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mae-gi-writes · 3 years

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Once Again (PT.I) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN : PART ONE

Summary: Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, slight angst, f!reader x dad! Iwaizumi

A/N: There will be 2 or 3 parts of this oneshot! Depending on how long I feel like writing. Thanks for checking it out and stopping by! Let’s dive into some Iwa moments :,)

NEXT PART -->

---

“What’s your return policy on rings?”

The saleswoman smiles sympathetically behind the counter. That stupid sympathetic smile he’s been getting for weeks on end now. And it never stops; with his co-workers, with his family, his friends...

Iwaizumi’s sick of it. He’s sick of having to prove that he’s doing just fine, thank you very much. When in truth, his heart is constantly being torn apart and stomped upon as is people have nothing better to do than torture him in their free time.

“I’m sorry, but these rings have been brought more than three years ago, and our warrant only lasts for three years,” the saleswoman keeps on talking but it doesn’t matter, for Iwaizumi can already feel the anger slowly creep up through the back of his neck, can already feel the vibrating emotions clogging up his sense of judgement.

His fists clench at his sides upon impulse, the physical pain of his nails driving into his palms enough to remind him to stay cordial. It’s not the woman’s fault, the better part of him chants, it’s not her fault at all.

“Fine,” he manages to grovel out, barely, “thanks anyway.”

He all but storms out of the shop while shoving the rectangular box back in his pant pocket, and though it’s been more than four months since his ugly divorce with the woman he’d hoped to share the rest of his life with, the weight of their promise hangs heavy and hot upon his thigh.

The thing is, Iwaizumi is mad. He is seething. If one were to give him a bat, he’d probably destroy the entire town by himself. Not because she was the one that cheated, not because she was the one going behind his back numerous times a week to seek out her lover when he’d been basically driven mad between Hoisuke’s cries and the stress of call meetings scheduled back to back.

No, he’s angry. Because how the fuck could she do this to Hoisuke? How can she break the child’s heart like that, so ruthlessly, without even thinking twice about the consequences?

Because if there is a victim in all this, then it’s definitely Hoisuke. And not only that, Hoisuke understands that his mother has been acting strange, that she doesn’t return at regular times and that her hugs now smell of cigarette smoke with a bittertaste of alcohol.

Iwaizumi is so caught up in anger that he almost blunders past his battered Hyundai, red and chipping away at the corners. Still, this car holds so many memories, the good and the bad ones.

“Can’t you get a newer car? I thought your company could sponsor you,” the ghost of his wife’s voice echoes through his head, a blatant reminder of all the things she’d found wrong in his life.

“Why?” he’d tilted his head around to fix his gaze on her figure bending over the sink. The TV was playing in the background and he thanked the gods that the morning comics were taking up Hoisuke’s attention, enough to distract him from his parents’ quibbles.

“It’s just--so old and tacky.”

“It still works well, doesn’t it? Why change it now?”

She’d paused, hesitated slightly before blundering on, “It’s embarrassing. My colleagues keep asking if we're poor or something."

"Who cares what your colleagues think?"

Fuck her, Iwaizumi mentally swears as he turns on the ignition. Fuck her and all her needs for a better life. As if the life they had wasn't more than enough. Pulling out into the street to join the incoming traffic, he blinks away the sudden tears accumulating at the corner of his eyes and swears once more, this time aloud, glad that Hoisuke isn't in his presence when he gets in such a foul mood.

Iwaixumi may be angry. He may be filled with pent-up rage from the memory still attached to the day he'd discovered a used condom in their bathroom trash. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

That doesn't mean he does not still cry into his pillow over it every night.

----

"Please don't forget to do your homework for tomorrow! We'll correct them before moving on to the next chapter," you call out to your students as excited chatter fills the air. Students rise from their seats, some calling you bye and waving as they all file out of the classroom and you can't help the small smile lingering over your lips even though your feet are killing you.

Outside, parents have already lined up to collect their kids, the chatter and bustle of people ebbing away down the corridor as you let out a soft sigh.

"Miss?"

You jolt, not realizing that one of your students stands by the table wringing his hands, "what's wrong Hoisuke? Dad's not here yet?"

He shakes his head, watery eyes blinking up at you as he raises his thumb to his lips. You stand quickly and motion him to come close until he's within reach before your hand smoothes over the back of his head, "it's okay. He's probably stuck in traffic. I'll wait with you."

It's not surprising that parents get tardy once in a while and you're all too accustomed to those slight change in plans. Thankfully, you manage to distract the young boy with some coloured crayons and a piece of paper while you dial for his father's number.

It keeps ringing. No one picks up.

You try once more, one more time after that. But still, nothing. It shifts to voicemail. You decide it's better than nothing, "hi Iwaizumi-san. This is Y/N, Hoisuke's teacher. I was just wondering what time you would be picking up Hoisuke? Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you."

You end the call only to spot Hoisuke's eyes on you, intent and impatient for you to explain, "it's okay," you tell him with a smile, "he'll be here soon. Don't worry. Do you want to keep colouring some more?"

Hoisuke nods, to which your smile widens. It's those special moments, where your shyest students express themselves, that your chest warms with sympathy and affection. You've been there, you know how it feels like not to be heard, and you appreciate every interaction they offer you.

Being a primary school teacher is tough, especially since it wasn't in your original plans. But the satisfaction of bringing up some of the world's future leaders cancelled out all the late nights correcting tests and scrambled weekends trying to finish off as many worksheets as you possibly could for the coming week. You can’t complain, not when you have a decent salary that keeps bread on the table and a roof over your head.

A tug on your sleeve brings you back to Hoisuke looking up at you, a scribbled drawing of what seems to be of him and his dad. You feel yourself chuckling at how he's drawn both their hair in brown spikes, erratically extravagant and yet so close to reality.

"That's really good, Hoisuke!" You beam down at him, "what do you and your dad do on weekends?"

He shrugs shyly, head averted to the side so that there's no need for eye contact. And in the shyest voice he can muster up, he says:

"Daddy brings me...to see Mama," Hoisuke's words are barely above a mumble, "they live in different houses. They can't live together anymore."

Uneasiness squeeses in your stomach, followed by sympathy for this soft-hearted boy. You had overheard some of your colleagues giggling about Hoisuke's dad being attractive and single -- a combo that teachers adore -- but that doesn't mean that the weight of his words don't lay heavy on your own conscience.

"Do you miss your Mama a lot?" You ask him softly. Unconsciously, your hand finds a way to smooth over his head.

The boy doesn't pull away. Instead, he nods, "sometimes. But it is better this way. Daddy smiles more now. And there's no one to shout and make noise."

"Are you happy, Hoisuke? With your dad?"

He nods and to your amazement grins, "daddy is funny. He tells me not to swear but when he burns the food he always swears. And then he says to shush and tells me to close my ears. He also makes me pancakes every Saturday morning before I go see Mama."

Right on cue, a figure bursts through the open classroom door and both your heads snap to see a drenched, older version of Hoisuke who looks like he just finished running a marathon.

"I'm--" he wheezes, causing you to stand in alarm and concern, "I'm sorry I'm--so late--"

"Daddy, you forgot me again!" Comes Hoisuke's statement as you ask Iwaizumi if he's okay. He shakes off your worry with a flick of his hand and a shake of his head, "I'm fine. Sorry-- there's a nasty rain outside--"

"It's okay," you reassure him as Hoisuke practically barrels into his father and almosy knocks him off his feet.

"Sorry Hoisuke," you watch Iwaizumi's hardened features soften ever so slightly as he ruffles his son's hair. Then, looking back up at you as you bring over Hoisuke's backpack, he says, "thank you. For looking after him."

"It's no problem, honestly. We had fun didn't we?" You grin down at your student and are delighted to find Hoisuke grinning back up at you, albeit shyly, "I put his homework in his diary. He'll need to complete it for tomorrow so that he doesn't fall behind in class."

His father nods, "alright. Thanks."

"Daddy, your hair looks atrocious," Hoisuke says, tugging onto his shirt.

"Atrocious huh?" Iwazumi's eyebrow rise, "someone was listening in their English class today."

"Atrocious means that it looks bad. Daddy, your hair looks bad."

"Thanks buddy, I knew that. Now say bye to Miss Y/N."

"Bye bye, miss Y/N," Hoisuke says, wriggling his short arm through the air as you wave back with a giggle. His father nods at you in silent thanks, makes a move to walk out of the class, only to swivel back to you just as you're collecting your bag.

"Uhm," he clears his throat, causing you to jump slightly, "yes?" You blink back at him and try hard not to stare at the way his white shirt clings to his toned chest, translucent from the rain.

"Do you need a ride?"

-----

You've known Iwaizumi since high school. Having graduated just two years later than he did, his reputation had preceded him throughout the school halls even though you'd never actually had any face to face interaction with the said man. Iwaizumi doesn't know this of course and you are adamant about keeping it a secret. But that plan seems to be unraveling before your very eyes the moment your small talk turns towards your academic history.

"You're from Aoba Johsai?" His surprised glance doesn't escape your notice, especially since that's the most reaction you've gotten out of him.

"Yeah," your eyes stay glued to the row of cars crawling through the motorway, "I remember you went there too, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"You were Aoba's ace volleyball player. Everyone knew who you were."

His silence answers you and for a moment, you fear that you might have offended him. Not that it's something to be offended about.

Before you try to scratch your brain for some kind of response -- any response -- Hoisuke pipes up from the back seat, "Daddy was famous back when he was in high school. He hit the ball like kapow! And jumped so high he can touch the sky."

"Oh? Have you seen him on camera?" You turn slightly, a small smile dangling off your lips at how adorably amazed and excited Hoisuke seems to be.

"Yeah! His spikes are so awesome! It goes pow! And it zooms! Like a cannon ball!"

You burst out laughing, "yes, your father was amazing whenever he was on the court. Every girl in our class had a crush on him."

"What's a crush?"

"Hmm, you know when you really like someone. You like like them, you want to be together with them. Like, girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh," Hoisuke draws out, "did you really like daddy too?"

"Yeah I did."

"What?" Iwaizumi almost chokes on his own spit at the same time traffic eases and you're glad for the distraction, for you're certain there's a scattering of colour upon your cheeks.

"Do you really like him now?" Hoisuke persists, undoubtly untouched by the embarrassment taking over his father's features and you swear that more than ever, you want to laugh at how flustered Iwaizumi looks.

You decide to play nice though and instead turn to wink at your student, "that's a secret for me to keep."

You don't have to look twice to know that the man beside you is bursting into hot flames.

-----

"Did you really like Mama before you started living separately?"

Iwaizumi swears that he's never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Not when he's had to state that he was divorced, not when he had to sign divorce papers half drunk off his ass. Not even when he'd raged after his said ex-wife after finding a tie that wasn't his own in his laundry pile.

Now is probably a good definition of what uncomfortable means.

"You're not gonna let me off the hook are you?" He steals a glance at Hoisuke from over his shoulder while stirring the vegetable curry, "yes, I really liked your mother."

"Did she?"

The word 'yes' almost slips past his mouth. Except, he isn't sure whether that's the truth and decides to shoot back with, "have you finished your homework, Hoisuke? You know it's due tomorrow. Miss Y/N said so."

"Do you really like miss Y/N?"

"What?" Iwaizumi frowns, "well--no. Not like that."

"Why?" His son whines, "I really really like Miss Y/N. She's nice to me and she never shouts. And she bakes good cookies!"

"How'd you know that?" Iwaizumi leans over to taste a bit of the sauce. Not bad, he thinks and mentally pats himself on the back. A few weeks ago, he would've probably burnt the entire house down.

"Because she bakes them every month. Every time we finish a test."

"That's nice of her."

"Yes," there's a pause as the man fishes out a bowl in which to serve the curry, "daddy, what do you do when you really like someone? Do you marry them like you and Mama did?"

"Uh--yeah. Sure."

"Then does that mean I need to marry Miss Y/N if I really like her?"

"Yup."

"Daddy!"

Iwaizumi bursts out laughing. Turning off the stovetop and bringing the bowl over to the dining table, he reaches out to ruffle his son's hair with a grin, "you're the one who has a crush on miss Y/N."

"She's too old for me Daddy," grumbles Hoisuke while scooping out two rice bowls as the pair sit down for dinner, "but she'll be good for you."

"Not that simple, buddy," Iwaizumi says as he dumps two spoonfuls of curry into his son's bowl, before doing the same with his own, "there's a difference between like and love."

A frown falls over his son's face, so like his own that Iwaizumi can't help but chuckle, "what is the difference?"

"Well, when you really like someone, you might want to get to know them better. Or play with them andd shit--stuff like that. When you love someone, it's..." he hesitates, "it's different."

"Why?"

There goes that innocent question that punctures his chesy a little too deeply. The brown-haired man steadies his gaze upon the calendar fixed on the wall opposite him as he answers with:

"When you love someone, you want to live with them. You want to start a family with them. Their happiness," his brown orbs switch back to his son's focused attention, "their happiness is all that matters."

Maybe it's the fact that he's not used to speaking so truthfully about such things. Maybe it's just Hoisuke who suddenly realizes the layers hidden beneath his father's poker-faced exterior. But for a moment, neither of them speak, as if bewitched by a silencing spell if broken by the scraping of cutlery against porcelain.

"Did you love mama?"

Hoisuke's voice is small, fragile. So fragile that Iwaizumi pauses just as his spoon reaches his mouth, glancing over at his boy. His beautiful boy.

"Yeah."

Another short pause. "Did she love me?"

"Of course she did," Iwaizumi's face softens. To be honest, Hoisuke hadn't showed any kind of restraint during the entire divorce procedure, had merely accepted things as they had unfolded before his very eyes. But sometimes, Iwaizumi fears his son might be keeping more from him than he lets on.

He ressembles his mother a lot in that sense.

"Then," wet coffee-coloured eyes blink up at him, lips trembling with a hoarse whisper, "why'd she leave?"

Before his father can say anything, the young boy bursts into tears.

Iwaizumi rushes over, clasping Hoisuke in his embrace as the child buries his face into his neck and cries and cries and cries. His little heart beats like wild horses and with every sob echoing through hid body, Iwaizumi feels his own heart break over and over again. One of his hands rub comforting circles of Hoisuke's back, while the other smoothes over the back of his head as he murmurs soft nothings in hopes that it will calm down the young child.

"I want--" Hoisuke's voice is thick with tears, "I want Mama--"

"Shh, hey it's okay," Iwaizumi murmurs out, "s'alright kiddo. I got you."

Hoisuke falls asleep eventually, the soft sniffles dying out into even breaths as he slumps against his father’s shoulder, probably tired out from his earlier emotions. Iwaizumi takes this as his chance to tuck the boy into bed, glad that he’d listened to the small subconscious in his head telling him that Hoisuke would be falling asleep sooner rather than latter.

As he smoothes over his son’s hair, a part of him wonders how much Hoisuke is still silently hurting from his mother’s departure. He can’t imagine it; suddenly changing lives like you’ve merely changed your bed sheets and Iwaizumi had been so caught up in his own heartbreak, in his own bout of silent rage, that he’d forgotten that along the way, Hoisuke was also a victim to their endless fighting, the cold war that had broken his family apart.

He wishes he can take the pain away, ease it somehow. But it’s not that simple. The truth is, no one can actually predict how a heart gets broken, nor when it does. The only evidence are the repurcussions. And it’s only now that Iwaizumi gets to see it truly take its form.

Leaning over to press a soft kiss to Hoisuke’s forehead, Iwaizumi murmurs his silent goodnight before walking out and gently closing the bedroom door behind him.

He leans onto the hard wooden surface and rubs his eyes. It is only upon pulling them away that he takes notice of the family photograph hanging on the opposite wall, frozen smiles wrapped up in lies.

He really needs to take that down.

-----

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realcube · 3 years

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their team reacts to seeing them with hickeys/back scratches 💫

characters: kageyama, akaashi & kita

tw// fem! reader, sexual references, swearing, blood

kita tw// mentions of daddy kink, punishment, overstimulation - MINORS DNI

KITA’S IS AGED UP!!

thank you anon for the request 💗

Tobio Kageyama

he was on tanaka’s team for game amongst karasuno and he watched his senpai take off his shirt and wave it around after they scored another point

but instead of putting the shirt back on, he kept it off bc he was too lazy to go get it since he threw it to the other side of the gym

then noya took his shirt off too bc he was sweating buckets

but kageyama wasn’t really sure why they had their shirts off so he felt the need to ask

‘why aren’t you putting your shirt back on?’

noya was just kinda like ‘who are you, my mom?’ but tanaka gave him a straight answer which was ‘it helps with ✨ aerodynamics✨’

kageyama isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed so he doesn’t even know what aerodynamics are

but then he watched tanaka make a killer spike and he was sold

shirt = off

aerodynamics = thriving (?)

sets = awesome

back scratches = exposed 😳

hotel = trivago

tsukishima was the first one to notice ofc as he was positioned right behind kageyama

he didn’t say anything tho bc yamaguchi was on the opposite team so he just had to snicker to himself

hinata was like ‘what’s so funny, stinkyshima?!’ bc he automatically assumed that tsukishima was laughing at him lol

but then he followed tsukki’s gaze and leaned back to look at kageyama’s back too

‘yeesh, man. you should probably put some aloe vera on that or something, it could get infected.’

