Stark knew just how easily the team had crumbled, how easily he had crumbled, would he still leave? Three and a half years later and Peter still can’t find the answer.

Meanwhile, when it seemed like the world needed him most, Spiderman slipped into obscurity. Now he only makes an appearance when the newscast is a little too bleak to ignore, and even then, he usually sticks to the rogue bank heist or back alley mugging.

You try not to pry, knowing that each time you ask about his brief hiatus is like poking an open wound, and, albeit selfishly, you relish in the fact that your boyfriend isn’t throwing himself in harm's way. However, now seems like a better time than ever for an interrogation, seeing as this is not only the first Avengers mission he’s attended in your relationship, but the first mission to ever span past the Hudson.

No obstacle prior has conjured a looming sense of dread and anxiety as palpable as the one you’re toting now. You can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a cauldron of endless toils, expelling a hazy fog that makes your head spin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t give out on me now.” You don’t realize that your knees buckled beneath you until Peter comes to your rescue, and you silently wish that all of his heroic excursions could be this simple. The warmth of his hand bleeds past your winter coat and business casual blouse as it settles against the small of your back, and your body betrays you as it melts into his touch. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not CPR certified.”

“I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth is bone dry, and you can barely muster a laugh convincing enough to counter his attempt at humor, so you don’t. You opt on settling your gaze upon the entrance of your building, just over Peter’s shoulder, and trying to ground yourself enough to stand without his help.

Peter’s hand still lingers on your form when you shuffle away from him, moving from the small of your back to the curve of your elbow. He can tell that you’re shaken, he expected that much from the get go, so he doesn’t leave your side, encroaching on the space you so obviously seek.

“I don’t know- I don’t…” You muster just enough courage to counter his gaze, and a tiny frown creases between your brows, confusion riddling every other feature. “What exactly are you asking me?”

He pauses, searching for the answer himself. “Well, I guess- I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

You chalk it up to your sudden sense of irritability, but his question just pisses you off. How dare he throw out a semblance of hope, a faulty impression, that you’d have any choice in this matter. You climb the three steps up to the front door, dolled up in dismay, and still try to find purchase in the illusion that you have any control in the matter. Maybe that’s what pushes you over the deep end, your once honeyed voice now curdled by venom — the hopelessness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m amazing, Peter. After the way you buttered me up all evening, how could I possibly be upset?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Peter’s visibly taken aback, his features mimicking your own. You can see the cogs turning in his head, formulating some way to diffuse this situation before it really begins, but now that the gates are opened, it’s too late for you to hold anything back.

“Why not? Cause it’s the truth?” You cut him off, freshly manicured nails digging into your palms in an attempt to keep your tone even. “Let me tell you what’s not fair — You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be gone, do you?”

You’re met with a mutual silence, which confirms just how equally unaware you both are.

“Exactly.” At this point, your nerves are getting the best of you. Whether you lay all of your feelings out to him tonight or not, a sickening thought will remain — Peter is going to leave, and there’s a chance he won’t come back. So you persist, your hues boring into his own with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit in our bed and wonder if you’re gonna be in it the next morning. You don’t know how terrifying it is to watch the news and pray to god that you’re not a part of it. You’re never going to be in my shoes when it comes to all of this, and I pray to god that you never have to be because I never want you to feel this way. That’s what’s not fair.” You wish your voice hadn’t grown weaker with each blow, you wish you could utter your last few thoughts with an unwavering certainty, but you know you can’t — not when a sob threatens to bubble up from the back of your throat. “That you can just decide to swing across the globe and put your life in danger while I sit at home and worry about you, and the worst part is that it only makes me love you more.”

“Y/N, do you think this is easy for me?” he’s never raised his voice at you, especially not like this, but it looks like tonight is a series of firsts for the both of you. “I haven’t been on a mission with the Avengers since high school, since —” Since Mr.Stark died. You know.

It’s not like he didn’t try to say it, he did, but the name just felt so foreign on his tongue. After years of inactivity, the threat of unearthing all those memories, all those bright eyed, bushy tailed endeavors, was almost as bad as remembering that he was gone — or even worse, not remembering them at all. But where could he retreat to now? He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the thought of losing Mr.Stark, or the thought of losing you. His thoughts are raw and earnest as he tries to placate the latter. “I don’t want to leave you. It terrifies me to think of all the things that could happen to you while I’m gone —”

“Obviously it doesn’t scare you enough, because you’re still going!” You punch the last two words, as if you’re suddenly trying to talk to him from across the street.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N! I don’t-”

Your argument skids to a screeching halt, rivaling the groan of the metal door that guards your apartment complex, and with it appears Ms.Nunez — the single mother that lives a floor below you, whose ability to juggle her graveyard shifts at the hospital with her two rambunctious toddlers is almost as impeccable as her timing.

She appears to be in a rush as she skirts past you, but not enough to stop her from sending Peter an all too knowing look — one that screams “what did you do to that poor girl?”, with only the view of your red, puffy eyes and guarded stance to back up her assumption.

And with an opportunity so golden laying at your feet, who are you to ignore it? You catch the door before it hits the frame and slip into the yellowed entryway, barreling up the stairwell before he can question her weighted stare. You leave Peter no choice but to slip past Ms.Nunez in your pursuit, without so much as a goodbye, but a few choice words still sit on the back of his tongue, waiting to be swallowed.

Normally, the five stories of stairs leaves you winded by the third, but you chalk your superhuman stamina up to adrenaline. Luckily for you, you’re able to reach the last flight of stairs as Peter climbs up the first. Unluckily for you, you seem to forget that your boyfriend actually does have superhuman stamina, and you swear to fucking god that he’s flying up the stairwell by the time you shut the door behind you.

The door slams twice more after that, one loud bang to signal Peter’s entrance and one to punctuate it. His voice pierces through the apartment, firm and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over, Y/N.”

He has no idea where you’ve run off to, ruling out the kitchen once he drapes his jacket over the center island. All he can hear is your voice, muffled behind one of the walls, calling out to him with little emotion to spare. “Oh, yes it is. I’m over it. It’s over.”

“Well, that’s mature.” He mutters under his breath, not expecting you to hear him, let alone respond.

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” You chuckle dryly, ”‘Cause your judgment of maturity is oh so rational and not at all fucking batshit.” And he thought he had enhanced hearing.

“You know what? You’re right.” He scoffs, letting the slam of the bathroom door punctuate his final words. “I’m over this, too.”

🕷 🕷 🕷

“Y/N?” Peter calls out, but to no avail. It’s on nights like these where he wishes you weren’t fighting, knowing fully well that you would command him to the bed with a downward pointing finger and the best glare you could muster. You’ve always loved the way his hair curled into soft, chestnut waves, so you didn’t mind weaving through his damp tresses before he went to sleep. You would make up some excuse about how the process helped give his curls definition, and he would always end up way too tired and relaxed to call you out on it.

You’re nowhere to be found, though. Your comforter is still as haphazard as it was this morning, and the kitchen is void of your late night snack ravaging. The only sign of your presence is found in the open window next to you bed, and way the curtains float against the evening breeze, leaving him to ponder your whereabouts at a breakneck speed.

A million visions of paranoia screen through his mind all at once, but he’s quick to dismiss them, oddly familiar with the prospect of losing someone, and all the fretting that comes with it.

And you know better than to wander the streets of the city so late at night — but with all of the venom being spewed throughout the apartment, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if you needed a small reprieve. Even for just a quick trip to the corner market. He’s well aware of the eagle eye you sport in the moonlit streets, as well as the switchblade that sits in the side pocket of your bag, but he knows better than anyone that you have to expect the unexpected in these streets.

He pulls out his phone, ready to shoot you a quick text when the bars of the fire escape let out a metallic groan. Despite your apartment’s... adequate amenities, you’d never had a problem with the fire escape. The finicky oven? Maybe, but never the fire escape.

Even without his spidey senses tingling, he has no choice but to poke his head through the window pane, and to his surprise, he ends up killing two birds with one stone.

“I didn’t know you were out here.” Peter balances on the window sill, crouching in a near feline stance as he surveys your position — bundled between the metal grates of the fire escape and your downy comforter. Your lips are parted in a tiny “o”, eyelids blanketing your hues, and with the street lights flickering to life across the seam of thirty-eighth avenue, you’re nothing short of angelic — features now outlined in a seraphic, dewy haze.

If he wasn’t feeling guilty beforehand, the sight before him guarantees he is now.

“Yeah, that was kind of the point.” you murmur. You don’t bother to open your eyes, not even when the iron beams start to squeak under Peter’s weight. “Can I help you with something? I’m pretty sure this thing has a weight limit, and this is a weighted blanket.”

You’re met with silence, and you hate to admit it, but you’d take his silent presence over your self-induced isolation any day. Despite the fact that you only moved in together four months prior, your body has grown accustomed to his presence, subconsciously weaving it into your daily routine. There were nights when you would splay out like a starfish in your childhood bedroom, waiting restlessly for the gentle wrap of his knuckles at the window pane, and that same restlessness bleeds into nights in your shared apartment, which then bleeds into now. Sure, you can trick your body into sleeping, but rest seems to be boroughs and islands away when Peter’s not there to wish you a good night.

A terse silence settles between the two of you, and you blink up at Peter, expecting him to break it since you surely wouldn’t.

“Why here?” Peter exceeds your expectations with his query. His gaze is fixed on Manhattan’s skyline — even from the tippy top of the complex, he can still make out the jagged glittering, crust of the city’s bustling core — and it’s then he finds the answer to his very own question.

“I used to sneak onto the fire escape at my parents place, too.” you reminisce, the corners of your lips curling into a bittersweet grin. “The apartment walls were thin, and whenever they would fight, or talk shit about something I did that day, I would just sit on the fire escape until I fell asleep.”

“How?” He breaks yet another lengthy pause, and you fight the urge to chuckle at his candor, settling with a lazy grin. “I mean, no offense, but Astoria isn’t exactly a library.”

“Yeah, but inside, I knew exactly what they were saying, how they were feeling — it was all in the air. At least out here everything just… blends together. It’s kind of peaceful in a way.”

Your voice is so timid and gentle as you recall your childhood, reflecting on moments that seem lifetimes away despite the handful of years in between. Peter’s gaze is transfixed on your profile, skating down the slope of your nose and skirting the curves of your lips until he realizes just how small you are. He tends to hold you on a pedestal, a habit he’s retained since the very beginning of your relationship, so sometimes it still baffles him to know that you can be anything but perfect — that you too can be human, and make human mistakes.

“How come I’ve never seen you out here before?” He feels like a little kid, question after question slipping past his lips before he even has the chance to filter them.

“‘Cause I haven’t had a reason to hide since I moved in with you.”

And just when he thought he couldn’t feel even guiltier, he’s soon overflowing with it. It kills him to know that you felt the need to escape, and you’ll never admit it after tonight, but he was the one who pushed you toward it.

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out, not expecting you to say —

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “I’m just so used to my Peter. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m sharing him with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Hey, hey — look at me.” His thumb traces the spot right under your eye, using his pinky to nudge the curve of your jaw upward, toward his gaze — heavy and drenched in a type of resoluteness that leaves your mouth bone dry. “It may not always seem like it, but trust me when I tell you that you’re always going to be my top priority.”

“Peter, you’re being dramatic.” You sigh, finding it hard to believe that your life could take any precedence over the safety of mankind itself.

“No, I’m being honest.” His voice, his gaze, they leave no room for protest. You feel a little awkward being the center of their attention, and so it’s a relief when they shift to the city’s skyline once more. “Look over there, you know what that is?”

“Central Park?”

“Mhm, good girl.” Crimson blooms across the valley of your cheeks at his choice of nickname, no matter how innocently he uttered it, but your attention still remains undivided. “I figured out that I can get home quicker if I cut through it.”

You quirk a brow, and he doesn’t need to ask to know exactly what you’re thinking — So what if he hasn’t figured out which trains he needs to board in order to make a dent in his homebound commute? It’s the thought that counts.

“Sometimes like to just stop for a second and watch some of the people in the park, but not in, like, a creepy way? You know what I mean?” A subtle hint of embarrassment tinges his features, but dissolves once he notices your understanding nod. “Is there a word for that?”