AIUWRAFHBE ok ok hinata isn’t completely oblivious to the connotations of back scratches but he’d never think in a million years that kageyama would get laid so he kinda subconsciously ruled that possibilty out-

kageyama quirked a brow, ‘what?’

‘your back! it’s all mangled.’

then noya and tanaka ran over and fkn BURST OUT LAUGHING

at this point, all of kageyama’s team was surrounding him while the other team waited patiently for them to serve

but after a while, it was clear that they weren’t gonna do that so suga - who was on the opposing team - strolled over to see what they were all laughing about

and when he saw it- bitch- he went red

a cool mom so he probably made a suggestive remark as he walks away

it eventually got to the point where everyone in the gym was crowded around kageyama and for ease, i’ll categorize their reactions:

laughing their ass off ➵ tsukishima, tanaka, nishinoya, coach ukai & yamaguchi

concerned and confused ➵ yachi, takeda, hinata & narita

a blushing mess ➵ asahi, kinoshita & sugawara

unfazed 😐 ➵ kiyoko & daichi

LIVID ➵ kageyama

‘WHY DO YOU ALL CARE SO MUCH ABOUT MY BACK?!’

kageyama could literally break his neck and walk into practise with a neck brace and no one would bat an eye but now that he has scratches on his back, suddenly everyone is so concerned about his wellbeing? where with this energy that time he said that hinata gave him a concussion?

to be fair, he didn’t have a concussion- also, he forgot the word so he told suga that hinata gave him a ‘conclusion’

daichi agreed, trying to usher everyone back to their spot on the court, ‘yeah, it’s no big deal, guys. let’s get back to practise.’

everyone slowly made their way back to where they were previously but since tanaka and noya were still on kageyama’s team, they continued to pry

tanaka flung his arm around kageyama’s shoulders, ‘so how’d you get those scratches, big boy?’

an ungodly laugh left noya’s mouth

kageyama shrugged, ‘(y/n), i think.’

the whole gym room went silent before erupting in choruses of laughter once again

‘WELL YOU AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND NEED TO CALM DOWN THEN!’ tanaka wheezed

kageyama was truly the idiot that didn’t understand the implications of the back scratches - so you can imagine that he was frustrated when everyone started laughing again

‘what’s so funny?’ but then, he recalled the events which he was pretty certain were the reason for the marks on his back......it was pretty funny

you insisted on giving kageyama a back massage after a long day of practise so he took his shirt off and let you go for it

for the record, he really loved it :)) he was just so happy sitting there between your thighs as you sat on the couch and rubbed his back, loosening all the knots he didn’t even know he had

but then he got a lil’ inch on his back and was like ‘can you get that for me?’ since your hands were already on his shoulders/back

ofc you said yes and started lightly scratching the spot he desired, but being extra careful bc you just got you nails done in the stiletto shape and the last thing you wanted to do was puncture his back lol

‘harder..’ kageyama muttered so low that you almost didn’t hear him

you obliged, pressing a bit harder

‘harder.’ he insisted once more

again, you served by digging your nails in a bit deeper

‘harder.’

‘no, kags. i’ll literally pierce your skin if i press any harde--’

‘harder!’ he barked (for a joke) and you jumped from fright, instinctively pushing in more and increasing the pace of your hand

at this point, you were rigorously clawing at his back, on the verge of drawing blood which you could tell by his skin’s newfound crimson pigment

kageyama took it upon himself to lean backwards onto your nails to force you to go rougher as you had yet to ease his itch

then you let out a high-pitched scream so naturally, kageyama jerked away then peered over his shoulder to make sure you hadn’t like..died

‘what?!’ he asked, eyes filled with worry

‘blood!’ you yelled, pointing at his back before sprinting to the kitchen to get a tissue

kageyama’s gaze followed you until you were out of sight, then he lightly touched his back around the parts you were scratching and once he pulled his hand away, he noticed the blood which was now on his fingers

‘oh.’

the concerning part was that he didn’t even feel it tbh 🤔

anyway tanaka and noya probably coo ‘oooh~ lovebirds~’ when you come pick him up from practise

Keiji Akaashi

bokuto heard some ppl whispering about akaashi & (y/n) in the changing room so he turned around to take a look at his friend then he noticed the scratch marks on his poor friends’ back

‘AKAASHI!! DID YOU GET MAULED BY A BEAR?!?!’ he screamed, grabbing the attention of everyone in the changing room and those who weren’t whispering about akaashi before, were definitely doing so now

akaashi smiled softly and shook his head, hastily throwing on his shirt and buttoning it up as he spoke, ‘no, bokuto-san.’

bokuto quirked a brow, wondering what could’ve possibly happened before his jaw dropped to the ground

‘is it ‘cause i patted your back a bit hard earlier?!?!?’

akaashi didn’t even bother to question how bokuto could think that a slap on the spine could lead to scratch marks and instead just replied normally, ‘no.’

bokuto was stumped once again- why else would his buddy have marks on his back? and why was (y/n) such a prominent name floating around in this changing room? doesn’t everyone know that she is taken by bokuto’s best-bro akaashi?

....

WAIT

bokuto’s jaw hung open once again as his soul left his body through an overdramatic gasp, before leaning in and whispering in akaashi’s ear, ‘wait- don’t tell me- you and (y/n)-’

akaashi’s cheeks tinted red slightly so he turned his head away while he pulled on his blazer, ‘no.’

bokuto let out a light sigh of relief, gently patting his pal’s back, ‘ah, good. but then, where did those marks come from?’

before akaashi even got the opportunity to open his mouth to respond, komi and konoha passed the pair, konoha patting akaashi’s shoulder and komi shot him a toothy grin accompanied by a thumbs-up, ‘get some, akaashi.’

then they walked off, konoha mubbling something about his chances with (y/n) being ruined

this left both bokuto and akaashi extremely confused

once all traces of komi and konoha were gone, akaashi proceeded to explain himself

‘backne is a horrible thing.’ he murmured, grabbing his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder before strolling out the changing room. ‘i’ll wait for you outside.’

and bokuto just stood there like (。_。) ‘what’s backne?’

Shinsuke Kita

atsumu had invited the whole squad back to inarizaki for one last game before coach kurosu’s retirement

after ages of arrangement, the whole team were able to make an appearance at the game - whether that be for 10 minutes or the whole thing

kita was able to stay for the whole thing

he was currently warming-up while chatting with aran before he was approached by atsumu, who was as lively as ever

‘mister rice farmer! it’s good to see you again!’ he sung, tossing his arm around kita’s shoulder and patting it in a friendly manner, ‘how’s life been treating ya?’

kita and atsumu somehow managed to make small-talk as if they hadn’t been apart for the last 6 years

‘me and my girlfriend have only been together for 6 months but i think i’m ready to settle down.’ atsumu mused, tapping his elbow before realising that he had been talking about himself for a while, ‘but anyway, i see that you and (y/n) are still going strong. haven’t y’all been together since the first year of highschool? that’s impressive! when are you gonna wife her up?’

kita perked up upon hearing that, ‘uh, yes. but how do you know that?’

atsumu couldn’t help but smirk, casually running a hand through his hair before motioning to the hickey on kita’s neck which was on semi-display, ‘right there, bud.’

kita looked down but unfortunately, his neck didn’t bend enough to see what atsumu was referring to

‘also,’ atsumu chuckled, slightly embarrassed about what he was going to admit ‘i saw the pic of her you put on your facebook.’

‘ah, okay.’ that one kita could understand

atsumu was about to open this mouth to say something but then the shrieking noise of the coach kurosu’s whistle rang through the gym room, indicating the start of the match

the game went surprisingly smooth tbh

minimal fights :o

but kita did get teased quite a lot smh

anyway, after everything was all said and done and everyone started to filter out the gym, kita rushed to the bathroom to check himself in the mirror and see what atsumu was referring to on his neck

once he took a look at himself, he frowned

just as he thought, a hickey - that’s embarrassing

it was clear you made an effort to place hickeys in areas that would be hidden though as the bruise was barely peeking out from under the collar of his jersey, atsumu just has a rather keen eye

however, that wasn’t going to stop kita from pounding you dry when he gets home - as a punishment ofc

kita was about to leave but he couldn’t help but stay and stare at himself in the mirror for a bit longer, recalling last night as he wondered at what point you bit those onto his neck

was it during the 2nd round? or the foreplay? or perhaps the 4th round? wait- no- definitely during aftercare cuddles!..or actually, maybe the 1st round?

in all honesty, he couldn’t remember

to him the whole night was a blur of pounding into you relentlessly, overstimulation, pleads for mercy, tears, passionate kisses and praise

with a sprinkle of daddy kink but let’s not talk about that

oh, and not to forget the way you’d call out his name just as you were about to reach your orgasm

or your sweet, lewd whines that echoed through the room when he thrashes against your sensitive spot

and don’t get him started on the cute little nicknames you have for him that squeal out through moans, like ‘daddy’, ‘master’, ‘sir’ etc

kita snapped out of his fantasies, letting out a sigh and about to exit the bathroom- until he noticed himself in the mirror out of the corner of his eye

he was hard

smh smh smh

now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place

(literally 🤠)

he could either potentially embarrass himself or cause an accident by walking to his car and driving home with a throbbing boner

or he could call you to help him jerk off in a bathroom stall

so he took a seat in one of the stalls - for the sake of the ppl he might run over if he did otherwise

he rung you up and thankfully, you picked up and you weren’t feeling bratty enough to deny him the help he needed so badly

although it wasn’t a very pleasurable experience since he was constantly on hyper-alert just in case the janitor walked in, at least he got a lot of nostalgia from it :))

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tteokdoroki · 4 years

Text

then they laughed | s.todoroki.

⇝ pairing: shoto todoroki x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 1.7K

⇝ rating: suitable for everyone.

⇝ genre: fluff.

⇝ summary: you’d never been ashamed of your quote on quote ‘ugly’ laugh but you’re not quite sure what to make of it when your crush mistakes it for mild choking or the one in which shoto todoroki mistakes your laugh for choking in the middle of the school cafetria.

⇝ warning(s): please read ! fluffy, angst if you squint, clueless todoroki and mentions of choking ( non-sexual ).

⇝ author’s note(s): why hello there darlings, here’s a little drabble requested by @patricia-ceballos, i thought this idea was super cute, i’m not sure how i feel about the ending but i had a lot of fun writing. oh and thank you so much for 600+ follows, i love you all. :( <3

⇝ masterlist | requests

you’d always thought that you had an ugly laugh.

it’s not that you were ashamed of it, never that, but you knew the twisted high pitch stream of giggles that passed your sweet unsuspecting lips could be kind of off putting to others. even so, that never put you off from laughing and joking about with your friends— if they truly cared for you, then having a slightly maniac-like laugh wouldn’t be a problem for them.

your classmates at U.A seemed to be those types of people. the good kind that you could trust wholeheartedly— the first time they’d heard you laugh, ochako had chuckled along with you, izuku had thought it was part of your quirk and bakugou had simply asked if you needed a ‘fucking throat lozenge?’ which only made you burst out into more streams of unintelligible giggles.

right now though, you try your best to stifle your giggles while you watch ochako and deku helplessly try to avoid admitting their feelings for one another over lunch. “what’s wrong deku? are you feeling sick?” the sweet brunette asks, almost impossibly close to the latter’s now beet red face. you can tell that he’s flustered by her proximity; the words he wants to say falling flat on his tongue.

ochako blinks for a second— as if to realise her mistake and quickly backs up, drowning in embarrassment and her silly crush on izuku midoriya. the girl stumbles back into iida, giving him only moments to process his now dropped food before he’s scolding them into next week— hands flying through the air while he barks out his complaints. trying not to laugh is becoming unbearably harder by the second, even asui is falling victim to the scene of comedy displayed right in front of your eyes and its not until you look up and meet the confused gaze of shoto todoroki that the dam finally breaks.

“what’s so funny?” the dual eyed boy says so blankly that even he is comical to you. you break out into fits of hysteria, slamming a hand over your mouth as your snorts launch their way across the table. shoto blinks, brows pinching in the centre of his forehead— is there a joke he’s missing? something he said?

the cluelessness of the half hot, half cold boy before you only sends you spiralling into more bursts of laughter— easing the embarrassment off of the two helpless flirters and effectively calming iida down while they join you in your chuckling session. “its...it’s just that—!” you can barely explain yourself, bold snickers punctuating each of your words as humoured tears begin to form in the corners of your dazzling eyes.

todoroki’s mood now shifts from bewildered to concerned, the short wheezes that pass from your pretty lips send shivers of worry down his spine. why is everyone laughing? can no one at the table see what’s happening? standing from his seat, the number one’s son brushes past tsuyu to get to your side— when he reaches you, your eyes sparkle with amusement despite the horrid sounds that leave you and a frown takes over his angekic face.

“don’t worry yn, i’ll help you.”

still trembling with a case of the giggles you have little time to process the dual haired boy’s words before he’s hoisting you from your seat, you think he’s trying to calm you down from the way his heated hand pats on your back ( five times to be exact ) but when his strong arms wrap around you— suddenly pumping your stomach, you realise.

todoroki is performing the heimlich manoeuvre on you.

shoto todoroki thinks your laughter is choking.

heat flushes to your cheeks as shoto moves to pump your stomach again, his broad chest pressed intimately against your back. the snickers from your friends at your lunch table stop— silence sweeping over them and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the stares you draw from other u.a students in the canteen. their judging eyes tear you down and crawl over you, leaving an uneasy feeling to settle in your bones but you’re too paralysed by embarrassment— too frozen to tell todoroki to stop.

you know he only means well, he didn’t know any better and he was only trying to help a friend in need but did he really mistake your laughter for choking? was it really that ugly?

a fresh set of tears prickle in your eyes, this time however, they’re not laced with the happiness you gain from being around your friends. before shoto has another chance, you pull away from him slightly with a small whimper pours from your flustered form. “stop... todoroki, please— stop...”

the boy’s hold on you loosens, he recognises the broken tone laced with your usually jubilant voice which gives you enough room to make a dash for it. blinking, todoroki turns to his group of friends, confused as escape the cafeteria and wolfish stares from your fellow students.

“s-she wasn’t choking, todoroki— she was laughing with us.” izuku explains carefully, fidgeting underneath his classmates strict gaze. the shorter feels almost bad for shoto, knowing he’s probably kicking himself for upsetting you even as you flee.

but his worries are soon eased as todoroki races after you.

launching yourself down the corridor, you use the sleeve of your grey blazer to run away the remaining tears that sting at your eyes. students from across all years watch you go by with looks of either annoyance or concern, but you move to quickly to care— throwing yourself into an empty hall and sinking to your knees. the heat of embarrassment blistering underneath the skin of your cheeks doesn’t ease up as you desperately paw at them, frustration intertwining with the air in your lungs… because, because it had been years since you last felt ashamed of your unconventional laughter, because you thought that enough time had gone by for you to no longer feel insecure about it.

you had good friends here at u.a, ones that didn’t judge you for your unusual habit but the scene yourself and todoroki had created back in the canteen only brought on bad memories reminding you of all of your insecurities from the past.

sighing heavily; you brace yourself to return to lunch with your friends, tripping over flimsy excuses in your mind for your sudden disappearence when a pair of well polished, brown school shoes come into view from over the tops of your knees.