“Yeah, it’s called people watching.” You snickered, trying to imagine your boyfriend and his attempts at roasting the New York natives. “MJ and I do it all the time.”

“No, but with less… shit talking.” He counters.

Ouch.

“Oh…” You’re stumped, unsure of where he’s heading and, quite frankly, a little humbled by his read. “Hmm… Carry on?”

“Well,” Peter lets his hand rest palm forward on his knee, fingers gently curled, and you’re well acquainted with the gesture. Almost instinctively, you hover your hand above his own, digits clumsily dancing with one another as he speaks, and for a fleeting second, everything is back to normal. “It’s just… mind-blowing sometimes. There’s so much life there, all at once. All of these people are just living their lives, making their way home, falling in love, falling out of love, buying overpriced hotdogs from the street vendors — The other day I saw this mom fishing her two toddlers out of that fountain on Terrace road and honestly, if they don’t end up with superpowers, I’ll be shocked.” He can tell he’s drifted wildly off track by the way you nod, slowly and unsure, as to not offend him and his train of thought. “The point is… I used to protect all of that, and it used to make me so happy.”

“You still do,” You murmur, not one to discredit the risks he does take in the name of New York. Just because his enemies aren’t held to the same caliber as, say, Thanos, doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. “All that matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

You hesitantly intertwine your fingers with his, in just a delicate enough hold to let him reject it if he so chooses. Your lips softly quirk upward when he only tightens the grip.

“Thank you.” He offers a comforting smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and you can tell that he has more to say. So, you squeeze his hand, silently urging him to continue. “Well, I just- after Mr.Stark… passed away… it was really hard to remember why I started doing all of it in the first place. Like- I hate saying this, but why do we keep protecting all of these strangers when all the people we do know just keep getting hurt?” He winces at his own words, so far removed from such bitterness that he can barely believe he once thought such selfish things. “But then- then I get to see all of the people that I’ve been protecting, and suddenly it all makes sense again. All I want to do is make sure people are safe, and happy, and hopefully… Hopefully, when we’re older, and we have kids that jump in the fountains at Central Park, someone like me will be watching… and they’ll feel the exact same way.”

When we’re older, When we have kids... Those promises of marriage, of a loving family, of a future — they bounce off your eardrums like a mantra. Soon, you can’t even imagine thinking about anything but Peter’s words, and how much you love him right now, and how you’ll love him until your heart can’t possibly take it anymore. You can read what he’s trying to portray loud and clear — He loves you, he can see a future with you, and if there’s ever a doubt in your mind that his feelings may have changed, you can look out into the world and find pieces of his heart in every passing face.

“I haven’t been doing everything I can to make sure that’s possible, though.” He breaches your lovesick trance, reminding you that there’s still a thread of discord dangling between you. One that you can see rapidly disappearing with each passing second. “I have to go on this mission, Y/N. I wanna start helping people again. I wanna do right by him.”

“I know.” You whisper, conceding to the fact that you will always want what’s best for him, even if you aren’t a fan of the circumstances. “It doesn’t make it any less sucky.”

“C’mere.” He can barely pat his thighs before you’re crawling toward him. He passes a warm hand under your thigh once you straddle his waist, scooping you further into his lap, and uses his free hand to encompass the nape of your neck. You feel like you could melt, being cradled between his strong, toned arms, and the feeling only intensifies when his lips seek out yours. His lips are soft, and warm, and taste like listerine, and you couldn’t ask for anything more perfectly suited for you.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, without a trace of uncertainty. His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and he continues to plant a series of sweet, soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin he can get his lips on — your cheeks, your nose, your temple.

He’s so wrapped up in his gentle ministrations that he barely hears you return the sentiment, eyes fluttering to a close as you breathe out, “I love you.”

“Please come inside,'' he whispers against your forehead, punctuating his plea with a chaste kiss.

You pretend to entertain the thought, tapping your index finger against your chin, before shaking your head with a waggish simper. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t take long for him to take the bait, and he disappears through the window. You can just barely make out the harmony of wild rustling and hushed obscenities coming from your room before Peter is returning to your makeshift bed, clad in the cheesy “The Floor is Lava!” hoodie you snagged from a street vendor during your trip to Pompeii the summer beforehand.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N,” Peter’s voice is tight, shuffling his knees across the fretted ground as he crawls into your lap. It takes him all of three seconds to make himself comfortable, collapsing between your thighs, and you seize the opportunity to weave your fingers through his soft, chestnut locks. “I don’t think I can make this a recurring thing. I can already feel the scoliosis forming.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you scoff, only to be met with a scandalized set of caramel hues. “I think you can make it through the night without any permanent damage to your spine.” With droopy eyes, your body starts to hum with the tell-tale signs of sleep, and your voice drips with drowsiness as you murmur, “And I wanna savor as many nights with you as I can.”

“I know,” he whispers back, the aftertaste of guilt intermingling with the abashment that follows your sleepy confession. ”I know. I’m right here, babe.”

And he swore, in that very moment, that nothing would change that.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader #this plot is not the same plot i started with #[tiktok vc] what happened to the original plot of the movie?#but i hope that everyone enjoys? im a little nervous since it's my first one but #please be gentle and most importantly ENJOY #dear god i hope this shows up in the tags #mine

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darkfearsandkittyears · 3 years

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Y'all, it's Whumptober! I'm super excited!

Okay, uh...funny story [and super embarrassing for me] I am a highly unorganized person, I have a calendar in my room, but it's so much easier to check the date on the huge calendar in the kitchen! So, I calculated the days till October in August, and promptly forgot to write prompts and outlines, [even though I pants most of my works].

Fast forward to today, when I see my mom writing down the October events. I was like, oh, she's just reminding herself for next month.

Then I realized.

I literally forgot that September comes right before October.

I literally thought that I had another month to plan ideas.

One of you come whack me on the head, I really need it.

Anywho, let's get on with the show!!

"Come on, Damian! Reach for it." Jason dangled Damian's bottle, inches from the baby's hands. Damian whined and stretched his arms out as far as they would go, attempting to snatch his bottle. Jason smiled at the child. "Scoot forward. Like this." He demonstrated, pulling his body along with his arms. Damian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then cooed a little. "Yeah, it looks whack. But come on." Jason shrugged and put the bottle down, wagging Damian's little toy dog instead. On what planet did this qualify as a dog? It looked more like a deformed elephant. The woman at the store had insisted it was a dog….he had to get Damian some more toys. All the parenting books said that babies needed good toys for development. "Come on buddy, get your..animal." Jason called. Damian laid his head on the quilt and sucked his thumb. Jason snapped a quick picture as the little boy nodded off, tuckered out by 'tummy time'. "Come on Dames, don't fall asleep just yet." Jason said, grunting as he got to his feet. The wound he'd sustained wasn't helping any, and the painkillers weren't working right, thanks to the pit. Oh well. "Come on kid, you can't fall asleep on your stomach." Jason rolled the sleepy baby over on his back. Big blue eyes batted up at him, laced with sleep. Looked like Bruce, a little. House of Wayne. Once upon a time, Jason had wanted to use the kid as leverage...but this was a baby, and his brother. He'd realized that, but realized it a little late. Damian deserved to grow up, shielded from batdad's nonsense and in a world without Joker. Godamn it, Talia was right. Having a 'family' around him had cleared his head. And screwed up his plans. Majorly. But he wouldn't trade it for anything. Besides, he'd nearly had Joker's brains splattered against the wall yesterday, right in front of Bruce's face. He'd make them watch, make them all watch when he pulled the trigger on Joker. For himself. For Barbara. For Damian. Maybe then, when Joker was dead, he'd present Damian to Bruce. Let Bruce wage war against the House of al Ghul while he and Damian ran for the hills. Then they'd double back and destroy both families. He couldn't kill Bruce, not until Damian was older. Jason was no Willis Todd, he was far from willing to force his brother into a life with no father. Picking sides would be Damian's choice, when he got older. But for now, it was Damian, Jason and Talia against the Joker and Batdad. Not a hard fight. Especially when Jason had the upper hand. "We're gonna be just fine." Jason smiled down at the sleeping baby. "We're already winning." Damian's eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a tiny snore. Jason picked him up and transferred him to his playpen, then wandered out of the living room and into the bedroom that he'd converted into a gym. A rumble of thunder burst through the room, and Jason paused, hoping it wouldn't wake Damian up. That was pretty loud, for thunder. The ground seemed to shake with the sound. The pull up bar he'd installed yesterday clattered to the ground, and he flinched lightly as an image of a crowbar flashed before his eyes. It felt as if something had hit him in the back, but he chalked it up to imagination. He was probably imagining the fog around him too. Some things Joker gave him, he could never get rid of. But Damian began to cry, loud, hysterical wails that sent fear up Jason's spine. Another rumble broke through the air as Jason sprinted out of the room. A sickening crack ricocheted through the house, and Jason unwillingly moved to the left as something brushed his right shoulder. A support beam. "Damian!" Jason had never moved so fast, weaving past and through the falling drywall and wood. He was only feet away from the playpen when Damian's wails choked to a stop, as if someone had turned them off. Through the fog and falling objects, he reached into the playpen and curled around the child, shielding him with his body as he tried to find an exit. Damian's body was limp in Jason's arms, not a cry or a coo. Jason risked a

glance at the child's closed eyes and pale, dust covered face. He shoved the blanket up to cover Damian's nose and rushed blindly into the direction of the doors. Behind him, a beam fell and what was left of the house shuddered. An eerie feeling washed over Jason, settling right in the pit of his stomach. Everything went quiet, but Jason tensed, alert. A hot burst of air slammed into his back, and he knew he'd been right to keep alert. Jason grunted as he was thrown into what was left of a wall, which crumbled, pinning his legs down. His mind fogged like a static TV, and he could feel warm air. Fire. Then realization hit. Damian was no longer in his arms. "Damian. Damian!" His throat was raw, coated in drywall dust and dirt. But he yelled on, hoping, needing to hear anything from the rubble. But there wasn't a sound. Jason pulled his leg from under the rubble and plowed through it to the best of his abilities, climbing over and under and around piles of garbage that had once been a house. There was an odd feeling in his leg, the only other thought that wasn't an urgent repeat of, "Find Damian!". But he quickly suppressed the feeling, because through the fog and dust and smoke, a tiny hand protruded from under a beam. Jason attempted to lift it, but couldn't. Damian was trapped under an air pocket, but any wrong movement would send it all crashing atop him. A lever. Jason searched desperately for a board or pole to use as a lever, but saw nothing. But then his eyes scanned over his own leg, and he had to look back at it. His foot was quite literally facing the wrong way. The odd feeling vanished and became a sharp pain that nearly took his breath away. Focus, Jason. The League had trained him as a sniper, and he was good at it. He excelled, even. But all snipers knew how to do one thing. Hyperfixate. And that skill, with the help of adrenaline, might just save both his and Damian's lives. Jason looked around the room once again, eyeing the position of the beam that Damian was under. If he could manage to get across the rubble, he could crawl into the air pocket and rescue Damian. Jason pulled his body up and over rubble, ignoring the extreme pain that was now burning through his body. At some point, that white agony would get the best of him, but for now, adrenaline was masking most of it. "Damian!" Jason called again, nearly falling over a piece of wall. His broken leg slammed into a sheet of metal, which dislodged. The beam began sliding, and Jason screamed, unwillingly. He felt his legs propelling him towards where his brother lay, and he pulled Damian into his arms and cringed as the beam fell down around them. "Damian...Dames." Jason panted as the dust settled, smoothing the dirt off his brother's pale face. The baby was too pale. He had to get him out of here. The falling rubble was controlling the fire, but smoke inhalation would kill them. And Damian had been unconscious for far too long, but there wasn't a single scratch on the child to evidence any injuries. Jason growled in frustration. "Damn it!" His entire body hurt, his leg most of all. Adrenaline was wearing off...the pain was mixing with the green light of the pit, and together they nearly blinded him. Rage, and pain. Great combination. He looked around for a way out. It was like a grave. Tight, and hard to breathe. No Jason. No. His breath caught, and he knew he'd just screwed up. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, and he could breathe it in quickly enough. He clutched Damian to his chest and tried to get in a breath, to no avail. Whimpers punctuated his breath, and the rational part of him could have laughed at himself. But he couldn't. Whimpers turned to screams, and nothing made sense anymore. He screamed the only name he knew would come for him. "Bruce! Bruce, please!" He could hear his own screams dying out, feel himself losing a grip on consciousness. "Dad! Dad...Bruce…" His voice rasped into a whisper, and he gritted his teeth. "Batman! Dad! I need you! Please...please dad!" Not a soul

stirred. "That's right. He's not coming for you." Joker whispered sadistically. Jason shook his head desperately, tears mixed with blood running down his face. "Shut up, you stupid clown! Please! Bruce. Bruce! Please!" Like a miracle on Christmas eve, a ray of light shone into their prison, and a familiar shadow fell across Jason, along with another pound of dust. Damian wailed, and Jason shielded himself and the child against the dust, then spiraled into an exhausted darkness. Four hours later, he pulled himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. "Dami?" Jason slurred, exhausted. "He's fine, Jay. With Alfred." That voice. Jason made an attempt to bolt upright, only to find that he was secured to the bed. "You have two broken legs, five ribs, son." Bruce muttered, undoing the restraints. They must have given him some hefty painkillers, since he could feel nothing. "Call me son again-" Jason snarled, his voice cracked and dry. "How am I your son, if you had the nerve to let him live?! I gave you the choice last night, Bruce. Save me, or save him. You threw a batarang at my throat instead." "Jason-" Bruce looked wounded, his jaw working with words he didn't know how to say. "No! You don't get to "Jason" me. Not after what you did. You don't deserve to have your son." "Jason." Jason looked up at Bruce. "What?" "I put a batarang in your throat?" Disbelief surged through Jason. "You didn't know? All those years of aiming those damn things, and you didn't know?" Bruce's face was as stone cold as ever. "No." Jason had probably imagined the look of sorrow on his father's face. It wasn't like Jason meant anything to him anymore. "It only nicked me, lucky for you. Doesn't even matter, I'm alive. Surprising, isn't it? You wanted me dead and him alive. What, you got a crush on him?" He looked away, unwilling to meet Bruce's eyes. "I hate him, Jason. I just can't kill him." "You screwed me over Bruce. All this," Jason gestured to himself, "Is your fault." "You have a son, Jason." Bruce said softly. "He's not my son. He's my brother." Jason replied, tone dark. "He's your son." There was a dead silence that almost resonated. Jason chanced a look at Bruce. For once in his life, the man looked truly stunned. Did he break him? "Bruce…?" "Talia's child?" Bruce whispered. "Yes." A sudden whim forced him to add, "And you can't have him. You're not going to get him killed too." "I wasn't going to make him a Robin." "Cut the bullcrap, Bruce!" Jason screamed, startling both himself and Bruce. "Yeah, maybe I almost got us both killed, but I've never put a gun or a batarang in his hand and told him to throw it!" Bruce hesitated before speaking. "It wasn't your fault. The city was destroying a building, and the explosion shook the foundation of other buildings. I couldn't get to you two as quickly as I should have. I'm sorry, Jaybird." Bruce sighed. Sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it, Bruce, Jason wanted to say. "Whatever, Bruce.", was all that came from his throat. "Not the first time you've forgotten me, anyways." "If I had known-" Rage surged through Jason. "Save it! Why the hell is he still alive? That's my only question. Why. Isn't. He. Dead? Don't kill him. Fine. But let me kill him. Look at Barbara! Isn't what he did to me enough?! When will it be enough, Bruce? When he murders Damian?" Hands gripped Jason's shoulders, and he stopped his tirade. "Son…" Bruce began, then stopped. Jason could feel his face crumple, not a word slipping past his dry lips. "I can't kill him, Jason. I can't let myself go off that edge. "You failed me, Bruce. When will it be enough?" Bruce didn't answer. Jason swallowed against the knot in his throat and spoke roughly. "I just want him dead. All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. That, the abandonment, it doesn't even hurt anymore, but I wanted you to kill him. For me." Jason's face twisted into a scowl that thankfully repressed the tears. "Make him die." He spat. "I can't, Jason. I'm sorry Jason. It's meaningless, but I'm

so sorry." Bruce looked physically pained. He's acting, Jason told himself. "If you're sorry, don't let him hurt anyone else." "I can't promise that." "I know you can't. But I can!" Jason yelled, finally. But instead of his rage getting the best of him, it all just evaporated. He felt nauseated, as if someone had punched him in the gut. But all he vomited up were words, words that he shouldn't say. "All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. I don't care about that...but didn't you care about me?" Bruce's expression darkened to something that Jason had never seen before. "I put the Joker in a body cast for a year. That permanent limp he has is evidence of it. I couldn't bring myself to murder him, because in his dead eyes, all I saw was myself in him. And it was all too peaceful. He tortured you for months. I'll torture him for the rest of his life." Bruce said the words like a vow, determination lacing his tone. Jason stared straight ahead in shock. Silence settled over the room. "You-when was Joker dead?" Jason finally asked, almost dreading the answer. "Dick killed him when he found out what happened. I couldn't let him live with the remorse, so I revived him." "Dick….killed him." Jason repeatedly slowly, almost dumbly. He wanted to feel anger that Bruce had brought the damn clown to life, but he couldn't. "He always had a temper." Bruce said lamely. Oh great, both of them were shutting down their emotions and verbalization. "Didn't think he'd go that far." "I did. He loves you, Jason." "Don't talk to me about Grayson. He managed to do what I've been trying to do." Jason managed a rough laugh. "Isn't it funny, Bruce?" Bruce only stared at him, a near pitiful expression on his face. It wasn't until Bruce hugged him that Jason realized that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Slowly, Jason hugged back, blinking back the stinging wetness of his eyes. This, all this 'emotional seminar with the Batman' was a total mistake. So Jason let go of Bruce and pushed him a little to regain personal space. Bruce unsurprisingly was fine with taking back his boundaries. "You're doing alright, Jaylad. You took in a son that wasn't yours and you're raising him." "I took him in for all the wrong reasons." Jason bit his tongue. "And what are your reasons now?" "Touchè." Parents...and adoptive older brothers make mistakes with kids. They fail them and screw them up. But Jason's mistakes with Damian could be fixed. Jason couldn't. Not until the clown died. "You can always make the present better than the future." Bruce said. Dammit, old man. "Whatever." Valid points. Very valid points. "Who else trained you in manipulation?" Bruce just looked confused. Either this was more manipulation, or Bruce being bipolar by the days. Whichever one, Jason would try his luck. It was a mistake, destined for disaster. But he just couldn't help himself.

#jason todd angst #jason todd #batfam #batdad #baby damian #whumptober 2021 #writers on tumblr #Wrote it in school #Okay Batdad #Batman #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dcu #detective comics #dc comics #batman fandom #red hood angst

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imomomi · 4 years

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A/N: This is part of a BTS x Haikyuu collab, the masterlist can be found here and inspired by the song Serendipity.

Summary: Kuroo’s life was meant to be simple. Go to Nationals, try to win, and get into a good college. But, it all goes haywire when Kenma brings a cat to practice. Now, Kuroo must rethink everything he knew about life and himself.

Rain pattered on the windows of Gym B as the team stretched. Kuroo looked around the gym wondering what was holding Kenma up. It was unusual for him to be late or skip practice, but the rain might have contributed to the slight cold he’d been developing over the last week. Kuroo wondered if it was better to cancel their Friday practice and give everyone the chance to get home before the storm got any worse. Coach Nekomata would most likely agree.

The gym doors open with a bang and a roll of thunder echoing from outside. The noise and flash of lightening that followed sent his heart into his mouth. Kenma entered, not a drop of water on him despite the heavy rain. Nestled in his arms rested a sleeping cat. Its gray fur gleamed unnaturally beneath the gym lights.

The sight of their setter cooing softly to the cat sent a whirl of enthusiasm through the team, especially Lev who jumped towards Kenma long limbs shaking with excitement.

“Let me see,” he demanded, attempting to snatch the cat out of Kenma’s hands. Kenma dodged him easily, but the cat startled and lept out of his hands. It strode slowly across the gym floor, coming to a stop between Yaku and Kuroo.

“Leave her alone, Lev,” said Kenma. A sharp slap filled the air and Lev hissed, rubbing at his stinging hand. “She was lost, I couldn’t just leave her.”

Kuroo knelt and held a hand towards the cat to coax her forward. She stared at the limb curiously and then sat on her back legs, holding her own paw up. He was shocked with the paw tapped against his palm as if high fiving him.

“She did that to me too,” said Kenma softly. The cat jumped at the sound of his voice, jumping over Kuroo’s outstretched towards Kenma. She settled at his feet, tail wrapping around his ankle.

“She’s smart,” said Kuroo. Kenma hummed, nodding in agreement.

“You need to take Fuku home,” said Kenma. Lucky. There was something cute about Kenma naming a cat that.

“What? Why?”

“My mom won’t let her stay. And…I found her curled up in your jacket.”

“I can’t take her home! Where is she going to stay?”

“It’s just for a couple of days, until we find a new home for her.”

Kuroo looked down at the cat. Bright gold eyes met his. He knew whatever fight he would put up, Kenma had an answer for. Outside the storm raged on. The smell of rain wafted into the gym. The rumble of lightening sounded like the purr of a cat.

“You’ll behave, won’t you?” He rubbed the spot between Fuku’s ears. The cat didn’t respond, but her nose twitched and filled Kuroo with an uneasy sense of foreboding.

A couple of days turned into weeks. Kuroo kept the act up and asked Kenma day after day if he had found a new owner. But, part of him was growing used to having Fuku there. Each day, she would wake before him, padding quietly across his room to burrow in his sock drawer. Sometimes he let her out when he went on a run. When he came back, she’d sit on their roof snacking on fish or dried squid. Other days, Fuku would follow him and Kenma to school. Though she never rode the train with them, he would find her wandering the grounds during lunch.

Kuroo wondered if Kenma had done it on purpose. At home, Kuroo was often alone. His grandparents would take day trips to visit their various friends and his father worked late. Talking to a cat was a step closer to insanity, but it was nice having someone to vent too, even if she couldn’t quiet respond.

He liked it most when Fuku would curl next to him on the bed, her gaze focused on his books as if she understood the words printed on the page. Sometimes he would read aloud to break the silence. It was a calm and quiet peace that he hadn’t known he was lacking.

Today, Fuku rested on his bed, curled around one of his old sweatshirts. She pawed at the logo curiously.

“Nekoma. Like you, neko-chan. I’m the captain of the volleyball team.”

A head tilt.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t seem like the type to be responsible and all that, but you’d be surprised.”

She lept from the bed, skidding across his desk. The poster he had been working on—why didn’t they have a manager?!—crumbled under her paws.

“Shit,” he cursed. Annoyance flared. Sometimes Fuku did things like this; whatever luck her name brought must have been buried deep. “I need that for fundraising.”

The cat blinked and stretched, crunching the poster even more. He had the weird feeling that, she had done it deliberately to annoy him with an apathetic air of calm.

He needed new friends…and a new cat.

Wind blew into the empty classroom as Kuroo unlocked the latch on the windows. He’d offered to clean, only to avoid being too early to practice. Last time, he’d shown up on time, Yaku had spent a half hour mocking him for being more of an old man than Coach Nekomata. Chalk dug into his cuticles. A healthy layer of dust stuck to the front of his sweater. The classroom had last been cleaned by Tsubaki Ayumi, a girl who did her homework seconds before their sensei walked in. She cleaned in the same fashion, pushing crumbs beneath desks and under the bookshelf. Kuroo found his annoyance growing.

The trees rustled. A fresh flutter of petals fell onto the window ledge from the blossoming trees outside. But, something else stuck between the trees. Kuroo narrowed his eyes. Was that someone’s jumper?

“Hello,” a voice called. Kuroo looked up and jumped back. A girl was hanging from the ledge of the window, smiling at him.

“Wh….what? Who are you?”

“That’s not very nice.” she said. One of her hands left the ledge to pull her hair away from her face and his heart lurched out of his chest.

“Are you insane? You’ll fall!” he shouted, jumping to grab her wrist and pull her into the classroom. She was wearing their school uniform, and Kuroo vaguely knew he had seen her at Nekoma before. She fell into the classroom face front and hissed.

A poster was thrust into his hands. “Have you seen this cat?”