“there you are, ln.” shoto’s voice is warm while he speaks to you, you’d always thought that. its deep like melted chocolate ready to be tempered and somewhat soothes your nervously thumping heart. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing that there’s probably a pink tint to your eyes from where you’ve been crying but the boy with the two-toned hair persists, still wanting your attention. “the others…the others and i, were worried about you.”

you shake your head, fixing your gaze on a lose thread on the hem of your skirt that sits above your knees. “ah!, todoroki! you shouldn’t worry about me…just head back to the cafeteria before your cold soba gets… well, colder!” a frown pinches at the corner of your lips, settling heavily on your face. you don’t even find yourself convincing but hope todoroki believes your hopeless words anyways. “i’ll be with you guys in just a moment.”

but to your dismay, the youngest son of endeavour slides his back down the wall to sit next to you instead. “did i hurt you?” he mumbles awkwardly. todoroki itches to reach out and comfort you— it seems like something you would do for him but he’s never been good with situations like these.

“no! no shoto,” this makes you look up, catching the light in the cyan of his eyes. the pair of you blush, flicking your gazes away from one another. “i’m fine!”

“were you crying?”

“certainly not!”

“but your face—“

“shut up!”

“not until you tell me why you ran.” god, was he persistent. blunt and straight to the point, was shoto todoroki.

suddenly your feet become more interesting that the boy beside you, a silence sweeping over you both. “because,” you pause, trying to taste the words on the tip of your tongue before you say them. “i was embarrassed! the whole cafeteria heard my ugly laugh and thought i was—“

“choking,” todoroki finishes for you, finally finding the courage to rest an icy hand on your shoulder. “i’m sorry yn, i didn’t mean to make you feel embarrassed about your laugh,” sorrow litters the tail end of the half hot, half cold boy’s words— making them sit heavily in the air. “midoriya explained to me, i really didn’t mean to make you feel that way, i was just worried about you.”

you soften up, finally meeting his gaze once more and sniffle a little— chest warming at his concern for you. “shoto, it’s okay...” you’re quiet in your response, leaning into his cold touch but the dual eyed boy only shakes his head.

todoroki turns to face you fully, shrinking the space between you. he’s so close that you can see the flecks of grey in each of his eyes and feel the warmth from his breath fanning across your cheeks. “even if i can be...socially unaware sometimes, i still don’t want to hurt your feelings. they’re important to me,” he tilts his head, offering you a small smile enough to make a million hearts melt. “and for what it’s worth, i think your laugh is quite cute. not ugly.”

you blink, wondering if you heard him correctly and press a hand to your cheeks that now hear you’ll, as if you’ll be able to cool them down. “y-you think my laugh is cute?”

“yes, and i’d love to hear more of it over dinner sometime.”

his face is as serious as ever while he speaks, but the shine to his eyes tells you a different story as todoroki offers you a hand to stand up. “was that a pick up line, shoto?” you ask, barely being able to keep it together as little shots of laughter litter themselves through your sentences.

“i’m not sure...what’s a pick up line again?” you burst into joyful tears, obnoxious laughter filling the corridors as the boy on your arm guides you to your next class. you care little for the stares that your ugly laugh attracts, just happy that it puts a little smile on shoto todoroki’s face.

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 17]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, intercrural sex, lots ‘o teasing, dirty talk/the absolute tiniest bit of degradation, some cum play/cum eating, seungcheol having a kink for thighs/thigh highs 😳😗 welcome to the weekend my bbys!! I hope yall are having a good day/night!! Also again, another inbox roundup tomorrow(also an updates post)!! 💕 Might be a regular thing for the next 4-ish weeks ‘cause I have been so busy this month 😭 and I can’t believe there’s only 3 more chapters of CB left!! 😭😭 some bangers on the way tho LMAO 🤣 As always, thank you so much for the love and support!!💕💕 Have a great rest of your weekend and enjoy ch 17![cheol voice] seventeen right here 😌💕🍒

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - x - x - x

Seungcheol doubles over in laughter, tears blurring his vision as his laughs turn into quiet wheezes.

“God, this is so embarrassing.” Seokmin mutters; cheeks burning crimson when he glances over to Jeongguk who shrugs back. “Maybe I really should quit…”

Jeongguk scoffs jokingly, “Maybe you shouldn’t have lied. No offense, but all the staff here probably have at least seen her before and you just so happened to lie to her actual boyfriend. That’s honestly really lucky if you ask me! You should buy a lotto ticket!” Seokmin whines back, shifting on his heels as he watches Seungcheol start to wipe the tears away.

“Hyung, can you please take this Edible Arrangements I got you so I can go ask Namjoon-hyung to fire me?” This only causes Seungcheol to laugh harder and this time, Jeongguk can’t help the giggle that bubbles past his tightly pursed lips.

“Please!” Seokmin begs, shaking the basket of skewered fruit at the older male. “I heard the diner across down is still hiring, I can still save the rest of my dignity if I leave now!”

Seungcheol shakes his head, eyelashes wet with tears when he takes the gift from Seokmin’s hands to place it on the countertop of the concession stand. “Hate to break it to you but she works there and one of the staff is also one of her regulars so I think your best bet is workin’ here. Embarrassment and all.”

“So, okay… But you’re not mad?”

Jeongguk peels the cellophane off of the basketed fruit, looking to Seungcheol for permission before he takes a skewer. “Go ahead. And no, I’m not mad. If anything I should apologize too, I shouldn’t have let you keep lying when I already knew. But also, to be fair, we weren’t really… official ‘til recently.” Seungcheol shoots the younger male a sheepish smile; cheeks a pretty pink of their own. “And it’s kinda been nice meeting you guys too. It’s great to know you’re not all weirdos.”

Seokmin laughs lightly, breathing a sigh of relief. “Okay, cool, ‘cause this place pays really well and I’d hate to stop working here and you guys are a lot cooler than the coworkers I had before.” He rolls his eyes jokingly, leaning up against the countertop as he picks off a strawberry from the basket.

“Don’t even get me started on this coworker I had at the last place. His name was Mingyu, I think? Suuuuuch a kissass. I had to move to manning the register at all times just so I could avoid him pickin’ his nose in the backroom and then pretending like he was doin’ shit.”

“Hey, Seungcheol-hyung?”

Seokmin’s inquisitive voice has Seungcheol turning; setting the rollerskates in his hand down onto the bench. “Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s weird that we’re, like, watching your girlfriend?” He tilts his head in thought, eyes blinking up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to overstep or something if it’s weird, y’know? I’ve been thinking about what Jeongguk said earlier...”

Seungcheol grins back at him, eyes twinking. He’d also thought about that before too, when he first found out that Jeongguk had also watched your streams.

“I don’t really mind ‘cause at the end of the day, it’s you watching me fucking my girlfriend.”

“Well, I’m glad he took it… well?” You giggle, tugging the white thigh high up your leg.

Seungcheol pulls off his shirt as he sits on the edge of the bed; tossing the wrinkled material onto the floor as he laughs under his breath.

“He did give me an Edible Arrangements while I laughed so hard I cried. I think he’s learned his lesson.”

xcaliburDK: good news, i didnt quit!!

chwenon: i was gonna say

chwenon: u literally started like last week

universe_WZ has donated $75

angelhan has donated $75

therealchan99 has donated $50

therealchan99: u look rly pretty in ur white set!!!

“Aww, thank you! It’s one of my favorites~ And ‘xcaliburDK’, I’m glad you didn’t quit!” You wink at the camera, giggling softly in Seungcheol’s lap as he peppers kisses along your shoulder.

A shiver runs up your spine at his gentle touches and you easily melt under his soft kisses and roaming fingertips. He ghosts them across your breasts, teasing you through the thin lace as you mewl and squirm against his cock that’s pressed firm against your ass. “A-ah, S--Seungcheol…”

tangerine_kwan: she looks so happy now that she can call ur name out lol

alphagyu97: now i cant pretend its me tho

gentleman_josh95: i mean i guess but are u even built like him

alphagyu97: well

Your body slowly starts to fill with warmth; soft stuttered breaths falling from your lips when he drags his fingers down your torso until they play with the hem of your panties. “M-more… tease me m-more…” He grins against your shoulder; hooking a finger around the waistband of your panties and tugging it away from you before letting it snap against your skin.

“‘Cheol!” Whining, your legs snap shut on impulse as you feel a gush of wetness soaking into your panties.

“Ah, ah, ah, part those legs, princess. Don’t make me have to punish you.”

kitty_junjun: no thats what the shibari stream is for right? Right? 😩

artist8hao: is that really happening bc i want to see it

alphagyu97: u guys should do it and think of it as like a rebrand of the channel ykwim

hoshi_tiger_xx: jdfkjhf like a grand re-opening under new management

therealchan99: what is this, a restaurant?

chwenon: u guys should come up with a new channel name too or sth

Seungcheol manages to read off a few of their comments; committing some to memory knowing that your eyes were still sealed shut as you focused on his soft touches.

He drags his fingers down further, humming when he can already feel how wet you were getting. “Hmm~ Already soaked through your pretty panties, baby~” Your head rolls back against his shoulder, nodding gently as you start to grind against the fingers that he uses to press into your clothed, wet folds.

“F-feels good w-when you, ah, t-tease me…”

Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol smirks, eyes twinkling at the camera. “You really like it, huh? When I just touch you gently like this. Not enough to get you off but just enough to get you soaking wet until you’re begging for my cock.” He pauses; pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “I wanna try something with you, pretty baby~”

You gulp as you raise your head from his shoulder and he retracts his hands from your body as you shift your body and slightly turn to the side to face him.

Seungcheol’s eyes are blown wide with lust and you can already feel his cock throbbing against your lower back as he smiles dreamily at you.

“I think you’ll like it too.”

A stuttered moan falls from your lips as Seungcheol’s cock slides past your tightly clasped, yet shaky, thighs.

“O-oh, ‘Cheol, this--this is…” The words die on your tongue as your head falls forward and Seungcheol is quick to reprimand you, just as he draws his hips back.

“Baby, I want you to watch yourself on the screen. I want you to see your cute face while I tease your pretty body.” He moans; thrusting between your wet thighs as your hazy eyes peer at the laptop’s screen. Your lips are swollen and your pupils are blown wide when you catch yourself and you can see the head of Seungcheol’s cock only just breaching past your clamped thighs when he thrusts forward.

You let out a guttural moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he alternates between thrusting between your thighs and letting his cock slide against your soaked, panty-clad mound.

He hadn’t bothered to undress you at all, but you didn’t mind. The material of your panties only added onto the pleasure with every drag of his cock against you.

Seungcheol teases you even more; dragging his hands down to your thigh highs and letting his fingertips play right underneath the hems before pulling the material away from your thighs and letting them snap against your skin, much like he’d done with your panties.

“Ah, fuck, m-more! P-please…” He repeats the action a few more times, playing with the sheer fabric of your thigh highs before he draws his hips back. Except this time, when you expect him to thrust back between your legs, he wraps a hand around his cock instead, guiding himself until the head of his cock is rubbing up against the sheer fabric.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty with cum all over your pretty thighs. I should cum all over your panties and your white ‘lil thigh highs and get them all soaked. Don’t you think they’d be cute? Sticking to you like a second skin? Translucent ‘n soaked through with my cum?” He laughs under his breath, watching through the laptop screen at the way you bite your lip and furrow your brows at the thought.

“I--I want t-that… I want S--Seungcheol t-to make, ngh, a m-mess…”

angelhan: i kno we say this all the time but can u upload some pics of that later

angelhan has donated $75

universe_WZ: seconded cuz thatd look so fuckin hot

universe_WZ has donated $50

alphagyu97 has donated $75

alphagyu97: fuck, like a lil angel covered in cum

Seungcheol teases you and himself at the same time; rubbing his cock against your fabric-clad thighs. He spreads precum onto the material, licking his lips when it already becomes translucent and sticks to your skin.

He positions his cock back between your thighs once he’s had his fill and quickly finds himself doubling his pace when he sees how wet you’re getting his cock without even having taken your panties off. “God, look at you. I don’t even need to fuck you to get you this wet. You just need to rub your ‘lil cunt against my cock and it’s enough for you, huh? I should make you sit on my lap, rub your pretty ‘lil pussy on my cock ‘til you’re cumming over and over again.”

“Ngh, yes! Fuck, Seungcheol! I--I can feel your c-cock throbbing between my l-legs… Please, please c-cum, mmh, all over my s-skin…”

“That’s right, baby. So fuckin’ desperate to be covered in it too. And always so fuckin’ pretty when you are.”

You let out a whimper as you try to focus on watching yourself just like Seungcheol had asked you to. Your lips are parted in soft breaths and you can’t seem to unfurrow your brows as Seungcheol chases his pleasure behind you.

angelhan: what if

angelhan: seungcheol in thigh highs lmao

universe_WZ: sub.cheol

sleepy_wonu: sub.cheol

universe_WZ: jinx

sleepy_wonu: fuck u

You lick your lips at the thought; although you knew Seungcheol would have a hard time relinquishing his dominating nature.

But your mind wanders as you continue to think about it; various images of Seungcheol tied up underneath you while you fucked yourself on his cock running through your mind. You let out a shaky moan, to which Seungcheol hums.

“What are you thinkin’ about, princess?”

“Um… ah, n-nothing…” He thrusts between your legs hard, making you jolt forward as you yelp.

“Princess...”

“I--ah! J-just thinking a-about… y-you tied up, ngh, to--to the bed and m-me fuh--fucking myself on your c-cock… ‘n me u-using, mmh, my toys o-on you...” Seungcheol smirks, pulling his cock from between your shaky thighs as he slightly pushes you over until you're on your back.

He spreads your legs as you look up at him and he’s quick to wrap a hand around his cock as he jerks himself off above you. “Oh, I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? I bet you’d be so cute trying to be the domme for a night.” Seungcheol teases.

You find yourself clenching around emptiness as you think of the possibilities. You definitely wanted to try it if Seungcheol was willing.

“Fuck, but first, gonna cover your pretty body with my cum.” He groans; thrusting up into his palm as he chases his high.

“C-cum all over me, Seungcheol…”

The donations and comments sound off in the back as you maintain eye contact with Seungcheol who’s brows furrow when he starts to feel himself about to cum. He scoots back a little; growling when his cock throbs in his grasp and he cums all over your, already, soaked panties.

You let out a moan when rivulets of cum hit your lower abdomen and you’re quick to reach down and scoop some up to bring to your mouth, smearing the warm substance against your puckered lips before licking it off. Whimpering, you dip your fingers into your mouth; this time pretending they were Seungcheol’s instead of your own.

He guides his cock until the head is aimed at your thighs; streaks of cum settling into the sheer material of your thigh highs. “God, you’re so damn pretty...” Groaning, he milks his cock for every drop of cum before he’s stopping to catch his breath.

“You came so much but I didn’t cum yet, ‘Cheol~” Pouting, you turn your head to the side to face the camera. “Tell him he has to make me cum now~”

kitty_junjun: well u heard the lady!!

hoshi_tiger_xx: make her cum and let her cream her cute lil panties even more

therealchan99: oh fuck yeah, get her off without fucking her cute cunt

Seungcheol leans over your body until the two of you are almost face to face, eyes twinkling with playfulness when you feel his sticky hand playing with your thigh highs again.

“D’you hear that? Let’s give them what they want, baby.”

The sounds of donations and comments once again get lost as Seungcheol finds himself on his knees between your legs.

“Ready?”

When you slide into bed after your camshow’s ended and Seungcheol has properly taken care of you, he’s quick to tug you into his chest.

The two of you let out soft sighs at the warmth that envelopes you both as you finally start to settle in for the night.

After a few minutes, Seungcheol clears his throat, catching you just before you drift off to sleep.

“This is so random but have you considered, I dunno, rebranding your channel… with me? I was thinking about it and kinda wanted your opinion...”

You blink up curiously at him, urging him to continue. “I mean, yeah, of course! I don’t really know where to start though since it’s always just been me. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to either so I never brought it up.” You snuggle into his warmth, yawning as the sleep threatens to take over.

“But let’s talk about it later, ‘cause ‘m tired now, ‘Cheol. You really didn’t have to make me cum twice…” You mumble, “I can still feel my legs shaking...”

His soft laugh reverberates in your chest and he’s quick to press a kiss against your hair as he tugs you in closer.

“It’s ‘cause I like to spoil you. And okay. I’ll remind you when you’re more conscious.”

“G’night, ‘Cheol...”

“Goodnight, baby.”

#cherrybomb!cheol #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #scoups scenarios #scoups fic #seungcheol fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fic #scoups #seungcheol

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sneakerdoodle · 3 years

Text

''Bard breathes in, taking in the calming alien view, and swings their legs in the air softly to the tune of the simple song they are so used to humming. It comes out a bit more strained, this time. There is a slight tightness in their chest, but they will not dwell on that. It can probably be chalked up to balancing many, many feet above the ground.''

Hey guys!!! I've been working on a post-canon Wandersong fic! Come watch Bard have Issues :- )

The first chapter is a shorter one, sort of like a teaser/exposition! Check it out right freaking here or on ff.net (with non-ideal formatting) bc i don't really wanna post on AO3. The second chapter is in the works >: 3

PDF || FanFiction.Net

(Not) Alone

Rated: K

Chapter 1

(General warnings: inability to breathe; heights)

Your footsteps used to echo through sacred halls no human had walked before, accompanied by the eager beating in your chest. Heartbeat – footstep – echo. A heavy, impending rhythm.

The only thing you heard was the glorious cheer of the crowd. The anticipation of victory made every breath ring like brass, like the blaring trumpets that would surely welcome you home. You felt golden, and colossal, like the Sun. Both of you had no choice but to shine.

The edge of your blade vibrated with a song of its own, metallic and crackling with static electricity. And you let it sing.

Time after time, you would sound the sharp final note of this intoxicating symphony.

Each time, for a split second of silence in your speeding heartbeat, you would be left alone, in a dark without a sound. A moment of ultimate finality in a place that was no longer a place.

Time after time, you would be brought back into the light and air, reaping your rewards, letting the world's ecstatic cheer crash against you like waves, flood you, fill you.

Not this time.

This time, the dark does not subside.

This time, you have nowhere to go back to.

What is worse, perhaps, is that you have nowhere to be.

The place that is no longer a place is all you have now. The cosmic opposite of spaciousness means that, in the suffocating absence of air, you are not granted the relief of feeling the walls close around you, the world smother you. There are no limits to the vacuum; there is no vacuum; there is no thing.

When your bare, hoarse voice escapes, lonely and flat, there is no ether to reverberate through, no echo to harmonize with you.

You are nowhere. You are a song that cannot sound. You are the only morsel of consciousness to vaguely grasp your own melody.

You are barely anything.

You are irreversibly alone.

***

A note catches in Bard's throat, and for a moment they are breathless, and shaken. Then they cough – like the fuzzy wheezing of a clogged flute – and feel the air fill their lungs once again.

Miriam's voice sounds from high above, impatient and strained with effort.

- Hello?? A little help???

Kiwi shakes off the uncomfortable reminder of last night and raises their head, up to the tops of two twin trees, where Miriam is trying desperately to keep her broom straight. It does seem quite hard to do with just one hand, while the other is occupied, clutching one end of a rope stretched between the two parted crowns.

Kiwi clears her throat one more time before singing out:

- A lit-tle bit high-er! 🎶

Miriam grumbles, and her broom lurches up just a bit. The rope now runs parallel to the ground, a level bridge from where its other end is glued to the opposite trunk.

- Now??

- Perfeeect! 🎶

From down below, Bard can't quite make out her movements, but they can imagine them vividly: Miriam pressing the end of the rope into the tree bark, letting the adhesive substance on its tip fix it in place; then her wrapping her fingers around it, face shifting into a concentrated frown. They can almost hear the quiet exasperated sigh, masking the nervousness Miriam always feels when casting less familiar spells and never wants to show.

As a thick woody vine stretches and knits itself along the length of the rope, connecting the flaming-red leafy tops, Bard claps their hands excitedly.

- Great job, Miriam!!

Miriam is already floating down to the ground. She is trying really hard to not look relieved.

- Yeah, - she mutters, glancing to the side, - thanks. Let's just... hope it holds. - She nods at the free space behind her, impatiently inviting Kiwi to join her on the broom, to rise back up to the connected crowns.

- Sure you're holding on well?

Bard adjusts their position in the hold of a curving branch and flashes Miriam a slightly tense smile.

- All good here! 🎶

Miriam frowns.

- Don't fall. Here you go.

Bard takes one end of yet another piece of rope from her hands and holds it up to the level of the previously conjured vine above their head. The sticky mushroom mash takes hold, but they do not take their hand away as to not test the glue with the rope's weight.

Miriam flies over to the other tree trunk, stretching the rope along the already formed scaffold. She glances at Bard nervously, and they give her an enthusiastic thumbs up – before immediately fretfully grabbing the branch below him, having almost lost his balance.

- Don't fall! - Miriam exclaims emphatically. Her tone is nothing short of disbelief: perhaps at the fact that she has to repeat herself so soon, perhaps at the fresh confirmation that the warning is actually warranted. - Eya... Just. Hold on, hold the rope, and don't.. stare while I do this.

Kiwi graciously looks away, letting their glance glide across the treetops shimmering in the light evening breeze. It's a new, fascinating perspective from this high up: the mass of moving, rustling red stretching all around them, making them forget about the ground below.

Bard takes the moment to appreciate the old trees, some of the tallest ones in the forest, raising him above their smaller siblings, into this weird valley of whispering leaves. Here, there is only the gentle waving of foliage and the sky that goes on and on, painted gentle orange by the setting sun.

Saphy was right. This is the perfect spot for a little perch, especially with the two crowns so conveniently close together. The thought brings Bard a gentle kind of joy. It is as if the forest itself was encouraging the initiative, eager to accommodate humans' curiosity.

Bard breathes in, taking in the calming alien view, and swings their legs in the air softly to the tune of the simple song they are so used to humming. It comes out a bit more strained, this time. There is a slight tightness in their chest, but they will not dwell on that. It can probably be chalked up to balancing many, many feet above the ground.

The rough bark of a newly formed vine softly bumps against Bards fingers, and they accommodate it, letting the woody liana reach the trunk and sink into it, as if having grown out of it many years ago. Miriam is doing amazing!

- You're doing amazing! - Kiwi promptly shares aloud, slightly breathless. Magical feats never lose their novelty, not to them.

Miriam skips past the usual embarrassment at being complimented and straight to a quizzical look.

- You sure you don't wanna' help?

- I'm helping! - Bard replies readily, feeling just slightly disregarded. Miriam fumbles.

- Ugh, no, I... - the words come out loud and annoyed in her rush to explain herself. She pauses - with obvious effort - and takes a few seconds. - ...Yeah, you are. Thanks. Just... aurgh, - she gives a jerky impatient shrug, - you know what I mean!!

Bard does know. Combining spellwork and singing is something the two have been experimenting with quite a lot. Bard could probably orchestrate the movement of the vine, direct it with their voice while Miriam is inducing its growth, instead of her sending it along the pre-marked trajectory of the hemp rope. But they shake their head, perhaps a bit too hurriedly.

- This is better! And you're doing great!!

Miriam examines their face, looking skeptical, vaguely confused.

- Fine, - she mutters in resignation. - If you say so. Toss me the next one.

Bard complies.

Their humming has stopped now. Instead, they turn their full attention to Miriam, promptly forgetting her earlier request. She throws a slightly irritated glance in their direction, but does not say anything, letting them observe as a new sprout rises out of a previously bare section of the bark.

Kiwi looks at the sturdy vines that will hold wooden planks, that will in turn hold a shiny new telescope. One of the many Elara has prepared for her world-wide project, to direct everyone's questioning eyes to the sky, to the novel, unfamiliar stars. Together, the people of Earth will explore the horizons of this young universe that has become their new home.

The thought of stars tickles Bard's throat, like the beginning of a song. The faraway lights, so tiny against the vast dark night sky, trading rays and stitching into constellations, must be creating a symphony of their own - one Bard is so eager to discover.

- This is gonna be great, isn't it? - they ask, their eyes clouded by visions of otherworldly landscapes.

- Yeah... - Miriam is silent for a moment, and Bard comes back to earth to look at their friend, questioning. - I don't... know much about stars... But if the astronomer lady says we can help--

- Of course!! 🎶 - Kiwi all but jumps up in a rush of passion. - We just need to look! We will find something really cool!!

Miriam smirks, but the smirk is unprecedentedly close to a smile, only adding to Bard's emotional high. They swing their legs in the air excitedly. It's new, and thrilling, seeing their friend like this: with the steadily growing readiness to find joy in the world around her.

- I'm glad we're doing this together, Miriam, - they say, smiling, as they shuffle to the side to secure yet another piece of rope against the trunk. - I like sharing things with you.

Miriam's hand holding the rope jerks just slightly as she looks away, momentarily flustered.

- Uh... yeah. Me too, - she blurts out, then draws a breath. - It... wouldn't be the same on my own. Or. You know. Without you.

The last vine is grown, and both of them sit down on the soon-to-be-platform, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watching the sun slowly sink towards the horizon.

Bard glances over at Miriam and examines the new look on her face, the one they've been spotting more and more. It is quiet surprise, like stepping out into the garden early in the morning and being met with a perfect gentle breeze. These days, the world seems to keep startling Miriam in the best of ways.

Miriam appears to have felt their gaze and meets it, eyebrow raised. They do not feel the need to explain, simply smile and dangle their feet happily. Miriam smirks and turns her face back to the gentle peachy sunset.

- ...It's gonna be nice, - she says contemplatively, - spending time here.

Kiwi takes a deep breath and feels the tightness in their chest ease and melt away.

- Yeah.

The walk back to Saphy and Miriam's home in the orange twilight is comfortable and special. Bard rants about the trees back in Langtree, and how different they are, and how she never climbed any before, in all her time living out in nature. Miriam grumpily recounts all the times she had to, to get potion ingredients back when she hadn't yet learned to properly fly a broom. When exiting the woods, she points out a specific tree which, she is convinced, has a personal vendetta against her, always tripping her up on its bulging roots. There is that unmistakable comfort of familiarity in her voice. For Miriam, exasperation often seems to be the easiest way to express her deep fondness for everything that is home.

They both take a second at the edge of the forest as the colorful house comes into view, just as the last rays of sunlight fall down the roof, then softly go out, one by one.

Saphy welcomes them with a boiling cauldron. (Her firm habit of using it indiscriminately, for food and for potion-making, is something Bard is still getting accustomed to.) Over dinner, she asks the two about their exploits with genuine, animated interest. Miriam shares the details, half-begrudgingly, throwing quick glances at Bard in moments of self-consciousness. They chime in readily and take the opportunity to praise Miriam's skills, seemingly making her more miserable in the process. It is a new and sweet routine for the three of them.

It is well into the night by the time Kiwi and Miriam get to setting up the guest cot, and Miriam keeps stoically fighting back her yawns. She isn't great at staying up past a certain hour.

- It isn't very bouncy, - she mutters, dissatisfied, as Bard plops down onto the thin mattress.

- It's great! - Bard reassures, running their hand over the clean sheets. - Goodnight, Miriam!

- G'night, - she mumbles sleepily, already walking towards the rope ladder hanging from the second level. With her hand on one of the rungs, she lingers for a moment and looks over her shoulder. - Are you still sure about tomorrow?..

Bard tenses up for a moment and does their best to shake it off.

- It... Yeah! It has been a while, so...

The rest of the sentence hangs in the air between them, irresolute. Miriam sighs quietly and makes her way back to the cot.

Their friend's arms wrap around them in a steady, comforting hug, and Kiwi suddenly feels very fragile. They return the embrace, hands on her back, and stay there for a few seconds, allowing themself to feel small.

Miriam pulls away and looks at them, eyelids heavy and droopy.

- Need... - a big, poetic yawn finally escapes her, despite all the efforts, -...company?

Bard shakes his head.

- You should get your rest!

- ...Yeah. Probably best, - Miriam grumbles and turns away with a final awkward pat on Bard's shoulder.

Halfway up the ladder, she sighs in annoyance and pauses, hanging from the wall with her head turned.

- Could you maybe try counting sheep this time? Silently??

Bard gives a couple of hurried flustered nods. Sharing space with other people again is proving to be difficult to combine with their musical routine.

- Sleep well, Miriam! And, - they grope for words for a bit, but don't find anything better than, - thank you.

Miriam nods slowly, turning away.

- Yeah. You too.

Bard dresses down and flops on top of the cot, hands on their chest. They listen as the house fills with the familiar duet of snores and quiet whistles and smile to themself, thinking about how rapidly Miriam nods off when she is tired enough.

Lying in bed and exploring the authentic years-old webs in the corners of the room, Kiwi goes over the events of the day in her head, and ponders what is waiting for them tomorrow.

A glum gnawing feeling rises in their chest, clawing at it from the inside. They push it away. It will be okay. And they won't be alone.

They lie there, trying not to worry. About tomorrow, about last night, about what this night will bring. They try not to think about the nightmares, and about the tightness in their chest, and the labored sounds of the once-effortless tune.

They close their eyes and dutifully imagine a sheep. A reeeally fluffy one. With big, shining eyes, and with a spring in its step, ready to conquer the highest of fences.

- One 🎶, - they sing to themself, as quietly and softly as they can.

The note does not come out right.

Next chapter

#wandersong #the bard wandersong #kiwi wandersong #heights mention tw #do i have a tag for #my writing #????#i must #me and Fleur are cooking up some other exquisite content as well ; ) its very exciting!!!#(not) alone

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celosiaa · 3 years

Text

let me be your shelter

CHRISTMAS FIC CHRISTMAS FIC!! Chapter one is here--many many days after I intended it to be up. It’s not exactly what I want it to be. But I hope you’ll find it enjoyable all the same. Chapter two is coming, I promise :)

“Come on, dads!!”

Calling from far ahead of them, Emma races through the snow, braids flying behind her in the bitter cold wind. Not that she seems to mind—according to the past week of dancing around the kitchen, marking the days off with big red x’s on their wall calendar, and reminding her dads over and over again that this Friday is the day—this was set to be the best day of her twelve-year-old life yet.

“Come on!”

“Just slow down a moment, Em!” Jon calls with a laugh, brushing a wayward curl out of his eyes. “You’re missing a lot of good ones!”

It’s true—she had, in fact, been flying so quickly past the rows and rows of Christmas trees, ripe for the cutting, barely brushing past on her search to find just the right one. That of course, Martin had to remind her could only be so tall, could only be so wide if it were to fit in their flat. And naturally, it didn’t seem she was going to listen.

“I want to find the biggest one!”

“I know, habibti,” Jon calls back. “But remember what Dad said, right? Martin?”

At the sound of his name, his eyes snap to Jon’s, brows lifted as if slightly alarmed.

“What I—said?”

“About the tree, darling,” Jon mutters, slipping his double-gloved hand around Martin’s bare one, grounding him.

This time of year was always difficult for him—the darkening of the sky casting long shadows over his thoughts, which already fill with fog far more often than makes Jon comfortable. Even if he does have a sun lamp at home, something to drive it away for a bit—it has been abundantly clear that the past week especially has been a struggle. Today, however, things had seemed a bit lighter—or at least, so Jon had thought.

“Oh—right. Right, darling, we’ve got to get just a medium-sized one, yeah? Otherwise it won’t stand up straight!” he says, a ghost of a smile playing across his wind-flushed face.

“Ugghh, fine,” she laments, rolling her eyes as far as they will go and widening the gap between them in frustration.

“Is it storming up there, love?” Jon asks quietly, squeezing his hand and trying to catch his gaze with his own.

At the familiar metaphor, Martin obliges—smile drawn up so his cheeks just touch the edges of his glasses, hiding the deep bags that had only just begun to fade from the depressive episode of the past weeks.

“Just overcast, is all. I’m fine,” he assures, squeezing back—and Jon raises an eyebrow in question, doubtful of Martin’s definition of “fine.”

“No, really, I am,” he laughs, bending down to press a quick kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “Promise. Thank you for checking.”

Supposing that would have to do for now, Jon decides to let the matter go—looping his arm through Martin’s as they keep walking down the snow-dusted path.

“Alright,” he whispers, brushing his lips against Martin’s shoulder. “Let me know if the weather turns.”

“I will. Don’t worry, love.”

Of course I will. Always.

“Here! I’ve got one!”

Shouting excitedly from up ahead, Emma waves her gloved hands around in the air, before diving right into the branches to hug the trunk of the tree that was, objectively, the best of the lot. This pulls a true, gorgeous bit of laughter from Martin—the first time Jon has heard it in weeks.

To Jon, there could not be a single thing more lovely.

“That’s a good one, Em,” Jon praises as they reach her, trying very hard not to think about all the sap likely to stick in her newly-plaited hair. “What do you think, Dad?”

“Hmm…”

Feigning a moment of deep consideration earns him an intense doe-eyed, pleading look from his daughter, silently begging. As if he could truly refuse her.

“Well, by my calculations,” he says, winking a bit at his husband, who rolls his eyes fondly. “That should do just wonderfully.”

“YES!!!” Emma shouts, immediately releasing her hold on the tree and wrapping her sap-laden arms around them both. “Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

It’s the first time the fog has truly cleared from Martin’s eyes in month, and Jon smiles—choosing to cherish it dearly.