“Who are you? How did you climb that high?”

“I didn’t climb up. I climbed down from the roof.”

“What year are you in? Which homeroom? You can’t just do that!”

Her head tilted, “We’re in the same class.”

His hands twisted in his hair. Tie loosened; blazer tossed over the back of his chair. Her knees were scrapped, stockings bloodied. On his seventh birthday, he had climbed the tallest tree in his backyard and had gotten stuck for an hour. His father had come home to find him crying on the back porch cut up from sliding down the trunk of the tree. He peered at the girl’s face, the little cuts on her cheeks and looked at the tree outside their classroom. Had she really climbed down from the roof?

“I’ll take you to the nurse. Come on,” he said. She jumped as he moved, almost frightened by his tallness. But she followed. Her nose stuck high in the air and her steps were light and airy.

“Kuroo-san, my cat?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name?” she murmured. Her fingers traced a pattern on her temple. “We’ve been in the same class for three years. Four, if you count Junior High.”

He looked at her for a long while. Kuroo wasn’t the type to forget people and someone like her didn’t seem like the type to be easily overlooked. Guilt swirled and he tried his hardest to think of her name. He usually avoided the girls in class. Not that there was something wrong with them, they just had a vision of him in their heads that was often outlandish compared to his actual personality.

“It’s alright, Kuroo-san.”

“Kuroo? Y/N?” Kai entered the classroom, looking surprised to find the two of them together. Y/N jerked back. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt as if it will somehow hide her scrapped knees.

“Y/N? Oh, you’re the one…” he trailed off. The one whose mother had died. His unspoken words shook in the air. A pure longing to flee the room filled him. Kai spared him a pitying glance and guided Y/N out of the room.

Their teacher warned them not to bring it up to Y/N who returned from a week’s absence looking pale and withdrawn. Kuroo had never really noticed her. Silent was a word he rarely associated with people, but Y/N had always been like that. His memories of her were sparse at best. But once in their second year, she had freaked out when one of the other boys stole her confession letter and read it aloud. No one really remembered who she was trying to confess too, but everyone remembered the bruise on that had bloomed on Takashi’s face after she punched him.

Now, everyone remembered her because of her dead mother.

He looked down at the poster and let out a loud groan. Only he had this type of luck. The cat staring up at him was Fuku.

Kenma disappeared behind the door, shutting it softly behind him. Y/N and Kuroo stood silently beside one another, looking at the door for a moment. Y/N swallowed, turning away and starting to walk forward. Kuroo walked beside her, bag swinging from his arm with a casual grace. Alone and far from her earlier mania, Y/N was increasingly shy. She seemed almost embarrassed by her actions.

“Come on,” said Kuroo.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head sharply, hands tightening into fists at her side, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just worried about Fuku.”

Y/N glanced down at her wrist, which was slightly swollen and a raw red that would surely give way to a bruise come morning. Kuroo was quiet; so was Y/N. Both trapped within their own minds, riding spiraling thoughts.

“Can I ask—” Y/N lifted her gaze and met his. He hesitated and then rambled forth, “—what’s so special about the cat?”

“Of course, you can.” Silence. He stared at her. She stared back. “Oh, that was you asking.”

“Yeah.” A smile tugged at his lips.

“Fuku is lucky.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I hardly know you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hmm.”

“So, Kai and you seem to get along. Have you been friends long?”

“Since first year.”

“That’s nice. Bet he asked you to come to a ton of volleyball games.”

“Uhh, no, not really.”

This was awkward. Too awkward. What did he say? Volleyball was his usual go-to topic, but she seemed uninterested. The sky above them was overcast and gray, dark clouds edging over the horizon. His grandfather should be home. Maybe, they could offer Y/N a ride if it started raining, but he hoped that she would be gone before then.

“Kuroo, you’ve never had a girlfriend, have you?” she said. A stunned look came over his face as his mouth fell open slightly. Nonsensical words fell from his mouth as he attempted to stutter out an answer. Y/N scrunched her nose.

“What? Why are you asking that?”

“Hinako—she’s the class president—always says you’re ‘very mature’ when we’re in the locker room, but you’re kinda odd.”

Heat spread across his nose and cheeks. If the world worked the way he wanted it to, it would open up and swallow him at this moment. They stopped in front of a tall narrow house that hid a wide backyard. His grandmother was seated on the front stairs, tending to a pot of roses. She looked up as they approached. Her eyes flickered towards Y/N and back to him; a wide smile stretched across her face.

“Tetsu, did you bring a friend over?”

Y/N bowed low. “I’m L/N Y/N. Kuroo-san found my cat Fuku. I’m sorry if she caused you any trouble the last few weeks.”

“She’s been the sweetest cat,” she stood and stretched. “Come inside, have you eaten? I hope Tetsurou hasn’t been making any trouble for you.”

“Obaa-chan, she’s going to get Fuku and leaving,” Kuroo groaned. His grandmother paid no attention to his words. She dusted off her apron and ushered Y/N into the house. He followed behind slowly. His grandfather was seated on the floor, watching a game of football on the television. The sharp, crisp smell of lemon filled his nose. The floors are still slightly wet from when his grandmother had cleaned them.

“Oi, Tetsu, a girl?”

“No, Ojii-san. She’s here for Fuku.”

From the kitchen, he heard the crack of an egg and the sizzle of butter. Y/N would not leave without a full belly. Y/N was telling a shortened version of her story. He winced when Y/N mentioned having gone to Junior High with him. There would be no end to the questions later.

“A cat?”

“Her cat. Climbed a tree and everything looking for her. I almost had a heart attack when she came by our classroom window.”

His grandfather laughed: a laugh that immediately warmed the room.

“Fuku,” crooned Y/N. The cat hissed and crawled underneath his bed. Y/N followed. In his head, he ran over the last time he had cleaned his room. Hadn’t Kenma thrown his ramen cups down there at one point? Kuroo had the nasty habit of leaving his laundry everywhere. He prayed that all his underwear were in the hamper.

“Ahh, fuck. Ow…”

“You ok?”

She wiggled out from under the bed, a thin layer of dust covered her uniform and hair. Her cheeks puffed out and Y/N held her arm out to him, showing the red scratches that now covered her arm.

“Is she not your cat?”

“She is. It’s Fuku…she’s being difficult.”

He didn’t quiet understand. A cat was a cat, it exhibited certain animalistic behaviors, but it was still domesticated. Fuku never really scratched anything, just the occasional paper and bedsheet. Why would she attack Y/N? Ruby ran over the slightly swollen cuts. It was on her wrist too, the one she had hurt climbing the tree at school.

“Shit—sit by my desk. I’ll get you some band aids.”

“It’s alright. Fuku didn’t scratch that deep. I think she’s had a bit of trouble recognizing me after being gone for so long.” Her voice was brittle, caught with unshed tears. There was a story behind the cat that Y/N wasn’t ready to share that. Kuroo should be more curious, but he’s still reeling for the girl who emerged at dinner—funny and sharing stories with his grandfather that are equally rowdy as the best of his.

Fuku crawled out from under the bed, padding to his side. Her tail wrapped around his ankle. Kuroo bent and picked her up, holding her out to Y/N. Fuku struggled in his grip and escaped the moment his hands loosened.

Y/N’s face fell. Kuroo’s sure he wasn’t meant to catch the flash of genuine distress that crossed her face.

“I think it’s best she stays here for the night,” Y/N said. Her earlier merriment has all but faded. “Can I try again tomorrow?”

Kuroo doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

“Dad?” she called. No answer. The door was locked, his shoes gone.

Y/N had not seen her father for many days. Since her mother had died, he had become a ghost. Coming and going at odd hours. Choosing to sleep in his office rather than his bedroom. There are nights when she woke and found him pouring over old photo albums. She despised his silence and hated her own cowardness. She cannot put a name to the feeling that cropped up when her thoughts wondered to her mother. Her stomach pulled and tugged, and she felt ready to shout. Even school and her books were not enough to distract her.

What she really wanted was her mother back. Instead, she lived in a quiet state of discomfort, torn between aiding her grieving father and acknowledging that her mother was gone.

She ventured further into the house. Everything was a reminder of her mother. The wallpaper redone when they first learned of her illness. The couches belonged to her mother’s mother. The kitchen sat unused for many months. Y/N did not know how to cook and most of her afternoons were spent in the hospital by her mother’s side. It was unfair that she had to face the reminder every day while her father hid from it.

“Guess, it’s just me,” Y/N muttered. Fuku’s water bowl evaporated in the weeks she was gone. Y/N shuffled toward the kitchen and took a water pitcher to refill it. One day, she would come back. Y/N would pry her out of Kuroo’s hands if she had too.

Five years ago, her mother had arrived home, soaked and sniffling with a tiny kitten clutched between her hands. Y/N’s father, half exasperated, half charmed, scolded her as he helped her warm up. They seemed so content with one another and lost in a world only the two of them knew. When Y/N remembered her parents together, she remembered that day.

Maybe that was why she felt so desperate to get Fuku back. Fuku was just a cat, but she held a small piece of what Y/N had lost. Her life had become disjointed fragments that Y/N couldn’t reassemble.

Some days slid by in a haze: warm, cold, good, and bad. She felt as if she had lost something greater than just her mother. A piece of her had shriveled. She tossed her jacket on the couch. She climbed the stairs. She slept and woke again. The same endless cycle.

He missed the train that morning. Kenma was down with a slight fever and his stop at the convenience store to pick up medicine had set his schedule off. Now, trapped between a crowd of salarymen, Kuroo tried to inch forward. If he missed this train, he would miss morning practice entirely.

The hiss and rumble of a train engine was a sound that normally would put Kuroo to sleep. On long trips they took to training camps or practice matches, he looked forward to the naps he’d take on the train. Though it was rare that he could sleep for longer than an hour, given his team.

His eyes skim the platform, stopping on a familiar figure. So, Y/N took this train too. His father attempted to drive her home last night, but she insisted that she lived nearby and left in such a hurry that Kuroo got scolded for letting her go alone.

He thought that she looked lonely. Hadn’t he looked like that too once? Before he met Kenma, Kuroo was shy and nervous. Tokyo was huge, full of smoke and buildings taller than any Kuroo had ever seen. And, his mother was gone. It was years since he thought of his early grief over her death. His grandparents, father, and friends all helped ease the pain.

A train passed by; a gust of hot wind followed its trail. Kuroo inched forward. Y/N still hadn’t seen him. Her head was tucked down, nose buried in a thick book. What a nerd.

“L/N?” he called.

She didn’t react. The page flipped. Kuroo hovered near her awkwardly. She liked her cat, maybe that would get her talking. Or he could scare her. As he’s about to creep next to her, her gaze lifted and met his. Kuroo coughed and pressed his hands behind his back.

“You look like a con-man,” said Y/N.

Kuroo’s face twisted, “Ehh, I swear you’re out to get me or something.”

“No, I just pay attention. It’s not hard.” The book snapped closed. The corners of her eyes tightened. “How is Fuku?”

“Are you still mad she likes me more than you?”

Her lips pursed. “She does not!”

“I’m pretty sure she wanted to stay with me. Maybe you’re a dog person?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. Why are you taking this train? Where is Kozume-san?”

“Are you a stalker? Cause, I don’t have any kind of inheritance or anything. My death will be worth nothing.”

“No. I take the same train and you’re incredibly loud. Far too loud for the morning.”

“Late start?”

“I was up late.”

Their train pulled into the station. A swarm of people step on, all dressed in various suits and ties, heading deeper into the city where they’ll work until sunset. Kuroo pressed his hand against the door and let Y/N step in first. That was the day Kuroo and Y/N became friends. Kuroo never truly knew how much she needed someone those days.

Their friendship came like a crack in a dam, first a slow trickle of water than all at once. Kuroo was slightly stunned by how seamlessly Y/N fit into his life. There are times when he’s surprised by aspects of her personality. A ruthlessness came out during their economics classes and they’ve become known for their frequent debates during history. Y/N took her lunches with Kai or her other friends, but there are days when she joined him and Kenma, exchanging quick words over coding, game theory and design.

One Monday, he dropped a smoothie by her desk. He’d never seen her drink anything but her bottled green tea, but it felt like the right thing to do that morning.

“I’m not letting you copy my homework,” she said, dryly, “What’s in this?”

“Strawberry, apple, ginger and spinach.”

“Sounds disgusting healthy,” she said. Taking a sip, she made a face at the sharp aftertaste of ginger. “Do you actually need the homework?”

“This is a college prep class, we’re not all slackers,” he said. He knocked his knuckles on her desk, pulling a sheet of her math homework over and flapping it in the air. She grimaced, remembering the half an hour she spent trying to figure out why her answer to number seven was wrong.

“Just checking,” she answered, snatching the worn sheet back and tucking it into her folder.

“Wanna be our manager?” he asked. The words slipped out before he realized, but Kuroo didn’t regret asking.

“Really?”

He thought about it. “Yeah, it’d be nice to have someone help with all the planning.”

“But shouldn’t you ask your team first?”

“I’m the captain. Yaku and Kai already know you, Kenma too.”

Y/N didn’t look like she would say no. In fact, she seemed a bit pleased at being asked. Someone—Takashi no doubt—knocked his bag over as they made their way to their seat. He didn’t get an answer, but Kuroo formulated a plan to get her to do it. He had a feeling that Coach Nekomata would help her, the same way he had helped Kuroo—or maybe being around the team would take away some of the despair that crossed her face when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“I have a question,” she said, leaning forward. Her eyes gave nothing away. The flat line of her mouth reminded him of her expression when she came across a particularly hard math problem.

“Well, what is it?”

“What’s with the hair?” she asked flatly. Instinctively, his hand rose up to try and flatten the mess. Bedhead. A case so severe he’d never figured out just what to do with it. Rumors had spread around the school about his nighttime activities giving him an unsavory reputation when it came to dating. None of it was true, but once the rumors had started, there was no real way to end them. The truth was that his hair was a result of too many pillows and constant movement while sleeping.

“It’s not what you think,” he blurted out. “I’ve tried to get rid of it. Nothing works. I live my life in a constant state of dishevelment.”

“Just sleep like a normal person?” she suggested.

“I do!”

“Of course, you do.”

“What are you doing here?” Kuroo asked. The look of mock surprise fell away and a slow smirk grew on his face. “Curiosity finally go to you?” he asked.

Y/N didn’t answer, waving her hand in the air to draw him closer. He pointed at himself, mocking her silent request. She did it again, rolling her eyes as he slowly sauntered forward.

“Closer,” she murmured. He inched nearer; body angled toward her. Before he could dodge, her fingers latched onto his ear, pulling him down to her level. A yelp left his mouth, and his body twitched, trying to get away from her hands.

“Did I agree to be your manager?”

“That hurts,” he whined. She let him go, cheeks puffing out in annoyance. Nekoma had been a volleyball powerhouse for years, but they had an astonishingly bad record when it came to keeping a manager. Having witnessed his teammates practice, it was no wonder why. They were loud, rambunctious and whoever was their manager needed to be able to deal with the multiple personalities that were on the team. Dodging Kuroo’s insanity, Yaku’s temper, Lev’s wild arms, and the rogue spikes that would no doubt leave bruises was too much for any one person.

“First fight?” Yaku muttered, passing by them. Y/N stuck up her middle finger which he mimicked seconds later, sending a mocking smile in her direction.

“So, you’ll do it?” Kuroo asked, drawing her attention back to him. “We don’t expect you to show up to every practice. I know you have your own stuff to deal with afterschool and we don’t want to get in the way of that. But having someone at our games to help out would be better than nothing.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Other than getting to spend more time with me?”

“Yes, other than that,” she said, rolling her eyes. Kuroo’s smile fell, lips twisting to the side. Pressing a hand to her shoulder, he leaned down, so they were eye-level. She wondered if there was some spirit in Nekoma that lent that cat-like glint to everyone’s eyes or if it was an aftereffect of spending so much time at the school.

“Think of your college resume,” he said seriously.

“That just makes me want to say no.” A soft laugh left her, nose scrunching.

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“When you do, let me know. I’ll make sure you get it, whatever it is,” he promised.

The air in Tokyo was crisp and brought with it the sweet smell of summer and freshly burnt wood. The sun inched past the horizon, giving way to the thick velvet of a star strewn sky. Y/N pulled her jacket closer, looking at the rising form of Tokyo’s Skytree. The streets seemed so familiar it left her with the annoying nag of déjà vu. Curling her fingers into her fist, Y/N pushed away the familiar ache of pain that she often ignored.

Her father walked on ahead of her, head hanging low, shoulders slumped. In a couple of months, Y/N would reach the one-year mark. One year without her mother and then the gap would grow. She’d never admit to her father, that there were times where she missed her mother so much that she was left with a void of sorrow that did nothing but grow endlessly. He missed her too. It was strewn across his face at the oddest of moments. Once when he had been scolding her for coming home late after practice, he had stopped in the middle, face sagging with grief. Those looks seared into Y/N’s mind, reminding her at every moment just how much they had lost.

“It should be up here,” he muttered, turning to face her with a small smile. Y/N nodded, mutely. Following his quick strides, she pushed her hands into her pockets, poking one finger out of the forgotten hole. A trail of lanterns began to light the sky. Her father paused, offering her his shaking hand. Grasping it tightly, she linked elbows with him, pressing against his side.

A small temple was tucked away into an old square that was a remnant of the days before Tokyo had been made capital. The streets were lined with stalls, selling fishcakes, yakitori, and other festival foods. All around them families dressed in summer yukatas passed. The smell of burning fires wafted in the air. Y/N felt slightly undressed. Ahead, waiting between the gate of the temple was a familiar figure.

“Kuroo?” she asked. He stood at the entrance of the temple with his family. Both of his grandparents were wearing yukata, heavily embroidered but made of thin fabrics.

“Oi, Y/N—” He froze at the sight of her father and offered a quick, polite bow. “You should have said you were coming; I would have waited for you.”

“I…my father and I wanted to come together.”

“Is this a classmate?” her father asked.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, sir. Y/N and I are friends.”

“He’s the one who found Fuku,” said Y/N. Her father frowned. She wondered if he also missed their cat. Or maybe, he was startled by the news that Fuku had been missing.

“I’ll go ahead, Y/N,” he said. Before she could stop him, her father disappeared up the steps of the temple. Y/N sighed.

Kuroo stared at her, his brows pinched together. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s our first time coming without my mother,” she explained, wringing her hands nervously. Understanding flickered across Kuroo’s face. Hands, slightly calloused but smooth, pressed over hers. The warm touch anchored her. Y/N breathed sharply, instantly seeking out the broken bits of comfort she could find. It wasn’t fair to Kuroo though, to burden him with her grief. She pulled away.

“Y/N.”

She looked in the distance where the shadow of her father stalked.

“Look at me.”

“I should go.”

“My mom died when I was seven.”

She froze. Kuroo moved closer, calm but steady as if trying to stop a wild animal from fleeing. She felt like that; caught in the snare of his words.

“We can’t compare griefs. But, when I lost her, I felt like the world had shattered. You don’t need to pretend to be happy…not with me.”

Her lip quivered. She said in a small voice, “I miss her.”

The sun burned past the horizon; around them a thousand voices spoke over one another. Kuroo stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. She breathed in sharply and held on tight, as if to trap his comfort in her grip. Thank you, she wanted to say. Kuroo swayed slightly and she knew that he could hear her unspoken words.

Y/N did not become their manager. Not officially at least. She tended to show up to practice only to follow him home and attempt to coax Fuku into coming home with her. The day she succeeded was bright and sunny. Kuroo was half listening to her story about how Yamamoto and Kenma had been fighting while he was in the locker rooms.

His mind was spirling down a dangerous path. Kuroo found himself entirely focused on Y/N. He doesn’t understand why. She didn’t seem remotely interested in him. He had no time to waste, twisting his throughs over a girl. But, as much as he tried to avoid thinking of her that way, he found himself entertaining the same line of thought over and over again.

“Sorry what?” he asked, realizing that she was waiting for an answer.

Y/N laughed. “Coach Nekomata told me you had a training camp?”

“Oh, yeah. If you come, you can finally meet Bokuto. And Tsukki. And all the rest.”

“How tempting, me and a bunch of mangers cleaning up your sweat.”

As they reached his house, Y/N bounded forward to greet his grandmother. Sometimes he was convinced she was only friends with him, so she would be fed. The amount of bentos he had brought to school for her exceeded normal standards.

“Obaa-san, it isn’t good for you back to be hunched over the plants like that,” Y/N scolded. She helped his grandmother up the stairs, chatting all the while.

Kuroo followed them into the house. Y/N didn’t bother going upstairs first. While her mother was sick, Y/N had been home alone often and forced to cook. Sheepishly, she admitted she wasn’t any good at it and his grandmother had taken pity on her.

Occasionally, Kenma and the team came over to try her latest creations. They were lucky they weren’t subjected to the daily disasters he was. Once they are fed and watered, Kuroo and her ventured upstairs. His grandfather tossed a wicked look his way as they head toward his room.

Fuku was surprisingly receptive to Y/N and approached her on her own. Usually, Kuroo would need to pick her up first and give her to Y/N.

“Fuku, come on, girl. Don’t you want to eat tuna at home?” Y/N said. Fuku inched closer and then clawed at Y/N’s tights. Surprise and then a bright smile stretched on her face.

She picked up Fuku, cooing all the while the way a mother did with her child. It felt like the ending of a book.

But, Y/N looked happy for the first time she had met him. Not the fake happiness she wore like a mask. He found himself grinning for no good reason, other than she had smiled. While she was distracted, he studied her face committing it to memory. Eyes brighter than the stars, deeper than water, and lined with affection. Going forward, he hoped that she looked like this all the time.

“Y/N, you’re happy, aren’t you?”

“Right now?” She turned and lifted Fuku up into her arms. She softened her expression, crackling with a warm energy. “You make me happy, Kuroo.”

It slowly dawned on him that while he was staring, she had caught his gaze. Lost in his thoughts, he felt no embarrassment, nor did Y/N look upset. It looked more like she was waiting for something.

He wanted to tell her that he liked her—not the way one like a friend, but he liked the way she spoke, every word measured and certain. Or the way she remembered things he had mentioned only once. Or the way she knew what he was asking before he asked her. He liked her calmness, her banter, how she would do anything for the things she loved, and the slight madness that he both encouraged and hated. His words failed him.

Kuroo didn’t want anything to change. If he told her and she rejected him, would their friendship be over? Besides, what could he offer her? Y/N still grieved over her mother. What kind of man would he be to take advantage of that for his own gain?

He closed his eyes for a moment. Y/N sat next to him on the bed and rested her head on his shoulder. Fuku curled up in her arms. Her closeness was the sweetest, bitterest thing he had ever known.

#kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo imagine #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu reader

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greedygreedyphilza · 3 years

Text

the results of the netherrack texture, smell, and taste survey!

95 responses + my own response! this got very long obviously so below the cut it goes

note: to clarify i was thinking of the new texture but any answer thinking of the old texture is not wrong and i love them all so

what do you think netherrack feels like?

- beans

- I feel like it would be similar to impacted dirt. Not quite solid like stone, but still pretty hard. The same vibes you’d get from Mars, yaknow?

- i think it feels like crumbly rock. idk how to describe it. soft-ish

- you know like cracked dirt? maybe somehow more squishy. my perception of netherrack is that it’s just evil dirt.

- that dirt thats like not together like beady gritty loose dirt

- squishy, a bit wet, and hot to the touch. Like felt soaked in hot water.

- rock

- semi-spongy semi-rock. if you know you know

- Like those large stones in Central Park that people climb on, but bumpier and warmer

- like that weird black rubber shit they use as the floor of some parks

- stone bricks but worn down and like chunky if that makes sense idfk but a bit more soft like able to fall apart CRUMBLY CRUMBLY YEAH CRUMBLY

- Hard. The noise is too deep for it not to be. Softer than normal rock, so like compacted sand but not as gritty

- The layer of netherrack that is exposed to open air is hard like rock from the heat and proximity to lava. Break through it and you get a softer dirt like texture that ‘grows’ in clumps like an aggregate fruit (fascinated)

- very very dry and crumbly, imagine oreo crumbs that sap the moisture out of your hands like chalk

- flesh

- Something like bumpy and rough, kinda like bricks

- Sort of like a dry natural sponge. It’s firm with many jagged holes and would probably hurt you if you brushed against it too hard

- river bed sand but not wet but not dry

- A bit greasy, like rocks are clumped together using a not very greasy component but the grease is still definitely there.