—

“Little bit to the left, habibi.”

“Aw, Boss, I didn’t know we were on that level!” Tim grins, helping Martin to straighten out the tree in the corner of their flat. “Should have said something sooner, habibi.”

“Shut it, Tim.”

The winning smile he flashes Jon at his coveted prize—a bit of exasperation from him—sends a pang of warmth spreading through Jon’s chest. Even if it’s been so many years now since…everything, he still feels so lucky to be on the receiving end of Tim’s smiles again. And a bit undeserving, if he’s honest. They’ve talked about it, of course—many times, in fact—but Jon has long since been forced to accept that things will never be quite like they were before.

Though that does mean that things have the potential to be better, and for that…for that, Jon is grateful.

“Could we focus please?” Martin pants a bit irritably, as he bears the brunt of the tree’s weight. “I’d rather not be squashed by this thing.”

“Sorry, Marto! Left it is then, habibi.”

“Stop it.”

“Never.”

—

A few hours later finds them settled around a lovely fire, steaming cups of tea in their hands, courtesy of Martin. Sasha has joined them now as well, curled up with Tim on an armchair with Emma sitting at their feet. Beside him on the sofa sits Martin, his arm wrapped lightly around his shoulders—and as he’s done every holiday since the rebirth of the world, Jon finds himself pondering the fact that he never would have thought this possible. Certainly not for him, for any of them, really. They should, all of them, be dead. Or worse. And yet—and yet. Here they are, making amends. Making their home together.

A family.

“Em, you would not believe the kinds of things your Baba and I used to get up to,” Tim grins, the bit of wine he’s had over the course of the evening painting his cheeks rosy. “Before he became my boring boss, that is. He’s absolutely mad.”

“Tim—“

“You hush,” he bellows, still laughing. “Emma deserves to know about the time we got trapped in that apartment complex, do you remember?”

“You’ve just told me to hush.”

“Hush, Jon, I’m telling a story!”

Rolling his eyes, Jon picks up his own glass again, taking the opportunity to sneak a glance at Martin in the meantime—pleased to see the bit of ruddiness masking the lightest of his freckles, a whisper of a smile planted on his face as he listens to the conversation. Nothing cloudy in his eyes, no fog—just Martin, his Martin. And in Jon’s opinion, that more than warrants the small kiss he presses into the line of his jaw, just beneath his ear.

“Hmm, what’s that for, darling?” Martin asks, turning towards him.

“Oh, nothing,” Jon hums against him, “Just you. Just this.”

“Well, you won’t hear me complain.”

“Eww, dads!!”

Alas, they’d been caught—a disapproving Emma wrinkles her nose at them from her spot on the floor, Tim and Sasha muffling their giggles behind her.

“Sorry Em, sorry,” Martin laughs, untangling himself a bit from Jon and reaching for his own glass of wine. “Have to forgive us old and gross people.”

“You don’t have to be gross just because you’re old!” she insists, pointing a finger back at her aunt and uncle behind her. “Uncle Tim and Auntie Sasha are old too, but they’re not gross!”

“Hey!!”

Sasha’s look of incredulousness is enough to set Jon into fits—but something seems to catch a bit in his chest as he does, a vise clamping down over his ribcage.

Damn it damn it

His next inhale brings him no relief, merely tightening the grip, everything in his chest folding in on itself as he finds himself in the throes of once again gasping for air. Distantly, he rather thinks the wheezing sound of his breath to be embarrassing—but there is little on which he can focus other than keeping his vision from narrowing, narrowing.

“Jon?”

“M-Mar—”

“Are you panicking, love?”

Air air need air

“Can’t—”

He’s cut off by the closeness of his own airways sending out his breath with a fit of coughing, harsh and painful and—well, there goes his vision again.

“Here, Jon, your inhaler’s right here—”

Air air need air

Can’t breathe

Wrapping a shaking hand around Martin’s, Jon takes as deep of an inhale of the medicine as he can, holding holding holding his breath until it hurts, before letting it out—begging everything not to close again before he can get something up to his starving brain.

“Take it again, Jon. One more, come on.”

It comes just a bit easier this time, the gasping just a bit deepened, letting him pull it deeper into his lungs, opening everything enough to start his vision returning to him again. Even so, it takes a few minutes of just breathing, the room around him uncomfortably silent, save for the fading whistle of his chest, before he can even think about picking up his head again from where he’s braced it against his arms.

“—alright? You with us?”

“Sor—sorry,” he pants, still a bit breathless, shaky, heart racing uncomfortably as it always does. “Dunno—what happened.”

“Alright, Baba?”

Emma rests her hand gently atop his knee, looking quickly between himself and Martin. Lord knows he’s scared them enough times; caused them enough anxiety over his health that the guilt weighs so unbearably heavy on him in moments like this. When his daughter has to be his comfort. When he knows it ought to be the other way around.

Burden burden terrible father burden burden—

“Sorry—ha��Em,” he gasps, offering her a tight smile and a nod. The best he can do for now. “Fine—m’fine.”

“Was it something I did?” an unusually quiet Tim asks from across the room, hesitant to even draw his attention.

Damn it damn it

Of course I’ve got to screw things up again.

When Tim had first reentered their lives, they had found it difficult to process on both sides—the grief and anger and distrust layered up with trauma had proven to be a difficult thing to break down. Unhelped by the panic rising unbidden in Jon’s throat every time Tim had raised his voice, even with friendly teasing at first. Though he would never say, Jon knows how deeply this had wounded his friend—and Jon could certainly understand how upsetting it is for your own voice to become another’s nightmare.

They’d worked on it, just like everything else. Nothing of the kind of panic Jon once felt upon hearing an increase in volume has happened in years at this point, but still—still, Tim is afraid. Afraid of how fragile, how stupid, how unforgiving—

“N-no, no. Promise—not you,” he is quick to assure, snapping his head up to meet Tim’s eyes at once, desperate for his trust in this. “Not you.”

The quiet grief in the darkness of Tim’s eyes betrays his doubt.

“Why don’t you stay here and recover while I finish up with the cooking, love?” Martin offers, already rising to do just that.

“Oh—no, Martin—“

He’s tired he’s tired he’s already tired and spent and still recovering

You make everything worse

“It’s alright,” he smiles down at him, still lined with well-hidden exhaustion. “I’ve got it. Just take a minute, okay?”

“I’ll help,” Tim offers at once, following him into the kitchen. To get out of his sight, just in case he was making things worse after all. Just in case Jon was lying.

Damn it damn it

“Incoming!!”

From behind him, Emma’s voice rings out—and the cat is dropped unceremoniously into his lap, giving a soft mrrow of indignation at such treatment. As soon as Jon gives a small smile and a laugh, however, the Duquessa (for she must be properly titled) begins to purr at once, kneading his thigh a bit before draping herself across his lap.

“There you are, Jon—you’re healed!” chuckles Sasha as she stands, coming to sit beside him on the sofa.

“Quite.”

—

“Alright, love?”

Words a bit muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth, Martin gazes down at him with furrowed brows where Jon sits on their bed, lost as usual in the thickest, driest biography Martin has ever seen.

“Mmm.”

“Jon.”

“Hmm?”

His attention is caught at last, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the hungrily-devoured words and toward his husband—hair a mess, in just boxers and a t-shirt, a bit of toothpaste splodged around the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry—sorry, what did you say?” he asks, unable to hide a fond smile as Martin rolls his eyes, turning around to rinse out his mouth and set down his toothbrush. When he’s finished, he meets Jon’s questioning look with a smiling shake of the head—before pulling Jon in to melt into his side, pressing a kiss against his hairline.

“I asked if you were alright,” he repeats, letting his lips linger longer atop Jon’s forehead this time. “You’ve been sniffly.”

“Have I?”

“You hadn’t noticed?”

“Not particularly.”

It is the truth, although a bit masked—if he is, indeed, sniffly, it seems likely to have contributed to his lingering shortness of breath that evening. Not that he had found it especially necessary to mention this to Martin. No reason to worry him needlessly, after all.

When Martin fetches him the box of tissues from the living room, however, he finds himself grateful. Something certainly seems to have built up in his sinuses, and though eased a bit by his ministrations, it seems to be something of which he cannot entirely rid himself.

“Aw, darling,” Martin tuts with concern, pressing the back of his hand against Jon’s forehead, just to check again. “Are you getting ill?”

No no no no

Can’t be ill

Can’t worry him

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assures, offering Martin a bit of a puffy-eyed smile. “Probably just from being out in the cold.”

“Hmm.” Worrying at his lower lip, Martin sweeps his eyes briefly over the rest of Jon’s body. “What about your joints? Are you alright?”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon chuckles, rolling his eyes and fondly pressing a kiss against his husbands’ cheek. “No need to fuss, love. You need to get some rest.”

“Fussing is my specialty, though.”

“Don’t I know it.”

A small, lopsided smile spreads across his face—and Jon finds himself flushing at the gentleness of it.

Gorgeous.

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, tenderly tilting Jon’s chin upwards and into a kiss. “I’ll quit fussing, then. If I must.”

“You absolutely must. Or we’ll never get to sleep.”

“I’ll do my best, habibi.”

—

Click.

At the soft noise, Jon bolts awake, heart already pounding—from the shock of being startled awake, or POTS, he could not be sure. Perhaps both.

All he knows is that his heart is racing, and Martin is gone, and he can’t breathe.

Fuck fuck fuck

His lungs are at once too full and desperately empty—useless, vision tunneling as he pants into the darkness, reaching out blindly for his inhaler on the nightstand. Shaky, he nearly loses his hold on it twice before bringing it to his lips, forcing as much air out as he can before drawing a shallow breath of the medicine. But he cannot hold it, cannot keep it in long enough for it to work.

Help. He needs help.

He needs Martin.

“M—ha—Mar—“

He cannot choke out the words, not around the closing up of his throat, forcing him to cough without air. Without the ability to breathe back in. Dizzy, dizzy, can’t breathe, breathe breathe help Martin—

“Jon—oh, shit shit shit!”

Distantly, he hears the sound of running feet retreating from the bedroom and back down the hall—but his vision is starting to grey out, heart pounding out of his chest, and all he can focus on is don’t pass out don’t pass out don’t pass out.

“Alright, here, here—I got the nebulizer, shit. Christ, Jon.”

He loses time for a few minutes. Nothing remains in his memory but a swirling, spinning picture of the room around him, the feeling of something being placed over his mouth and nose. And when he comes fully back around, it’s to the feeling of Martin’s strong arms bracing him forward, keeping his airways as open as possible while the medicine has been allowed to work. To Martin’s shadowed face, bruises ever-deepening beneath his eyes.

Jon does not need the full powers of the Beholding anymore to know that Martin has once again gone without sleep.

“M—sorry—“

“Hush, Jon, just hush,” Martin reassures, rubbing his back when the coughing starts up again, nearly hard enough to vomit.

He won’t be trying to speak again any time soon.

“You’re alright, I’m here.”

As the minutes pass, the breaths come more easily, returning Jon’s awareness more fully. Now that his vision is no longer swirling, he takes stock of the pulse ox clipped on his finger, Martin’s eyes anxiously watching it, the mobile grasped tightly in one shaking hand, ready to call 999 at any moment.

“Martin—“

“Hush, Jon.”

“M’sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, love.”

But there is, isn’t there? Worry, worry, always worry over him. Deepening his husband’s exhaustion, burden, anxiety.

It seems to be his lot in life to make things worse.

“Doing any better?” Martin asks as the wheezing fades from his exhales, though he wouldn’t dare remove the mask for a few more minutes at least.

“Better,” Jon whispers. “Dunno—what happened.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve woken up like this,” Martin worries, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Jon’s eyes and tucking it behind his ear. “Thought we were managing a little better lately.”

“So did—I.”

With a long, concerned sigh, Martin shifts to sit just slightly behind him, pulling him back to lean against his chest. For once—for once—the warmth and comfort of it all outweighs the guilt of its necessity.

“We’ll figure it out,” Martin assures, the slight tremor of his voice belying his uncertainty. “We’ll get it sorted, love.”

“M’sorry.”

“Shh. Just be still, Jon. Just be still.”

Though neither of them may be able to sleep that night— there is a certain rest to be found in just holding each other. And for now—for now, that is enough.

#cw asthma attack #my writing #I hope there aren't too many mistakes here #I didn't get to meticulously edit!!#but I hope it's enjoyable all the same :)#and merry christmas eve if you celebrate!!#if not I hope you're having a wonderful day all the same and you're safe and well <3 #emma

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Through A Mothers Eyes (Part 1)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: descriptions of wounds, some blood, a lot of crack. Y/N and Dean both kind of give off a Rufus and Bobby dynamic.

Summary: Mary meets an old friend of the Winchesters and apparently she’s the only one who can see the very obvious feelings the reader and Dean have for each other.

A/N:I know, I know i already am working on two other series, sue me.but inspiration struck. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated!

You were snipping the ends of your sutures when the familiar groan of the bunker door opening brought your head up. It had been so long since you had been back to the bunker. When you had arrived you found the place empty and void of the people closest to you. The wheeze of the door therefore bringing a small smile to your face. You watched as several silhouettes made their way down the steps, the distinct voice of one Dean Winchester standing out from the rest.

“Well look who decided to come home!” You mused, a grin spreading across your face as the Winchester brothers stepped up into the library, the conversation ceasing on their lips at the sight of you.

“Y/N?!”

“Dean?!” You quipped back in mock surprise, dropping the stitch scissors back into the first aid kit.

“What the hell happened?!”

“Well Sam, I was stabbed.”

“I’m sorry- you were stabbed?!” Deans eyes widened, dropping his duffel bag haphazardly onto the floor of the library as he quickly made his way toward you, eyes trained on the massive slash in your torso.

“Good to see you too, Dee.” Normally you would slap him away, but seeing the concern on his face made you stop, the hunter squatting down in front of you as he looked over the wound. It was only then did you see the third person in the room, eyebrows drawing together in immense confusion. “Okay, so maybe this is just from blood loss are the nice cocktail of painkillers I’m on. . . But I think I’m seeing your dead mother.” You spoke cautiously, looking across the room wide eyes at the blonde woman next to Sam.

“Oh right, Mom meet Y/N. Y/N meet Mom.” Dean made a quick introduction, rummaging through your first aid kit before producing a handful of alcohol wipes, ripping open one with his teeth.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” Mary gave you a gentle smile, and underlying expression of concern beneath as she looked at the gash in your side.

“Nice to meet you t- AHH!” Your words being cut off as Dean suddenly pressed the wipe to the cut, earning a light smack on the head from you as he did.

“Ow!”

“Give a girl some warning. My god.”

The hunter mumbled a quick apology as he tenderly tried to wipe the remaining blood away, his eyes focused on the task.

“Where were you guys anyways?” Looking up around the younger Winchester, you reached across the table for your half empty glass of whiskey, taking a sip of the amber liquid.

“Working a case in Omaha. Just a couple of spirits. Nothing to big.” He answered, finally dropping his own bag down on the table in front of you and sliding into one of the vacant seats.

“Where the hell were you though?” Dean popped back up into his feet, snapping the lid of the kit shut as he looked down at you.

“Oh you know, hunting, adding on to my long list of foreign ex lovers- beating the canon all run record-“

“Wait seriously?!”

A light laugh bubbled from your lips as you stood up besides him. “No! But I find it extremely flattering that you believe I have the capability of achieving that.” You patted him on the shoulder.

“Well you drive like you’re constantly in a Fast and Furious movie-“

“Well, I learned from the best.” You shot him a grin before downing the rest of your glass and setting it back on the table, watching as Dean smiled. “. . .Too bad you were busy that day.” Your words earning a chuckle from Sam and an amused smile from Mary as you rounded the older Winchester. . . who was standing there was his jaw hanging slightly open.

“How dare you?”

“How dare I.” Nodding in agreement, you shot him another smirk. “Now, I would love to stay up and chat. . .Especially about how your mother is back from the dead, but I’m running on two hours of sleep, a shot of whiskey and half a granola bar. If I don’t go to bed I might pass out, and that does not make for a good introduction.”

“Oh but I thought you were one for making memorable introductions?” Dean mused, crossing his arms as he turned to watch you go.

“I don’t know about you but I thought my stab wound was pretty memorable.”

You watched Dean roll his eyes as he shooed you down the steps. “Okay, alright go to bed.”

“Aye, aye captain.” Giving one last salute you turned and walked down the steps into the war room.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight, boys. Goodnight, Mary.” Giving one final wave you disappeared down the hall. “It’s nice to meet you, and thank you Dee for the help.”