- It’s crumbly and warm, I think. Like that volcanic ash stuff. It’s also porous, and kinda makes your hands feel dry after you touch it.

- gravel but made exclusively of tumbled stones and very hot. like hot water when u wash dishes hot. wont burn you but you think “oh thats kinda hot” and do nothing.

- probably very rough

- hot cement

- Sort of like IRL sandstone. Soft-ish rock

- The rubber floor they have on playgrounds. You know, it’s kind of textured and rough but also a little springy?

- If you chopped bricks up into gravel and then the heat melted it slightly and solidified into a Rock

- Limestone

- You know the sorta rough, but soft mats that cover the ground outside playing areas or jungle gyms? Yeah.

- A malleable rock that easily crumbles in your hand to dust, like ash

- firm but vaguely soft, crumbles like chalk

- hot kinda bumpy, not like gravel but like. god idk. like those big clumps of nerds candy you find sometimes at yogurt places

- jagged rocks. not sharp enough to cut anything, just not smooth in the slightest

- concrete but like… Red. yknow

- Depends on which texture. The first one would feel wet and moist with what I can only assume is blood? The red shit that’s leaking from the cracks. The new one looks dry and brittle.

- Rocks, but spongy

- Dry mulch or densely packed flakes of dry skin

- squishy gooey hot gross

- VERY crumbly, like if you tried to climb up a wall of it you couldn’t grip it at all, it would come apart in your hands

- like hot stone the sun has warmed

- Meat, but hard. Like the crust of a honey baked ham. Just a tad crunchy

- The same feeling as slightly freezer burnt beef you defrosted in the microwave and now it’s like both slimey and sticky. It has a slight crunch but feels like walking over a spot you spilled soda and you shoes stick slightly.

- crumbly, but smooth somehow

- Like rubbing your hand over hot rough stones

- Dusty but solid, sandstone like.

- hard rocks

- that rubbery material used for playground surfacing, with all the little granules and very Warm

- a smooth lake rocks but softer and stuck together

- Squishy, not like a sponge but like flesh. Like rock with a slight squishy give to it.

- Almost like talc— world’s softest rock/mineral, because of how fast it mines. Or like… one of those foam play mat tiles, but somewhat scratchier.

- old netherrack? bit like steel wool, more tightly compacted. new netherrack? hot rocks that have melted together and reformed, still a little bit melty.

- Hard, like cobblestone, but more crumbly. Leaves a powder on ur hands that gets under ur fingernails. If u don’t wash ur hands after a long time it burns. Slightly unstable to walk on and unpleasant to step on with bare feet. Actively absorbs moisture.

- rough but not brittle

- slightly damp red clay, it doesn’t stick to your shoes though

- sulfur but not as soft, like in-between sulfur and regular rocks? really soft crumbly rocks?

- coarse sand but with dirt

- Bumpy and soft with a slight roughness to it

- a weird gray line between fairly solid like a rock and crumbly like wood that’s been in a fire

- chalky, crumbles like sheets

- really crumbly rock. kinda soft but not soft enough to break if u stomped on it. ever since i saw the block i always thought 'hm yes. this is how it feels.'

- Squishy- very very squish. Yknow the kind of chunky uncomfy stuffing?? That stuff!!! But compact enough to walk on

- squishy but like firm

- skin but not the outside. like the inside of skin the red part

- Rough stone

- like. Marble I think actually but really lumpy

- like really clumpy dirt. or like you know wet sand? that sort of clumpy-ness but not wet

- 1. it's hot. 2. there are a few hairs. they are not soft. 3. it has some give but it's definitely firm.

- a soft rock! it feels like kinetic sand when it sets in-between your fingers, and you can break up the Big Chunks with a little water to turn it into a paste

- shitty fucking gravel. i bet like you go to kick it and instead of flying through the air for a minute it just cracks. but like if you touch it, the stones hold. it takes a minute for them to burn you, so it's like a game of hot potato. but with rocks.

- rough

- hard marshmallow

- hard/rough and bumpy, definitely like a root

- Slightly squishy rock. Sort of sandy?

- dry scab

- dirt but mean and hot

- sponge

- kinetic sand and lava rocks

- slightly squishy, like how walking on it sounds

- rocks. cobblestone but. different? like on the surface its smooth but its not matte. and with all the rocks like cobblestone (important to note here: i am not that familiar with the old texture)

- smooth rock w/ cracks. very oily

- bumpy and fleshy. Like cobblestone, but instead of stone, its just the flesh of beans

- gravel and chalk

- very smooth gravel

- chicken u left out on the counter for 3 days and now its all dry and hard

- hot, rough, like blacktop left in the sun in the middle of a heatwave

- Very rough but crumbly. The overall stone isn't actually crumbling but you feel a lot of dust and rock pieces fall off if you brush part of the surface of it. (The dust is more like sand)

- okay so like. imagine hard playdough. like really hard playdough. it feels like solid rock when ur just walking on it but if you break the surface of it its soft like putty and holds shape?? so you can makes molds out of it and stuff. its very cool trust me

- Like a mix of obsidian and stone. Smooth boi

- smooth rock

- wet sand minus the wet but not like dry sand. compact and oddly squishy, but like still kinda rough.

- Ummm kinda smooth but with bumps and craters. idk but I got this moon that lights up n I think itd feel kinda like that

- Kinda squishy but still firm. Like cheese. Rlly hot cheese

- coarse dirt and/or hardened mud

- Playground fake mulch: rough and firm but a bit squishy when pressed on

- i feel like since it’s supposed to be the dirt of the nether (or at least it is to me) so i feel like it had a similar texture but more grainy and less put together. as you walk on it you sink into it, it invokes a slight panic the first time someone walks on it. it feels as though it might not hold your weight but it does. a little bit tougher then normal dirt but not as tough as stone. it’s very rough to the touch and if you were to scrape against it too hard or fast it would surely cut your skin. hot to the touch but not enough to burn, more like almost comforting like the warmth from holding a hot drink but it saps the moisture from your hands. the warped and crimson ones feel more put together and you don't sink into it as much as normal netherrack, it feels like moss to the touch

what do you think netherrack smells like?

- beans

- fire

- red

- Sulfur (obviously)

- burning. even if its never been lit thats just its scent

- sulfur

- strangely rotten, like that off smell u get when u know something is going bad but like it smells hot at the same time

- bitter, a bit metallic, just a touch of cordite.

- rotting corpses

- like someone crushed a jalapeno using a rock they got from a parking lot. the la croix of smells: faint, but there is Something there

- Ham that's like 10 days away from expiration but already funny-smelling; only when rubbed. Default smell is that one rock that smells like rotten eggs.

- some sort of smoked meat

- nothing

- smoke. maybe faintly like period blood

- There's a hint of sulfur (of course) but what surprises most people upon chancing to smell the softer netherrack underneath the shell is... slightly. eggy. Not rotten egg like sulfur but... like an eggy dessert. Not quite as sweet though.

- i think it smells the same as when you have a campfire going on a hot day or when you step into a car thats been in the sun for too long

- flesh

- Something that's been burnt

- Nothing until it's lit on fire, after which it smells like fireworks.

- burnt popcorn

- Like ash?

- I think it smells like soil, but spicier.

- like burnt tire rubber

- Smoky coals :)

- BBQ sauce but slightly warm with like chili peppers int here and slightly burnt

- Hot pavement.

- Probably kind of acidic

- Hot asphalt

- Very very burnt, almost like you overcooked toast or popcorn and it takes a while after leaving the nether to stop smelling like it

- The distant burning of a substance not found elsewhere, like tainted minerals bubbling in a furnace coming from your neighbor's window

- burnt toast

- hot. but no probably really bland but people think it smells like this or that due to plants or skin burning on it

- my cooking. completely burnt.

- strawberry

- Netherrack txtr1: rotten and metallic. Netherrack txtr2: probably like warm/hot rocks

- Sulfur, heat, and what I imagine a volcano to smell like

- You know when you turn on your stove and inky gas comes out but no fire ? And then you lean forward and catch a sniff adn your like "WoW! Thats awful!"

- hot brick

- Burnt bacon

- Burnt but like not bad

- Smokey, definitely, but acrid. Like when you're burning green wood. I feel like if you sniffed it too close your eyes would water.

- Over smoked beef and soup thats like a day away from going bad being heated up.

- that smell you get in hardware stores/the warehouse portion of ikea but more ... earthy and burnt

- Warm rock...

- Rusty, Tangy, with a hint of sulfur

- warm rocks

- mild rotting meat honestly

- Brunt dirt

- Vaguely sulfuric, mixed with a hot, earthy scent, like fungus.

- the actual rocks dont smell like much. a bit singed and whatever the antithesis of wet rocks is. the nether itself provides more then enough smoke to inhale

- Sulfur. Sulfur and something burning, somewhat like gunpowder just fired. The smell of explosives but to the left. Warmer, more rank. The smell is faint unless you pulverize it or actively smell it by holding it close to your nose. One of those smells that is strong, but easily blends with other scents instead of smothering them.

- mmm the smell of heat which is definitely a smell you know what i mean.

- the ground after rain with traces of campfire smoke

- rancid, burns your nose so much you cant even properly smell it, hot smell

- burnt bacon and burnt chocolate mixed together

- Sulfur

- burnt...anything really. but like really faint brunt smell, depends on what biome it's in. can netherrack be in different biomes?

- metal smell. like the one that happens when metal comes in contact with skin

- like hot rocks. like the rocks u see in fireplaces. charcoal i think? ive always thought of netherrack smelling like that and idk why.

- Burnt.

- like a semi decaying mushroom. so like. a little gross but enough to eventually desensitized to it

- spicy!!!!! it smells spicy .

- Nothing much, it just caught the smell of fire and smoke from the Nether

- You know when your about to sneeze or it's really hot and your nose is feels like it's slightly / medium burning in pain yes definitely that but like all of the time and also smells like it's a hot day

- h o t

- when you walk past a dumpster behind an elementary school on a hot day

- smoke, but that's just because it's in The Nether. if you like, let it sit out for a couple of days and then smell it it'll smell like the sun

- probably like a dirty grill y'know? like you just made the world's fattiest burgers and all that gunk is in the grill? like that but burning. probably bad.

- faint blood or an irl rock

- rot and death

- rotting dead mixed with expired milk

- Sulfur

- blood and fire probably

- by itself it doesnt rly smell like anything, but its hard to divorce it from the smell of brunt pork and sweat

- uhhh smoked wood/ charcoal

- hot rocks. like how somethings hot and you can kind of smell it? like a desert smell? or is that just your smell receptors getting hot and not knowing how to deal with it

- burning oil

- like limestone would, i bet. but like. a very very musty version

- smoke and salt

- ash

- raw meat (bad)

- warm concrete

- Burnt, very very burnt. Just... just literally the smell of fire almost- like the rest of the Nether. It's not very pleasant and you'd likely not want to sniff it up close (unless you enjoy the smell of fire?)

- d. dirt.

- Idk rock probably. Maybe also ironish.

- rock

- Hot Dirt. what does hot dirt smell like? oh, you know ;)

- Big smell. Very big smell. Like charcoal and cinnamon but turned up to ten (maybe a hint of onions cause like if your around it too long your eyes start to water)

- Burnt

- coals on a grill

- Asphalt in the summer

- i think it smells like smoke, but it's stronger and sticks to you like chlorine. you can tell someone has been in the nether recently because of the smell of netherrack (unless they have been in a soul sand valley, then the scent of death follows them). Or it smells like hardware stores like some else said, metallic, earthy, almost smokey. in warped and crimson forests it smells more earthy and way less like smoke.

what do you think netherrack tastes like?

- beans

- dirt

- charcoal

- also burnt tire rubber. dont eat it. its a stone.

- very sour and bitter at first, and then becoming almost repulsively bland. Very bad rubbery texture.