The moment you were out of earshot Mary leaned over the table. “Alright, who exactly is Y/N?”

A soft smile spread across Sams lips as Dean feel back into the chair you had been previously occupying. “Y/Ns one of our closest friends. . . and Deans best friend.”

“More like a pain in my ass.” Dean joked, filling up your empty glass and claiming it as his own.

Mary raised an eyebrow as she watched her elder son. Best friends? It looked like more than that to her. Especially how Deans face lit up at the sight of you.

“She seems lovely.”

“Oh well that’s one word for her.” Another chuckle left the hunters mouth as he mindlessly swirled the contents of the glass, paying no attention to the look his mother was giving him.

“How long have you known her?”

Sam and Dean both shared a look as they tried to think. They had known you for so long that it was hard to tell exactly when they had met you.

“I think we met her when Sam was around five, maybe? I couldn’t have been more than nine.”

If Mary had had a drink in her mouth she probably would have choked. She had a feeling the boys had known you for long time. . . But not that long. You had been a part of their lives longer than she ever had.

“How exactly did you meet?”

There was silence for a moment as Dean looked down at his hands in embarrassment. “Well-“

“She nailed him in the face with a snowball.” Sam finished casually, receiving a death glare from his brother when Deans head snapped up.

Mary let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Dad dropped us off at Bobby’s and while we were there a couple of other hunters stopped by. Bobby sent us outside so he could talk to them and this. . . This nine year old girl just came out of freaking nowhere. And bam! Snowball right in the face.”

“. . . Wow.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded in agreement as he took another sip from your glass. “I mean she apologized right after, but she definitely made it memorable.”

Resting her chin in her hand, Mary watched with a smile as Dean continued to talk about you. Yes, there had to be something more there.

There just had to.

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #SPN #spn x reader #bi-danvers writing #dean winchester series

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inoobwriter · 3 years

Text

Life At U.A High School: Part 1

Summary: It’s you first day at U.A high school. And now you have to fight... everyone in class 1-A?! How will the students of class 1-A react to you? With they like you? Hate you?

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Main Pairing: Midoriya x Bakugo X Todoroki x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k words

Art Cover by Me

Next Part: (Click here)

*****

*Notes Before Reading*

1. In this fanfiction the MC is a female so if you're a male reading this please ignore the drawings since the MC is portrayed as a girl.

2. I gave a canon design to the reader but obviously, if you don't like it you can imagine whatever you want to look like.

3. IMPORTANT: This is my first fanfic in a long time so the romance will start off really slow and if you wanted smut, well this is not it chief.

4. My writing isn't my strongest skill so feel free to tell me any mistakes you read during this story.

5. Because I don't want to spoil which character the MC (You) will end up with I decided to post at least the tags of the ships mentioned in this story.

6. This story takes place between season 2 and 3 right after class 1-A finished their first term exam.

***I, DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS EXCEPT MC READER***

***PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR STEAL MY ART FROM THIS WITHOUT PERMISSION***

Well, that's it for now! I might update this in the future.

Please enjoy my fanfiction and see you later! :D

*****

Part 1:

It was another normal day for the students of class 1-A, first-term exams had finally been over and everyone was happy more than usual as their nightmares have finally ended. They finally had a short time to relax and not worry about anything. They all were looking forward to summer vacation as well as the training camp. Today was their last day before summer vacation started. Yet for some reason, as they were walking in the hallways of the school Iida demanded more than usual for everyone to head to class early. Obviously, everyone ignored him and took their sweet time. Eventually ten minutes before class started Iida started to yell at everyone who was walking in the hallway to hurry up.

"Come all now! As students of U.A, we should all be punctual to class! Even if it's the last day for the first term here!" Iida said while waving his right hand, "Midoriya! Hurry up but no running in the halls."

"Coming!" Midoriya said speed walking to the class, "Man, I should really start waking up more early." He wheezed

"Oh shut up nerd." Bakugo yelled, "And you! Why are you so much of a pain in the ass than usual."

"Bakugo!" Kirishima said, "You really need to calm down! You can't be saying that to our class representative!"

"It's alright Kirishima," Iida said as his glasses cracked from rage

'It's not alright.' Everyone except Bakugo thought, 'He's clearly mad.'

Iida then adjusted his glasses as Yaoyorozu walked right next to him. "I wished we had more time to talk about this," Yaoyorozu said looking at Iida

"Which is why I urge them to get here early." Iida stared at everyone, "Well can't be helped. Listen, everyone, we have something important to say!"

Everyone walked towards Iida and Yaoyorozu.

"To answer your question Bakugo." Yaoyorozu said, "We're having a new student!"

"Wait for real?" Midoriya asked surprised

"All right!" Kaminari said

"What really?" Ashido said excitedly

"Wait how come you didn't tell us before?!" Sero asked

"Forget that!" Mineta said as drool came out of his mouth, "I wanna know if it's a girl."

Almost all the guys were shocked as they have not realized this before. The whole class became excited and started wondering how the new student would look like.

"Aww, I hope they are one!" Ashido said excitedly

"Yeah it would be nice to have more girls in this class," Jiro added.

"You said that, not me," Mineta said as he had a stupid pervy look on his face.

'A new student.' Midoriya thought excitedly then suddenly he realized something, "Hey Iida." Midoriya said as he approached him, "I didn't know we could have a new student in our class."

"Hey, what heck!" Kaminari yelled at Midoriya

"Yeah! Why are you suddenly against it!" Mineta said, "I bet you want her all to yourself!"

"We still don't know if they're a boy or a girl Mineta." Tokoyami spoke unfazed

"No, it's not like I'm against it." Midoriya said, putting his hands slightly up, "It's just... don't you think it's strange?"

Everyone then looked at Midoriya and thought about it for a minute

"It's true."Uraraka said, "Normally you would take the entrance exam at the start of the school year."

"Yeah." Sero scratched his head, "Plus I never heard anything about entrance exams being taken during the school year."

"That's because it isn't announced publicly."

Suddenly the door to the class opened and Mr. Aizawa walked in and looked toward them. Everyone was already in their seats and stayed silent as they watched him walk up in front of the class.

"Alright listen up. Today we have a new student joining your class."

From being quiet and scared of Mr. Aizawa everyone started being loud and excited about it being true. Everyone was wondering where they are.

"Enough." Mr. Aizawa said with a stronger tone.

And just like that everyone had quiet down and went back to being afraid of him.

Mr. Aizawa then turned to the door, "You can come in now."

And just like that, you walked into the classroom.

"Introduce yourself." Mr. Aizawa said

"Hello! My name is F/N L/N and it's a real pleasure to meet you all! You said as you had your hands on your cheeks.

Everyone was excited until they saw your face. 'Hah?' Everyone thought, 'Why is her face like that?'

"You have no idea how excited I was when I found out I'll be in your class! The famous class 1-A who managed to witness first hand, the League of Villains and work alongside with the pros!" You said.

"Huh, you know about that?" Yaoyorozu asked you

"Of course! It was all over the internet and TV, I'm so honored to be here!" You said bowing down to them

"That's isn't necessary," Iida says embarrassed, shaking his hands around. Everyone was flattered by your admiration.

"Man I already like her!" Kirishima said putting his arms behind his head feeling proud of himself.

Everyone seemed happy to see you and so were you. You really admired how ordinary kids around your age got to do heroic things for others you wanted to become someone as brave as them. But you were more excited when you saw-

"Not to be rude or anything." Midoriya said, scratching his face, "But why do we get a new student? Shouldn't L/N have waited next year?"

"Right! As the class representative, I ask that you tell us why, sir!" Iida said as he stood up and raised his hand

"Sit down," Mr. Aizawa said then he turned to look at Midoriya, "As for your question, we normally don't."

Everyone sat there confused as they stared at him. Mr. Aizawa sighed and explained, "Every year we have an entrance exam to get into this school, the written and practical test. If you fail the exam you have to wait until next year to retake it. If you've been recommended then you have a different exam from the rest. However, not only do we accept students who get recommended but we also scout for students. Obviously, we tend to recruit them at the beginning of the year as well but sometimes we find gifted students later than others around the end of the first term."

Everyone looked confused on how the school managed the scouting for students part. Mr. Aizawa sighed again, "Basically if the school finds you worthy enough and you didn't participate in the entrance exam you get another shot to become a student here. Not only does U.A high school help its students become the greatest heroes, but we also let others know that they too are also worthy of becoming heroes if they chose to. "

Midoriya then soften his look and looked down at his table, 'Just like how All Might told me that I too can become a hero as well.'

"Oh so were you the one who picked L/N?" Aoyama asked

"No." Mr. Aizawa sighed, " They got scouted out by someone else and just happened to pass the exam and now they were assigned to me."

Mr. Aizawa said, defeated, "Another student to make my life miserable."

"WE ARE THE ONE'S SUFFERING! WHY ARE YOU SULKING!" The whole class yelled at him.

"Anyways." Mr. Aizawa said as he gave both the class and you a glare, "Let's go to the training grounds." He started to walk towards the door, "Since I know you guys are curious about L/N's quirk we might as well train while we're at it. Everyone go change into your gym clothes and meet me on the training grounds. Yaoyorozu you take L/N to the locker room and introduce her to her locker." He said as he walked out of the classroom.

"All right! I can't wait to see your quirk!" Ashido said excitedly as she was running up to you

"Yeah hope it's something flashy!" Kirishima said

"And elegant like moi," Aoyama added as he was all sparkly

Everyone gathered around you and you quirky got fluster.

'Omg everyone wants to know about me!' You thought

"Tch." Bakugo said as he got up and walked, "Hey loser!"

You looked at Bakugo as he pointed at you, "You may think you're all hot shit for being recruited by the school but just to let you know I'm going to be #1, so I'll crush you!" He said as he left with an irritated look on his face.

'Oh...my...god!' You thought as you stared at him leaving, 'I thought I was gonna die!'

"Sorry about him." Midoriya said as he walked towards you, "He can be really mean at times."

"I can tell." You said panicking, "He looked like he wanted to murder me!"

"Yeah, he does that a lot to us." Kirishima said, scratching his head, "But I promise he's a good guy after you get used to him!"

"I hope not." You said suddenly getting nervous, "I don't want to be yelled at for the rest of my life."

As you stretched your face out of fear Iida demanded everyone to hurry up, you then followed Yaoyorozu to the locker room along with the rest of the girls. Everyone was cheerful and were welcoming you to their class.

"It's so nice to have you here," Jiro said

"Yeah one more friend to have!" Uraraka said clapping her hands

"Another girl to hang out with," Asui said looking up as she was thinking about something

"After this let's all hang out together!" Ashido said raising her hands up high.

As you nodded happily Yaoyorozu led you to your locker to get ready for the spar, 'I can't believe I'll be sparring with everyone. The top class of first-year! I can't wait to see all their quirks.' You thought excitedly. Then as you were ready to close your locker and follow the rest of the girls you paused, 'I'll be sparring with him... I hope... he's really is as cool as he was online.' you blushed as you bit your finger.

After a while, everyone gathered up on the training ground and Mr. Aizawa stood in front of the class and started talking, "Ok." He said as he reached out into his pocket and pulled out an eyedropper and started to put some on his eyes, "Who wants to fight L/N first." He said as he put away the eyedropper.

Everyone started to shout and raised their hands,

"Me! I wanna go first!"

"No fair I called dibs first!"

"Pick me~" Mineta drooled

"Well before we do anything I will explain the rules of this fight." Mr. Aizawa said as he raised his hand to them, "Both of the students will have bandanas on their heads, and whoever steals the other one's bandana first wins."

"Oh so just like in the mocking battle at the sports festival!" Hagakure said raising her arm up.

"Heh," Bakugo said smirking as he stretched one arm up, "Too easy."

'Yeah too easy indeed.' Midoriya thought as he put his hand on his chin, 'There's has to be a reason why.'

"Well in that case I'll go first!" Kaminari said walking towards the center of the stage. You then walked to the other side where Mr. Aizawa was.

"I'll promise I'll go easy on you." He smiled

You smiled back, "Oh no, don't hesitate. Please give me your all!"

Kaminari blushed a little as Mineta got salty, 'I should have been first!'

Everyone went to the sides to get a better look at the fight that was going to happen.

"But Mr. Aizawa!" Iida raised his hand, "To fight with a beginner that's just-"

"Begin." Mr. Aizawa ordered ignoring Iida's concern over you

"Don't worry pretty girl I'll promise this will only sting for a moment," Kaminari said as he started to run towards you, quickly charging electricity to his right hand

Midoriya noticed what he was doing, 'He's changing his technique from the sports festival. During the festival, Kaminari went full-on and used his attack open wide without any calculations and lost.' He then took out his notebook and started to mutter loudly as always making everyone sigh around him, 'There he goes again.' Everyone thought

"Interesting even Kaminari can think enough to improve his skills," Midoriya said, "All he has to do is-"

'Is getting a closed range on L/N and she's done!' Kaminari thought getting closer to you, 'I'm almost close! Now I gotta make sure I touch her-'

As he thought about his sure victory a hole suddenly appeared under him and he fell. Everyone was shocked wondering where he had gone too. Suddenly Kaminari appeared falling off a hole in the middle of the air a few yards off the ground of the other side where you were. By the looks of it, Kaminari had used up his quirk and was now in his dumb state. You walked up to Kaminari and took his bandana off his head.

"Thank you for at least trying." You smile as you walked to Mr. Aizawa handing him the bandana.

Almost everyone looked at you with shock, others kept their straight faces, and one even looked like furiously writing something on a notebook.

"Well what did you expect?" he said as he stared at everyone, "Everyone wants to know about L/N's quirk and what better way than to spar." He then turned around to look at them.

"There's a reason why they are here, to begin with." Mr. Aizawa said in a serious tone, "They were specifically scouted from school and passed all the exams. Including the first term exams."

Everyone stared at you widely and stared back at Mr. Aizawa

"Do you think we let just any beginner into your class late in the school year?" Mr. Aizawa said with a serious tone, "Well think again."

Midoriya then looked at you and got serious.

"In this school, we help all students become the greatest heroes, we also let others know that they too are also worthy of becoming heroes if they chose to work faster and harder to catch up with you guys."

'That's right.' Midoriya looked at you, 'If Y/N got accepted by the school and is already at the same level as us.'

"I waited for the day we got to meet! Please." You said as you looked straight at Midoriya.

'Y/N must be very strong.' Midoriya thought as he closed his notebook and responded back to your glare with determination in his eyes.

"Show me what makes you guys the talk of the school." You blushed slightly "...Midoriya"

1: The New Student (End)

* Hope you like it and want to see more!*

*****

Chapter List

Part 2

*****

#midoriya x reader #bakugo x reader #todoroki x reader #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero art #my hero academy oc #bnha fanfiction

22 notes · View notes

mork-lee-bee · 4 years

Text

Broken Lovers VI

Summary: Y/n is a hopeless romantic in love with someone who will never love her back and Jaehyun is helplessly in love with someone who only continues to hurt him over and over again, sounds like a match made in heaven right?

Pairings: CollegeStudent!Jaehyun X CollegeStudent!Y/N X CollegeStudent!Jaemin

Warnings: cursing,

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Word count: 2.6 k

Masterlist

“Hey, ____?” Miyoung smiles sweetly and you know she wants something so you start to pack your books into your bag.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” She defends but you knew what she wanted.

“No, but I know you, so just call me when you’re done,” you laugh and a deep red color floods her ears in embarrassment.

“Maybe I was just gonna ask you to go with me to get coffee!” She pouts but she was too dressed up for even coffee, she had a dark red lip and her eye shadow was a dark smokey eye.

“Just please don’t have him here too late, the library closes at 9,” you explained hoping she wouldn’t lose track of time and you’d be stuck having to figure something else to do until 2 am like a few nights in the past.

“I’ll try,” Miyoung smiles making sure you leave the building safely before she’s back upstairs getting ready. You were severely under-dressed for the colder weather at night as you could feel the cold air engulf your entire body, You shiver as you start to walk in the direction of the library on the campus. You and Miyoung happened to be in the newer dorms which were a blessing for the better facilities but were also further from the library. The cold air had a visible effect on you as your arms and legs were covered in goosebumps.

“She owes me,” You mumble under your breath almost jogging to try and keep semi-warm, which turned into an awkward cold sweat that just brought discomfort by the time you got to the Library after being exiled.

It was cold inside almost as cold as it was outside and without any hoodie or sweater you were miserable as you find a quiet corner to set up for studying, there weren’t many people but those that you saw were stressed and cramming or almost passed out trying to study.

Just as you got relaxed you could hear someone sobbing from behind a bookshelf, you could either move or try to ignore it, out of pure laziness you dig through your bag trying to find your headphones only to remember that you left them on your desk at the dorm. You wanted to bang your head on the table at how stupid it was but you resisted instead leaning back at staring up at the ceiling, the library wasn’t huge but it was decently big although it was filled with a bit of cold dead space.

You figured that you wouldn’t be able to focus with the sobs of the girl behind the shelf so you might as well look for a book to help with studies getting up and looking around at the shelves that towered way above you. You were in the History section by the looks at it as most of the books read something about-

“Oh shit,” You hear after bumping into someone and you falling backward extremely hard to the point the breath in your lungs is no longer there.

“Wait… _____?” You can barely see the person through the gathering tears in your eyes but the voice is very familiar as you attempt to blink the tears away while coughing and trying to regain your breath the sharp pain hard to get through.

“I’m so sorry,” The person bends down to your level on the ground and you could feel them mindlessly draw soothing circles on your back trying to help you calm down as he coaches through breathing.

“Fuck- That hurt,” You manage to get out through the breaths, coughs, and slight wheezing. You wipe the tears away that had gathered.

“I didn’t see you,” They try to explain which only makes you laugh slightly at how bad they felt.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” You promise placing your hand on theirs and finally looking over to see who had taken your breath away, literally.

“Jaehyun?” You manage to make out his features easily as a shy dimple smile crosses over his lips.

“You’re correct,” He pats you on the back as you’re slowly starting to be functional again.

“What are you doing here?” You manage to ask and in hindsight, it was a dumb question, a public library on a school night. clearly, he was here to study.

“Can’t a guy go to the library to read about…” He looks at the bottom shelf grabbing a book off the lowest shelf and reading the cover.

“The in-depth History of Psycho by Red Velvet,” Jaehyun scratches the back of his neck before placing the book back on the shelf.

“I mean, if that’s what you read about, I’m not judging,” You finally get to feeling better but your back was still in a bit of pain as Jaehyun gets up from right next to you.

“It’s not my favorite thing to do but, school work is school work,” He stretches lightly glancing down at where you’re sat on the ground looking up at him an all too familiar feeling pounding in your chest as you quickly scramble to stand with him although still in a bit of pain.

“What brings you to the library?” Jaehyun pulls you out of your thoughts but noticed how you reacted smiling to himself as you try to straighten yourself out fidgeting with the bracelet on your right wrist

“Roommate kicked me out for her own… business,” You try not to explicitly say oh you know my friend is getting laid so I’ve been exiled to the library to suffer.

“That’s something I like about having my own room in the frat,” Jaehyun admits and you can’t help but follow him around the maze of bookshelves like a lost puppy enamored by his personality.

“Yeah I can only imagine, the beauty of privacy,” You hadn’t had that in a while it felt like as on more than one occasion Miyoung loved to walk into the bathroom without knocking.

“And no one kicking me out of my room,” Jaehyun aimlessly walks occasionally running a finger along the spines of the books more focused on you of course as you let out a groan of jealously at the thought of being able to relax, while you did love Miyoung her presence could suffocate you with her constant late-night talks on the phone.

“God that sounds wonderful,” You pout thinking of the things you took for granted before.

“I mean sometimes it can be a bit… smelly,” You raise an eyebrow in confusion but a bunch of guys in one place is bound to create some kind of odor so you scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Every place has its ups and downs I guess,” You shrug not paying attention as Jaehyun stops suddenly which you run into him almost falling over again but he catches your arm keeping you held up before dragging you in the opposite direction you were headed suddenly, a bit confused but you follow regardless figuring he remembered why he was there and just dragging you to the correct section.

“Okay, where are we going now?” You question as he looks behind him occasionally as if trying to find something or someone else behind you, his eyes wouldn’t find yours as he looked past you almost like a ghost was there.

“Jaehyun?” You tug at his arm and planting your feet to the ground stalling him and dragging him out of his thoughts that seemed to cloud his mind and every single one of his senses.

“Sorry I was just…” His voice trails off as you see the worry in his eyes.

“Are you always so in your head? You don’t seem to be thinking in the present,” You offer a small smile as he touches the back of his neck nervously as you spot his ears redden slightly.

“Not usually,”

“Come on, let’s go get some ice cream,” You suddenly announce finally taking the lead and letting Jaehyun follow you which he does as he raises an eyebrow in confusion at the sudden change in action.

“Why?”

“Well, Ice cream makes everyone feel better, well at least that’s what my nephew says,”

“But don’t you need to study,” You laugh at this, any excuse not to study was the best.

“Originally, but I’m not in the mood to anymore,” You smile as you get to the spot where you had set up still untouched as you start to place things back into your bag to leave.

“Okay…” He watches you sling your bag over your shoulder before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the exit, whatever reason he had come to the library in the first place was now completely out of his mind.

You hadn’t realized how long you were actually in the library as you push the heavy door open to reveal the darkness of night, when you had arrived the sun was setting but now it felt colder as the slight breeze hit your exposed arms because of your t-shirt.

“Cold? We don’t have to get ice cream, we could get coffee or something warmer,” Jaehyun offers while letting your hand go and starting to take his hoodie off as soon as he noticed how your hands reached for your arms to warm yourself up.

“Nah, I’ve had way too much coffee today already,” You admit while he finishes slipping off his hoodie leaving him in a basketball Jersey which was even less coverage than you had.

“If you insist,” He hands you the still warm hoodie which you hesitate to take seeing he would be cold.

“Take it,” Jaehyun sees your hesitation insisting that you take it as you slowly grab it from him looking up at him with sad eyes.

“Won’t you be cold?” You point out sadly to which Jaehyun laughs smiling and ruffling your hair.

“You’re sweet for being so concerned but I’ll be fine it’s not a long walk to my car,” He assures you and it was obvious he wouldn’t be taking any no’s so you carefully slip on the dark grey hoodie suddenly engulfed by Jaehyun without him actually hugging you. The Orange smell hit your nose causing you to smile and the warmth engulfed your body with the soft fabric clinging to your body.

“Thank you,” You say before taking a step towards him and wrapping your arms around him hugging him which he returns setting his head on top of yours for a minute just enjoying you.

Eventually, you pull away as he takes the lead walking over to where he’s parked in the parking lot, dimly lit by the overhead street lights that would occasionally flicker.

The music on his playlist was nice, it was the type of music perfect for a calm relaxing night to yourself as he focused on driving humming along to the music lightly as if you weren’t even there sitting in the passenger seat staring at his side profile, his relaxed features made him look kind and approachable which brought you back to when you first met him, he was so angry and seemed so unlike the man in front of you now.

“Why?” You ask, a simple unfinished question as he glimpses over at you raising an eyebrow out of confusion.

“Why what?” He answers with another question,

“Why were you so mad when we met at that party?” You didn’t expect him to spill his entire life story or anything to you when you asked the question and he tensed, his once relaxed hands on the steering wheel held a tighter grip and you could see his veins stick out slightly more as you observed the gears turning in his head on an answer almost like he was looking at some kind of word search looking through the jumble of gibberish to find the right words.

“I was having a bad week and I didn’t feel in the mood for partying…” He admitted loosening up a bit and shaking his head as he pulled into the parking lot of Wayv Ice Cream Parlor Miyoung loved it because YangYang worked here but someone else was working tonight as Jaehyun opens the car door for you.

The little bell rings to alert the staff someone entered as soon as you pull Jaehyun into the small shop that felt all too familiar as you spot the person working look up and smile immediately.

“Kun!” You excitedly run over to the counter, the place was dead empty so it was nice to see a familiar friendly face as Jaehyun made his way over next to you as Kun start to make your usual request.

“Where’s Miyoung?” The man you had gawked at when you had first seen him working because of his visuals asks.

“She decided to stay at the dorm, this is Jaehyun,” You look over to the quiet guy next to you and nudge him to give his order as you take your card out to pay for the two ice creams.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Kun speaks candidly as your eyes widen as you turn to correct him.

“Oh, no we’re just friends,” You explain as Kun sets the two desserts down and pulls up the amount due.

“Yeah, we’re just- Hey!” Jaehyun notices how you’ve taken out your card to pay grabbing your wrist lightly to stop you as he slips his wallet out of his back pocket but he’s too late as you switch the hand the card is in and insert the chip watching as the transaction starts.

“Dang that’s too bad you’d be cute together,” Kun wiggles his eyebrows at you which Jaehyun doesn’t notice as he’s too bust shooting glares in your direction as you type the pin in.

“Thanks,” You smile at Kun before picking up the two ice creams and going to sit at one of the two people seating arrangements setting the two ice creams down and smiling at Jaehyun who still looks at you angrily.

“Jae, why are you so mad?” You sit down leaning forward head resting in your hand as you look at him.

“I should have paid for it,” Jaehyun pouts as you roll your eyes and hold up three fingers for the three points you’re about to make.

“One, it was my idea, two you drove, three you let me borrow your hoodie. The least I could do was pay for the ice cream,” You point out before grabbing your plastic spoon and digging in smiling at the sugary taste.

“Fine but next time I’m paying,” He determines as your mind starts to think about his word choice Next time? There’s going to be a next time?

“We’ll see,” You wink sticking your tongue out before another spoonful of ice cream causes you to grip your head in pain at the sudden brain freeze.

“What kind did you get?” You look over to the ice cream he got trying to finger it out, could it be rocky road? Coffee? Chocolate? There are so many flavors it makes it difficult. Yours was obvious with the bit of Oreo crumbs that sat on top.

“Guess,” He smiles as he picks up another spoonful holding it out for you to taste as you lean forward and eating the small spoonful of Ice cream before thinking and contemplating the taste.

“Chocolate?” You tilt your head trying to guess.

“Yup!” he says proudly.

“You’re basic,” You roll your eyes before taking a bite of your own ice cream happily.

“Can I enjoy ice cream without being harshly judged?” Jaehyun glares before digging his spoon into your ice cream and taking a bite letting out a small Mmmmm at the delicious taste.

“No!” You glare holding your ice cream closer to you he can’t steal anymore.

“But it’s good!” He pouts as your phone dings with a notification which you check and see Miyoungie Pop up with the message You can return now!

“After we’re finished can you take me back to my dorm?” You plead with Jaehyun who agrees to as long as you let him eat more of your ice cream to which you groan in response.

“FINEEEE,” You pout as he smiles his dimples very prominent as he steals another bite.

----------

it may be late but it’s done :)

Next chapter up on 8/19

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

❤️ @yourchasingsunsets ❤️ @Justineasian ❤️ @Captainsjoongs ❤️ @theworld-accordingtocasey ❤️ @yee-hawwwwwwww ❤️ @renjunstarlight ❤️ @soothingjae ❤️

I had a job interview today and I’m nervous to find out if I got the job or not and i do updates are gonna be less frequent :/

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bookandcranny · 3 years

Text

Beatrice - Chapter Five

She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

Sprinting up the staircase two at a time, Gianna couldn’t remember why the climb had ever been an obstacle. She burst into her apartment and out of it again, through the window, onto the fire escape. Before she could think to be afraid, she leaped.

If she’d faltered, if she’d slowed for a second before making that jump, she would’ve hit the ledge and, best case scenario, clawed her way up to safety with a shattered pelvis. The worst case scenario was a lot messier and, she decided, not worth thinking about at the moment.

The important thing was she had made it, barely, and miraculously unbroken too. Unbroken because “unharmed” would’ve been too generous a word for it. She landed badly, twisting her ankle and spilling forward onto hands and knees. It was only thanks to the cradle of some overgrown greenery that she hadn’t cracked her skull open on the fountain while on her belly blindly grasping for leverage.

Maybe it was the headrush of having survived her nigh-suicidal recklessness, but the combined scents of the garden were making her dizzy. The exotic flowers’ natural perfume that had been pleasant at a distance now took on a noxious quality. The air seemed to be choking her. How did Beatrice stand it, she wondered.

Feeling a strange twinge she looked down at her scraped palms and sucked in a sharp breath. The cuts themselves were barely deep enough to draw blood, but beneath the tissue she was bubbling, boiling. She tore her eyes away and blinked hard to dispel the vision.

Am I awake? Am I dreaming again? Did I miss the ledge?

Her mind screamed at her.

It’s something in the air. It’s something about these damn plants. An infection? An allergy? No, can’t think about it now. There’s no time. Look away, deal with it later.

Thankfully the sliding door was unlocked. Most people don’t expect intruders at five stories up. It opened with a click and Gianna tensed, withholding herself against the urge to rush in, metaphorical guns blazing. She stood there in the doorway and listened for sounds of distress, but it was eerily silent. The luxury apartment was as serene and sterile as she remembered it.

“Bea?” she whispered as she stepped inside. “Beatrice?”

No response. Her own dragging footsteps were loud in the emptiness, scraping along the tile like a murmuring: hush, hush.

Gianna rounded a corner into the dining room and there she found her, and the mad doctor too. Beatrice was sitting at the table in a white dress with a gauzy quality to it that reminded her, sickly, of a wedding dress. Dr Rappaccini came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder before at length turning his sunken eyes towards the uninvited guest.

When he spoke, his voice sounded thick as if speaking around a swelling. “After all these years, you think I don’t recognize the taste of one of my own formulas? I’ve been doing this since before you were born, children.”

“It was only medicine, Father,” Beatrice insisted, looking up at him. “To help you sleep.”

“A long sleep indeed,” he growled. Gianna had no rightful reason to flinch away from the fury of an old, sick, and at least partially drugged old man, she reasoned. There was nothing of him to be so afraid of. But she did, and she was, and deep down she always had been, since the moment she saw him. There was something wrong with him, something she couldn’t put a name to, although if she tried the word “evil” might make an appearance.

It had been a long time since Gianna had considered herself one among the faithful, the kind of person to buy into such archaic concepts as pure good vs pure evil. She never quite believed in a soul that could be broken down into quantifiable measurements— a half cup of goodness, an even ounce of vice. She couldn’t say from what recipe a man like Dr Rappaccini was formed, but what she saw before her now repulsed her. The layers of him peeled off like old paint and underneath were all the years and all the people who ever imposed their will on her. It didn’t make her feel righteous, it made her feel small and scared. She didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t want to catch what he had.

“This really has gone too far.” He spoke not to her but to Beatrice again. Although he kept her penned within his periphery, Gianna was an insect to him. “What did you think would happen? That you’d run away together? Go off into the sunset and live happily forever after like those books you read? You know better. This is only a passing fancy. She’ll die, and you’ll find another.”

Then he touched her cheek, almost tenderly. For a moment he almost looked like the father he was, or at least pretended to be. Gianna saw him and a younger Beatrice: teaching her, dressing her, holding her, bringing her to life only to take it away.

“Let go of her, she’s coming with me.”

Dr Rappaccini sneered. “Oh by all means. Who am I to get in the way of my daughter’s happiness? But if you two are going to insist on keeping up this charade, I think it’s only right I let you know what you’re getting into.”

The young woman stiffened. “Father, please don’t.”

“Have you been feeling ill lately, Ms Alexander? Been noticing some certain sudden changes?”

Gianna instinctively closed her fists and felt her bloodied palms sting.

“Now now, no need to be embarrassed. I’m a doctor you know.” He wheezed a little laugh to himself. “Have you been having trouble sleeping? Peculiar dreams? Maybe even during the day you find yourself feeling disoriented, seeing things. Do you find yourself feeling breathless or dizzy when you take in the city air? If not, you will. The medicine my daughter so kindly shared with you will be wearing off soon.”

Startled, she turned a questioning glance to Beatrice, but the other woman wouldn’t look at her. She’d told her the tea was medicinal, but it had never occurred to Gianna that she might be more familiar with the ailment than she let on.

“It’ll only get worse from here, you know. Look at me,” he coughed. “Like the late great Madame Curie, my passions took their toll on me in the end. Though not before affording me a sturdy tolerance for most known and unknown poisons, I’ll have you know. That’s over fifty years of gradual exposure for you. Ah, but you didn’t come here to listen to me talk about work.

“I’ll get to the point. You can treat the symptoms, but there’s no cure, no release from her poison. Even as we speak it’s tainting your healthy young blood, devouring you from the inside out. If I act fast, you may still live to a ripe old age. You might not even have any lasting side effects, lucky thing! But all this is if I give you the antitoxin, and if you don’t continue to willfully expose yourself to the source.”

“The source? You mean…?”