- rock flavored la croix. basically nothing but with a hint of dirt

- Kinda chalky texture, kind of bitter but ultimately not disgusting

- Charcoal

- mmm cronchy brunt rock

- Warm rocks

- hot rocks

- Bacon

- sand with a hint of either artificial cherry, artificial strawberry, or artificial watermelon

- hot brick

- you know when you overcook bacon and it's super crispy and really brunt tasting to where its inedible? that but a sandy texture

- Igneous rock?

- hot!

- raw meat.

- good.

- smokey spong

- dirt in a good way. or sand

- spicy rock :)

- volcanic ash. mixed with like. the bitterest coffee ever. just really bitter.

- you know when you trying to swallow a tablet but you just end up swallowing the water and the tablet is now disintegrating in your mouth and you're just trying to get more water in to get the taste and texture of the tablet out? that

- spicy.

- Stone

- like "crakclckecklcaeckkcle" gravel if it were smooth water rocks (you know those rocks that's like, much cooler when they're wet, and are perfectly oval shaped, no cracks in them), but im sure if u open your mouth and breathe while its in your mouth, it tastes like burnt milk ice cream in the form of smoke hitting the top of ur mouth. Pretty sure if you exhale while it's in your mouth, smoke comes out too, like if you were exhaling a cigarette. Expect its dirty black and not just, smoke.

- sexy yum crunch

- like dirt. but more hard and red.

- To the player who attempts the unthinkable, the taste of netherrack is rumored to be that of rotten flesh. That the consumption of the soft pulpy netherrack clumps beneath the shell tastes of slimy and inedible gray matter, and that to eat it would cause the brain to simply fail at comprehending what the body had consumed. The rumors are false. It tastes, against all odds, like a spicy egg custard. That being said, it should not be eaten in large amounts, as it can make one quite sick and is worth almost nothing nutritionally despite filling the stomach. It can be used to starve off the feeling of hunger in this regard, but gives no sustenance. Source: me, unfortunately.

- burnt dirt

- pop rocks: lava edition. aka hot dirt

- Netherrack txtr1: rotten with some crunch. Have you ever ate rocks as a kid? Well that taste but with putridity. Netherrack txtr2: idk probably like lava rocks.

- nothing good

- spicy, like if you put it in your mouth it's like overly spicy...pop rocks?

- SPICY DIRT. specifically like clay but spicy. if u took the hard shell surface and crumbled it up you could use it as a spice.

- ketchup

- very very bitter, also once wet starting to crumble up

- it's too hot to taste, you're just burning you taste buds. but if it was a reasonable temperature, like coal that's already been used in a fire pit probably

- terrible

- hot and i think like. if you chewed on rocks and when they split apart its just,,, freakin burning

- burnt rubber

- idk but NOT GOOD! LOL

- Dry dirt but no mineral aftertaste

- gravel but if pretended to be coal

- MEATY ALSO. There's a theme of meat with it. A very fatty, unpleasant meat, similar to how people are describing as tasting.

- Gross probably

- ur mom (SLASH JAY SLASH JAY i think probably like burnt tasting but weirdly bitter too)

- Rocks

- Why are we eating grou- /j but the most unpleasant burnt food you could think of

- wet dirt mixed with a little bit of stone

- Hot rock...red flavor

- Salty, bitter, leaving an unpleasant rush of iron on the tongue due to buring the delicate tissue there. In trace amounts, it's not unlike pure malic acid mixed with salt and unsweetened cocoa.

- Gross. The texture is awful. The top layer crumbles in ur mouth and leaves hard rock bits along with sand parts and it's not pleasant. It probably soaks up moisture in your mouth as if you just licked a deodorant stick. It really just tasted like charred rust or rocks or something, not exactly a pleasant feeling. It also probably fucking hot?? Like maybe not actively bringing but it is much warmer than your body temperature (which is why it soaks up moisture in ur mouth). Anyway- overall please don't eat netherrack.. it's just a sandy rock on fire :(

- sand?

- raw meat (bloody)

- sweat, liquid smoke and weird meat

- roasted cashews

- Sulfurous sand

- rock

- Alarmingly bitter and very dry (not like lemon bitter. More like the nail polish you put on so you wont bite your nails but different)

- cat piss and mold

- Blood and rock. Crunchy

- The default taste is copper mixed with granite. Will taste warmer when near lava and the taste will be more distinct. Will taste cold and stale when farther away from lava.

- im not too creative but kind of. okay mostly rocks, just kind of no taste and hot, but with the tiniest hint of. dried pizza? hot pockets? like bread and sauce and herbs.

- Blood and gold

- it's fucking rock

- Specifically lava rocks

- wall paint but more brunt

- its very dry. tastes like sheetrock

- donuts that have way too much oil on them

- Burnt chalk and a dash of rancid eggs (tie back to the sulfur).

- Again, something burnt that would probably make you gag

- legit just cobblestone so like if you ate some rocks

- ...not good

- very very bland. like dirt but instead of being earthy it tastes like hot water

- i actually have eaten hot coals before /srs (don't do that please) but i imagine it's like that but with barbecue sauce on. just hot. you know how things taste like they're burning you? yeah.

- Stone? Burned stone, I guess?

- Burnt

- like a rock, for sure. maybe a bit ashy? maybe like piglin feet? maybe like lava? depends where its from and how long its been there ig.

- Salt and oil and dirt.

- I have never thought about this... probably just grosser, hotter, rocks

- pain

- Very bitter, like very badly burnt sugar.

- grandmas ashes

- Too hot to taste, your tongue just burns and you're left with the aftertaste of your burned mouth and the dame vague acidity of its smell

- It burns your tongue and make your mouth dry, and leaves an aftertaste like eating a hot pepper.

- spicy rock

- Bitter, like really bitter and it melts in your mouth

- flesh or something meaty but like. more like jerky

-r. rocks??? idk i didn't think this far

- red again

- i think it tastes like rocks but it's spicy and instead of making your mouth water it just sucks up the moisture, and it pops in your mouth like pop rocks, and like another person said when you open your mouth you exhale smoke a thick dark smoke like when smoking a cigarette. eating it will kill a regular player but love the idea that piglins will clean it and occasionally use it as a spice in very small amounts because too much can kill them as well unless an immunity is built up

#minecraft #mineblr #netherrack #netherrack survey #this took so long i am so tired #the cursed answers are the best but i also love the people that left me like paragraphs #the last answers in all of them are mine #also might update this if new answers ever come in but not guaranteed

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vulcanette · 2 years

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Yuuta makes me crazy for some reason. I want to hold him. I want to crush and crumble him like a piece of ASMR gym chalk. I want to make him his favorite food and watch him eat it in an unhinged manner like he ate that Kenyan food. I want to catch him like prey in my spiderweb and watch him struggle. I want to sweep back his bangs and kiss him tenderly on his forehead

#BLORBO #i am insane about him lmaoooo god #I’m not even tagging this to further traumatize this fandom lmao #personal #a small diary entry

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qmii · 3 years

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does anyone else find gym chalk crumbling EXTREMELY FUCKING satisfying?

I have that as bg noise at least 80% of the time.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #stimming #asmr

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devil-in-the-d3tails · 4 years

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It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 3

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 3,653

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: thank you for reading!

- Decisions, Decisions... -

You’ve been picking at your nails for quite some time. They’re a powdery blue-- or they used to be, at least. They were supposed to match your prom dress, though you never did get to go to prom this year. The blue gown is still in your closet, covered by the plastic from the dry cleaners. You frown at the patches of missing polish, having been slowly chipped away for some time since you painted them-- was it two weeks ago? A month? You weren’t sure what time was anymore.

“...But yeah, other than what we brought back, there wasn’t much stuff left over.” Kuroo shrugs as he picks at some granola straight from the bag. You and the group of guys have gathered in a little circle on each other’s mattresses, and have since introduced each other. Aside from Kuroo, Akaashi, and Bokuto, the new boys you’ve met are Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Kenma. The entire group seems to be weighed down with contented hopelessness-- they all appear to be very aware of their dire situation, but they’re quite alright with it at the moment.

The boy named Iwaizumi sighs-- he’s straightforward and somewhat level-headed, as far as you can tell.

“We’re gonna have to drive further to the next grocery store, then.” Iwaizumi decides, and rubs his neck.

“What’s the matter? Sleep on the wrong side of the bed?” Oikawa, the absurdly pretty one, teases.

“No, I just feel weird since it seems like none of us are gonna talk about our newest addition.” Iwaizumi says pointedly, and finally looks at you. You bite your lip and look away, not quite sure how to explain yourself, either. Why should you expect all of them to just be chill with some stranger suddenly showing up in the middle of the night, sobbing and with a potentially dangerous dog at her side?

“She just introduced herself-- did you forget her name already?” Bokuto says with a laugh. You seriously admire his optimism-- or his cluelessness, you’re not sure which.

“I think Iwaizumi is just suspicious of her.” Akaashi says with a level tone, and he and Iwaizumi exchange a glance.

“Makes sense.” Oikawa shrugs.

“Wha-- How?!” Bokuto exclaims.

“She’s a stranger. She’s got a dog with her-- a dog that could easily hurt us.” Oikawa answers, and Indie perks up when he glances at her with a smile. “But she’s so cute! I don’t think we have to worry about her.”

Akaashi glances at you, and you remember how you told him that Indie did, in fact, attack a boy last night. To be fair, he was an intruder!

“I’m not gonna be here long, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You finally pipe up, and all eyes once again fall on you.

“Huh? Why?!” Both Kuroo and Bokuto say, and you could almost swear they were whining. You laugh a little-- how could they possibly be so attached to you so quickly?

“Well, I’m trying to go to L.A. and find my friend Sami. Then, I’m gonna go to Ohio to live with my friend Callie.” You say evenly, and the entire group looks at you like you’re insane.

“L.A. is… far.” Kenma says quietly, and you’re surprised he’s spoken at all.

“How do you even know your friend is still out there?” Kuroo asks.

“I don’t,” You say, “but I have to at least look. It’s what she’d do for me-- or, it’s what I’d hope she’d do for me. I can’t just… accept that everyone I know and love is gone without looking first.” You become quieter at the last part, and the group seems to understand a bit better.

“Okay,” Bokuto says, “so we just make a trip of it. We pack supplies or whatever, wake up early, and go to L.A. and look around for a couple days. We can camp out in fancy hotels!”

“I’m sorry, we?” You say.

“We’re not gonna let you go alone! Look what happened the last time we left you alone.” Bokuto says as if it’s the most obvious thing. You frown, but he is right. You’re a little scared of being left alone, too, if you’re being honest. Sleeping next to Akaashi made you feel safe, even if you were a bit flustered. Plus, these guys seem to be pretty decent-- none of them have made you uncomfortable so far.

You eat your poptart thoughtfully.

“Why Ohio?” Akaashi asks.

“Well… Callie said, last time we spoke, that her parents were still around.” You respond. “Plus, she lives on a farm. That’ll be way more sustainable than scavenging around grocery stores for the rest of my life.”

“Damn. We should do that.” Bokuto says with a sigh.

“I don’t know how to farm,” Oikawa sighs, then turns to you with a grin. “Maybe we should just come with you to Ohio!”

“That’s… not happening.” You say decisively.

“Aw, why not?” Kuroo croons. “Aren’t we pretty great so far? I feel like Callie would love us. Plus, I’m famous for getting people’s parents to like me.”

“It’s true.” Bokuto says solemnly. You wonder for a moment what kind of story lies behind that exchange, but decide to leave it alone for now.

“It’s gonna take weeks to get to Ohio-- plus, I’m probably gonna have to hop from car to car, since there aren’t any working gas stations anymore, or I’ll just have to suck it up and walk. I’m not about to go on a roadtrip with some dudes I just met-- especially not during the apocalypse.” You say, crossing your arms. Damn, it seems like everything you say makes you seem like a huge bitch-- why were you so against them coming with you, anyway? Maybe you just didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else-- or, maybe you didn’t want to invest your care into one more person, only for them to disappear without a trace, leaving you, once again, alone.

You push that thought away-- that’s too deep for 8 a.m.

“I wouldn’t go on a roadtrip with these guys, either.” Iwaizumi says, and you’re weirdly charmed with how pessimistic he is. His little quip dissolves some of the tension, too, and you’re glad for that.

“I think you’re scared.” Kuroo calls your bluff. You just scoff.

“I’m not scared.”

“You were pretty scared last night, though.” Bokuto adds, unhelpfully. “But, I mean, it’s understandable-- some guys literally broke into your house!”

“Travelling in a group is safer, anyways.” Akaashi says, and you hate that a part of you agrees with him.

You huff out a sigh, and finish off your poptart. “None of you are responsible for me.” You counter.

“True-- but we’re not doing anything else.” Oikawa chimes in, and you’re a bit surprised. “I think it’ll be fun. We can at least go to L.A. together, and that can determine whether you wanna ‘roadtrip’ with us, or not.”

“I like the sound of that.” Kuroo grins. “An experiment.”

“You guys have fun with that-- I’ll stay here.” Kenma mumbles, and Kuroo barks out a laugh.

“No way-- we’re all going.”

“I don’t wanna go, either.” Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms. “Kenma and I should stay behind and protect the gym. Clearly, it’s a little dangerous out there.”

“Good idea!” Bokuto praises, already excited at the prospect of a roadtrip. “This is gonna be fun-- and going to L.A. will be so fast ‘cause there’s no traffic!”

“That’s assuming we find a car with a full tank-- our poor van is barely on half a tank.” Kuroo says.

“Right, that much gas would get us there in the van, but we’d just barely be able to make it back. Plus, we aren’t accounting for how much we’ll have to drive around the city to find Sami…” Akaashi says, his train of thought travelling to the logistics of the operation.

You’re… a little stunned, to say the least. You suppose you can chalk their enthusiasm to go to L.A. with you up to the fact that there really is nothing better for them to do, but… you never expected anyone to be this willing to stick by your side. You’d never had a large circle of friends, especially not in your relatively small town. After your closest friends had moved away, you mostly kept to yourself, perfectly content to have your only friends be the ones you’d known since forever, rather than go through the arduous task of making new ones so close to graduation.

“You guys... don’t have to do this.” You say quietly, having reluctantly accepted that it seems like they’re going to stick by your side, regardless of what you say.

There’s a pause that settles over the group, and Iwaizumi scoffs.

“Like Oikawa said, we’re not doing anything else.” He says, and you smile a little at him.

Another pause settles around the group, but it’s comfortable-- you’re starting to warm up to them, as they’ve clearly warmed up to you. You suppose you’ve given them a change of pace, at least.

“Well, all that aside, we still need to find more food.” Kenma says. “And a mattress for you-- or at least a sleeping bag.” He looks to you, then down at Indie. He offers her his hand, which she licks and nuzzles into happily.

“Don’t you have a mattress back at your house? We can just go get that.” Bokuto says, sitting back against his bed, propping himself up with his elbows.

“I don’t really wanna go back there.” You say quickly. What if those guys were still there? What if more of them flocked to your house because they discovered all of your groceries--?

Oh, shit.

“Oh, shit.” You groan, burying your face into your palms. “My groceries.”

“Your groceries?” Bokuto echos.

“They’re all at my house. All that stuff I got from the grocery store where we met-- Indie’s food, everything.” You say as dread settles over your whole body. “What if those guys are still there?”

Everyone pauses as they consider the situation. They would all benefit from your added supplies-- plus, the trip would allow you to retrieve your bed rather than wander the floors of some abandoned Ikea or Macy’s looking for a replacement. Still, the risk was high. Those guys seemed dangerous, at least to you, and there might be more. Clearly, it wasn’t that outlandish to assume that whoever remained had grouped themselves into survival packs, and that they were willing to do anything to stay alive and fed.

“Okay.” Kuroo stands. “So, we’ll go to your house.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” You ask.

“Me and Bokuto. Just tell us where you live, we’ll go there and get your stuff. Easy peasy.” Kuroo nods, and Bokuto is, of course, up for the challenge.

“...I don’t want you guys to go alone.” You say.

“Relax, it’ll be a quick in and out, you won’t even notice we’re gone.” Kuroo holds his hand out, expecting you to hand him your keys.

You stand and pull your keys out of your pocket, but hold them close to your chest as you build up the courage for what you’re about to say.

“I’m coming with you. I’ll drive, and I’ll get my stuff.” You assert. “You guys have done way too much for me already.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Bokuto asks, worry plastered all over his face.

You nod, even though your gut is screaming at you not to go back. But, you really don’t have any choice.

“If you’re sure, I think you guys will make it okay.” Akaashi says, ever the voice of reason. It warms your heart to know that Akaashi believes in you. “You guys take her car, and Iwaizumi and I will take the van and look for another grocery store.”

“Aw, you’re gonna leave me and Kenma all alone?” Oikawa whines.

“I’m not excited about it, either.” Kenma mumbles, and you’re starting to love his unexpected sassiness.

“My house is only like fifteen minutes away from here. We’ll be back in an hour, tops.” You assure Oikawa, who only looks at you skeptically. Finally, he shrugs.

“Sure, do what you want.” Oikawa says, then gets up and stretches. “I’ll just practice by myself…” He mutters, and you’re not sure what he’s referring to-- maybe volleyball, like Kuroo had mentioned when you first met.

At the moment, you don’t really care. You turn to Kuroo and Bokuto with a feigned grin of confidence.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

[-]

“No shit.” Kuroo smiles in recognition as you turn the final corner onto your street. “Bokuto, Asahi’s place is right over there.”

“Oh, no way!” Bokuto grins as he follows the pointed finger of Kuroo, in the direction of a house that looks very similar to yours, except with a brown roof instead of a red one.

“One of your friends?” You ask, trying to ignore how much you’re fidgeting. You’re so nervous, and you hate it. This is your home, after all-- you shouldn’t be so terrified of returning. You glance out the window and take note of how overcast the sky has become. In the early morning, the sun was peaking through the clouds, but it has since been covered up in a thick layer of gray. Everything seems to be lacking in color.

“Yeah, he was a kickass player.” Kuroo says as you drive by the house in question. “Can we stop by there on our way back?”

“Sure.” You say tightly. Will you even make it back? What if you die??

“Hey, relax.” Kuroo says, and you glance over to him, sitting like a damn king in your passenger seat. He had to push the chair back quite a ways to account for his leg space, much to the complaint of Bokuto in the back seat.

“I am relaxed.” You lie, and resume biting the inside of your cheek. You’re sure that your mouth is raw by now, and you’re not surprised when you taste the beginnings of the metallic tang of blood from your worrying. You puff out your cheeks to try and stop yourself from biting any further.

Kuroo laughs at the display, and you smile back, a bit embarrassed.

In no time at all, you park by the curb in front of your house. You don’t turn the engine off just yet, opting to observe the now threatening building for a moment in case someone suddenly jumps from your door with a gun or something. A flash of red hair recalls itself from your memories, and you grip the steering wheel tighter with a big sigh. Nothing’s there-- you’re freaking out for no reason, you remind yourself.

You turn off the car and pick up your hammer that’s been resting in the cup holder.

“You ready?” Kuroo asks, and you’ve been aware of his gaze on you this whole time. You’re glad he’s at least receptive to your hesitance, and you’re also glad that he and Bokuto are with you. They’re both pretty strong and athletic, and with your hammer combined, you three make a pretty strong team.

That’s what you have to tell yourself, anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” You give a curt nod, and the three of you exit the car quickly, walk across your lawn, and soon you’re met with your front door. It looks like it was kicked in, with splinters of painted wood littering your porch and the hardwood floors just inside. Kuroo kicks a piece of wood aside absently, and enters first.

“Hello?” He calls with a booming voice.

“What are you doing?” You hiss, grabbing onto his jacket sleeve with ferocity.

“Just seeing if we have the place to ourselves.” He replies coolly, and looks around, surveying the rest of your home. It’s definitely been ransacked-- your mother’s favorite vase is shattered, papers litter the floor, and every single drawer and cabinet has either been ripped from its hinges, or lays hanging open.

“Seems we are.” Kuroo muses quietly after several moments of silence as the three of you take in your sad surroundings.

You can’t believe the home you grew up in has been violated like this-- you can’t believe that a person can be so heartless as to destroy something to this degree. You can’t believe the world is actually like this now. Gripping Kuroo’s sleeve tighter, you suppose that’s just what the world has come to.

“Um… so, where did you leave your groceries?” Bokuto asks, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him being so gentle. You blink up at him only to realize how watery your eyes are, and you quickly blink away any tears that might threaten to fall. You release Kuroo’s sleeve, quickly wipe at your nose, and nod to your kitchen, just beyond the living room you stand in.

The stairs are to your right, and you want to go upstairs to try and salvage anything else you might need, but you’re not sure if you’re ready to brave whatever situation lies above yet.

Bokuto walks towards the kitchen. You and Kuroo follow, and your heart sinks as the three of you are met with an empty table.

The dog food is still there, though.

“Damn it. They took everything.” Your shoulders slump, and you feel really disappointed. You’ve effectively wasted their time and valuable gas in your car just to get supplies that weren’t there. “Sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t apologize.” Kuroo says, and picks up the dog food with a grunt. “We can still get your bed and check around to see if there’s anything else. I’m gonna put this in the car.”

You three spend about an hour there in total, the sky darkening in a bizarre way-- you’d never seen the weather change this much before. In no time at all, and right when you three were ready to move your mattress to the van, it begins pouring rain. Bokuto groans, and runs his fingers through his spiked hair in frustration.

“Maybe if we run fast enough--” You try, but Kuroo shakes his head.

“Your bed’ll get soaked. I don’t really wanna risk it, anyways.” He leans your bed on the wall beside the stairs, and flops down on your couch. “We can just wait it out.”

The rain thunders above you, and you’re almost worried your roof won’t be able to weather the storm, judging by how severely the trees are bent in the wind. You cross your arms, the chill really starting to get to you on account of your busted front door.

“Man, do you have any blankets around here?” Bokuto whines, and you laugh. Your once cosy home offers no insulation at all, so you get up and go to the linen closet. Worried you might find empty shelves, you’re relieved to find it’s been untouched. You suppose blankets were last on those guys’ list-- but it makes you satisfied thinking they might be freezing their asses off somewhere in this unexpected weather.

You return to the couch, and the three of you huddle under the fuzzy blankets. Kuroo invites you to scoot closer to him, but you hesitate. A gust of wind thunders through your front door, and that’s all it takes to convince you to huddle closer. His arm drapes over your shoulders, reminding you once again how small you are compared to them. Bokuto joins you on your opposite side, extremely comfortable with such close contact. Your heart’s racing, because you’ve never been sandwiched between two incredibly hot guys before. You take a deep breath, and you’re glad you left Indie back at the gym, because at least she can stay somewhere that’s dry.

It’s a few hours before the storm lets up, but as soon as the rain just barely begins to lessen, Kuroo shakes you and Bokuto from your naps. Your head was resting on his shoulder, and his head was resting on top of yours-- and as you bashfully scoot away from him, you realize just how warm he is from the sudden absence of heat.

The three of you haul your bed into the van, and decide to pile into the car and officially give up on what little else your home could offer you. After snagging a good deal of your clothes, all the soap you could find, some hair brushes and toothbrushes, you’ve got to accept that your ransacked house isn’t useful anymore.

You park in Asahi’s driveway, and ask Kuroo why exactly he wanted to stop here, to which Kuroo laughs, a little embarrassed.

“Well… before this all went down, I left my whole stash with Asahi because my parents were getting suspicious, and I didn’t think I could get away with hiding it in my house for a bit.”

“Stash?” You furrow your brow, and Kuroo and Bokuto exchange a mischievous glance. It takes you a second, but since you’ve gone to public school your whole life, you understand pretty quickly. “Ohhh,” You laugh, bashful that you didn’t get it at first.

The two boys tell you to wait in the car, so you keep the engine running while they go inside as if they owned the place. You guess they must’ve been pretty close to Asahi, considering how familiar they are with his home.

Maybe ten or fifteen minutes pass before you’re startled by Kuroo and Bokuto booking it out of the house to tumble into your car. Kuroo whisper-yells at you to “Gogogogogo!” and you’re zooming down the flooded road once again.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you demand what the hell just happened. Kuroo and Bokuto laugh in that way a person does after they can’t believe they just escaped certain death, and the dark-haired boy holds up a sizeable baggie stuffed with weed with an apologetic smile.

“Don’t freak out, but… I think we ran into your boys back there.”

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