“Yes! My sweet Beatrice.” He petted her hair with the back of his fingers. “Lovely, isn’t she? Everything I grow… so very lovely. Don’t worry, I’d never do a thing to harm her. Can she say the same about you?”

“Don’t listen to him!” Beatrice stood up suddenly, surprising both Gianna and Rappaccini himself. “I never wanted to hurt you! I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“But you can’t help it,” said the doctor. “It’s in your nature. It’s in your scent, the touch of your skin. Imagine what she could do with a kiss, Ms Alexander! Oh I almost want to see it. I’m sure it would produce some valuable data. But I’m not the cruel monster you make me out to be. That’s why I tried to stop you, even though my daughter begged me not to spill her secret. I tried to make you understand.

“She can’t be released upon the world. Maybe in a few generations we’ll have a version that can control her own potency, but not yet. Not you, Beatrice.”

The poison-blooded woman spun on her creator. “Why did you make me! Why did you make me like this! Why bring me into the world at all if I can’t be a part of it! What is the point of being alive if I can’t touch another living thing without hurting them!”

Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, hot and angry. Gianna instinctively reached out to comfort her.

“No, stay away!” she screamed.

Dr Rappaccini took her into his arms. Her tears soaked through the shoulder of his ill-fitting coat and raised his flesh with welts, yet he didn’t flinch. Arrogant gray eyes locked with Gianna’s and the message was clear. No matter how much she loved her, Beatrice belonged to him. She would rather choose an empty life under the heel of a man who could never truly care for her over the risk that she might further harm the one person who did.

Then, a curious thing happened. It started with a gentle rumbling that gradually grew in intensity like the beginnings of an earthquake. Then there was the smell. Beatrice always had a slightly floral scent to her that Gianna had assumed was perfume, but now, like in the garden, it was so overpowering that it seared the nose and throat and muddled the senses. Rappaccini noticed as well and turned to his daughter with a delirious look on his face.

“Girl, what have you done?”

The woman lifted her head. Veins like dark tendrils bulged beneath her skin, wispy strands of violet encroaching at the corners of her eyes like ink in water. A noxious venom bubbled up and spilled over her lower lip. The doctor staggered backwards. Gianna might have followed his lead if she were in her right mind, but as it was she was stricken, mesmerized by her. Even through the confusion and the terror, she wanted to reach for her. Her blood sang out to embrace her.

There was a sound of shattering glass from the terrace and the garden rushed in, spilling over and crashing like a tidal wave, flooding every room it entered with rapidly growing roots and bright green vines. The onslaught of green grew and morphed and stretched and with every pulse of its new buds and branches there was a noise like a muffled human scream.

The slithering stems ignored Gianna, skated right past Beatrice unbothered, and latched onto the form of Dr Rappaccini, pulling taught as they snared him.

“Beatrice!” he cried out, but not in horror or in rage. Oddly enough, though he was alarmed, when he looked into the face of his creation, the creation who would destroy him, his expression was one of absolute wonder.

“How are you doing this, Beatrice? How?”

She looked at him, with her eyes still clouded and the nectar of her ire dripping freely from her lips, and she said, “No.”

Only then did true panic set in for the scientist, for he understood exactly what that no meant.

Vines began to encircle his torso and pour into his open mouth, choking him, soaking up the living wet warmth of him and pouring in their poisons. They dragged his limp body, barely recognizable now, back out into the garden. They raked him over the shattered remains of the glass door and took him into their soil until no bit of him could be seen under the still earth.

The renowned genius Dr Giacoma Rappaccini died without ever knowing the whole truth of what he had created, without even the parting gift of that understanding, that knowledge he had so fervently sought after. That right had been revoked from him. Even so it could be said that Dr Rappaccini died with some sense of satisfaction. After all, what parent isn’t joyed to see their child finally surpass them?

As the flood of plants retreated so too did the murky discoloration of Beatrice’s eyes and skin, leaving only a faint sheen of laboured sweat. Unthinking Gianna moved towards her but her legs buckled halfway there. Her eyes rolled back and for a moment all the universe narrowed to the feeling of hands carefully lowering her to the floor.

“Oh God, Gianna.”

She blinked and saw Beatrice kneeling over her, felt the warmth of her breath. It occurred to her suddenly that she could very well be about to die. She wasn’t in any pain though. Even the ache from her twisted ankle was gone. If anything, she felt extraordinarily well, for a paralyzed person. The only improvement, she thought foggily, would be if she were able to just move. If she could move it all, if she could speak, then there would be nothing that she couldn’t say, not ever again.

“Gianna, I’m so sorry.” She leaned her head against Gianna’s breastbone and sobbed. “I love you. I love you.”

Gianna’s heart fluttered. In fact, it pounded so hard and so loud that Beatrice head shot back up with surprise. She sniffled and blinked back tears.

“Gi-Gianna? Are you still in there?”

Obviously Gianna couldn’t respond, but she searched her face and must have found an answer in it regardless.

“If you can hear me… I’m going to try something. It- it might… I don’t want to hurt you. That’s what I was trying to… I don’t, I’ve never been able to control it before, but every time you looked at me I just, just tried to focus on that, on how much I wanted…” She swallowed thickly. “So I’m going to try one more time. One more time, okay? I’ll think about how much I love you, and you think about… well you just think about staying alive and maybe… maybe this time. Maybe it’ll turn out alright this time.”

With that, she closed her eyes and kissed her. It was everything Gianna had dreamed and nothing she had expected. Clumsy and inexperienced, gentle and sweet, and something sort of tingly she had a feeling wasn’t entirely due to attraction or apprehension or any mix thereof. She felt her eyes fall closed and her own lips part slightly to let her in. Too late she registered the sensation of something liquid pooling on her tongue, falling down her throat. She choked, briefly, then reflex kicked in and she swallowed.

“Gianna?” Beatrice asked nervously.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. “You too,” she croaked. “I love you too. I would’ve told you sooner if I knew.”

“If you knew what?”

“That, that you needed to hear it. Someone should’ve told you sooner. Someone should’ve told you a long time ago how lovable you are.”

As she recovered Gianna touched a finger to her lips and it came away sticky. She sucked on her lower lip and it tasted sweet. Bittersweet really, but any amount of sweetness was good enough for her.

“Not to be the nosy overbearing girlfriend or anything, but what just happened exactly?”

Beatrice sat back on her heels. “I’m not really sure where to start. You’ve probably already figured out that I’m… not entirely human.”

“And all that talk about you being a hybrid and like a poisonous plant wasn’t entirely metaphorical, huh?”

She smiled sadly. “Father was always open with me about what I am. I wanted to be open with you too but part of me was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. The other part was afraid you would.”

A fair assumption. Even having witnessed the ultimate show of her power firsthand, she still had a hard time internalizing it.

The conflict must have been apparent on her face; Beatrice pulled away from her, folding her hands over her lap.

“I’m dangerous, I know. Nothing my father said was a lie, but there were things even he didn’t know about me. When you told me we could run away… you made it sound so simple, you know? It really made me believe I could do it. I really thought I could change. I thought I could be more like you, but instead I think I made you more like me.”

Gianna looked down at her hands. The cuts from earlier had sealed themselves closed, not so much as a scratch remaining.

“I’ve never tried to do that before. I don’t know exactly how it’ll affect you, or how much. You might live to be two hundred now. Or you might start to kill everything you touch.” A noise escaped her that was half laugh, half sob. “But I do know what would’ve happened if I left you like that, in that in-between state. Maybe it’s selfish of me. Father said it was. He told me if I cared for you at all I should send you away before it was too late, but I just…”

Gianna touched her. She shivered. “You never would’ve been able to scare me off anyway. I’m too stubborn for that.”

Beatrice sighed, sinking into her touch like she was a warm bed on a freezing cold night.

“So, what now?” Gianna asked at length, though she was reluctant to think of anything beyond this moment. This, all that she’d discovered, it did change things. Just not the things that mattered. Not as far as she was concerned, at least. “I mean, I guess we don’t have to leave now, but you do have a body in your garden so…”

“No. I want to. I want to leave.”

“Then we will,” said Gianna. “I just need to make a call first.”

-----

Petra pulled up to the curb outside a street she had intended never to visit again and opened the door with a glare.

“Gianna. I see you’re still alive despite ignoring every single warning I tried to give you.”

Before Gianna could respond she got up and pulled her into a clumsy hug.

“Crazy girl,” she muttered affectionately.

For half a second Gianna relaxed into the hug, before she remembered herself and pulled back with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?”

No blisters or rashes forming spontaneously on her skin. No sign of any adverse reaction at all. Her shoulders sagged with relief. It seemed she hadn’t absorbed Beatrice’s more overtly toxic qualities along with her immunity. Or, not yet at least.

The thought had been nagging at the back of her mind, that more traits might yet blossom down the line. Even Beatrice, by her own account, hadn’t been born with many of her abilities but rather had grown into them throughout her childhood and into the early years of adolescence.

And I thought puberty was bad enough as it is.

“Nothing,” she replied at length. “I’m just a little sore.”

She had explained the situation to the best of her ability over the phone, but had omitted more a number of key details. Some things she withheld with purpose, some because she felt it wasn’t her story to tell, some simply because she couldn’t find the words.

To Petra’s knowledge, Gianna had made plans to run away with Rappaccini’s daughter and when the man refused her, had broken into his apartment. This led to a struggle which resulted in his accidental death. All technically true. The details she chose to keep vague for the time being, until she could be certain the professor was on their side, although she had a sneaking suspicion she knew more than she let on anyway.

Petra looked from Gianna to the visibly shaken young woman who was clinging to her side. “Who did him in?”

“I did,” said Gianna without a thought. She’d been mentally rehearsing her story while they waited. “He found out about me and Bea and made it very clear that he was willing to kill us both to stop it from happening. I freaked out and pushed him, and he fell. He was old and frail. It was an accident.”

She nodded along with the tale but her thoughts were plainly elsewhere. Gianna got the impression she didn’t entirely believe her. That was fine, as long as she didn’t press.

“Where is he?”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. That, she could answer definitively. “In the garden. Under it, I guess.”

Another nod. “It’ll do. He was a shut-in; I doubt anyone will come looking for him. I assume anyone who knew him well enough also would know better than to investigate his disappearance too closely. I’ll keep an eye on things, just in case.”

It probably should’ve bothered Gianna how nonchalant she appeared about a former colleague’s murder, even one she had a bad history with. But truthfully she was just grateful Petra had agreed to all of this so easily. She had no desire to look too closely at her motivations.

Petra reached into her pocket and handed Gianna a slip of paper with an address written on it.

“My summer home,” she explained. “You can lay low there for a while.”

“Petra… thank you.”

“Thank you. You’ve done me the service of taking care of something I should have a long time ago. Maybe once the good doctor’s research is in ashes I’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.”

She said it lightly, but there was a grave seriousness in her eyes.

“Please, not the garden,” Beatrice said softly. She’d spoken little since they’d left the apartment and it was no wonder why. The gravity of her actions was now beginning to sink in, and that combined with leaving the safety and familiarity of her home for the first time in her life had put her in a state of shock.

She never would truly regret laying Dr Rappaccini to rest, but the world did feel like a very different place without him in it.

“Is there any way you could get the plants to us once we’re there?”

“I’ll do my best, I can promise you that much.” She looked Beatrice up and down, really taking her in for the first time. “So you’re the ‘daughter.’”

“I am. I was.”

Dr Bagnol flexed her fingers around the handle of her cane, quietly contemplative. For the first time that Gianna had ever seen, she was unsure of what to say. “Did you ever… The other experiments, did they…?”

Beatrice inclined her head. Thankfully she needed no elaboration. “My father told me some. He said there were others before me, my sisters, but that they were imperfect and didn’t survive more than a few weeks. Your name’s Dr Bagnol, isn’t it? He spoke about you too, once or twice I think. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time.” She hesitated. “They’re happy now, if it helps. I never met them while they were alive but they talk to me through the flowers, though I can’t always understand them. My father didn’t believe me when I told him. There were a lot of things he didn’t believe in.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgment. “It’s a pretty unbelievable story. But I’ve dared to put my faith in plenty of strange ideas and often I’ve been right. For better or for worse.”

Petra gestured to the open car door and handed Gianna the keys.

“You’d better get moving.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ve got things to take care of here, the sooner the better. Don’t worry about the car. It’s the least I can do.” Her gaze lingered on Beatrice. “I’ve missed a lot of birthdays.”

They packed their bags into the trunk and Gianna settled into the driver’s seat. Catching the other’s anxious look she assured her, “We’ll go slow.”

“You may not have that luxury,” Petra said with the certainty of someone who had made her own share of narrow escapes. She rapped her knuckles on the hood of the car. “Go now and don’t stop until you’re across the state line.”

Nodding grimly Gianna spared one last look to the older woman: her co-conspirator, her mentor, her friend. “Thank you.”

They drove, and little by little New York retreated in the rear view until it blipped out of existence, a vanishing dream. Gianna would’ve liked to say she was sorry to leave it behind but in reality, the city wasn’t her home. It wasn’t her tiny apartment with the glitchy kitchen light and plastered over vintage moulding, nor even the house in the suburbs where her parents still lived, blissfully unaware of their daughter’s doings.

To her, home was an ephemeral thing, the stops on the way to a destination that was always changing. Beatrice on the other hand had only known one home all her life, one which may never exist for her again, at least not in the same way it had.

Yet when Gianna dropped one hand from the wheel and reached for her, she slotted her fingers between hers with no hesitation, only a trembling sigh as she continued to familiarize herself with the skin-to-skin contact. That too, Gianna thought, could be home. If nothing else, she could try and make it one for her.

A few hours passed with fewer words spoken between them. Sometimes she would ask Beatrice if she was hungry or feeling motion sick or if she wanted to try lying down in the back to get some rest, and each time she would answer with a polite shake of the head. The night settled over them like a deep blue linen, too gentle and frail to risk tearing with clumsy words.

The quiet wasn’t a bother to either of them. If talk is cheap then the clasping of hands and the soft kisses pressed to wrists and knuckles was a language that had cost them dearly.

Nearing their destination, Gianna pulled onto a sideroad that took them from asphalt to dirt and gravel to nothing as it came to an abrupt dead end. There was no house or even any helpful landmarks to be found, just grass and trees, so they parked the car to have a look around while Gianna fiddled with the GPS.

Beatrice stepped out into the field and filled her lungs, cautiously at first, and then in deep lusty breaths like a drowning body coming up for air. She shucked off her shoes and hiked up her dress to let the wild grass brush against her legs. The new plantlife turned brittle and curled away from her touch but she didn’t mind.

Gianna turned to find her partner lying in the middle of the field, heels digging into the dirt like she was trying to put down roots, and laughing giddily. The unrestrained, childlike joy on her face was contagious and Gianna soon found herself giggling as well.

“Having fun?”

“Oh it’s so weird,” she hiccuped. “There aren’t any walls. There aren’t even any buildings. It just goes on and on forever.”

She sat down in the grass next to her. “It’s not too overwhelming?”

“It is, but in a good way. It’s so… so much more than I thought it would be from books and pictures. It feels like a dream.”

“Describe it to me,” she said.

Beatrice sat herself upright and curled into Gianna’s embrace.

“It’s not the same as being in my garden. These plants don’t speak to me, and I can feel them but I don’t know them, if that makes any sense. You can’t feel them at all, can you?”

“No. Whatever you gave me… I don’t know, maybe it just doesn’t work that way.”

She tried not to look disappointed. Being able to touch, to be beside one another like this and not have to worry should have been enough. It was enough. But Gianna was beginning to understand that Beatrice’s loneliness was a vein that ran deeper than the more obvious isolation she experienced.

As Dr Rappaccini himself had alluded to, she was one of a kind. To Gianna, that just made her all the more amazing, but to Beatrice it was a curse. More than anything, maybe more than to be loved, she longed to be understood.

“Wish your superpowers could help us find this stupid house,” Gianna remarked.

Beatrice perked up. “Actually, I think it’s just on the other side of those trees.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t really know how to explain it but there’s this absence. Like, a blank space. Things are growing around it but in that space,” She made the shape of a square with her hands. “Nothing.”

Gianna stood up and brushed herself off. “Well let’s take a look then.”

Sure enough, the path picked up again on the other side of a small thicket and led them to the house-- more of a cabin really. Although the outside was just as overgrown from the years of neglect, aside from some dust and cobwebs the interior was remarkably well preserved. In a closet they found a broom and dustpan, some rags, and a bottle with an inch or so of cleaner still swishing around at the bottom. They also happened upon spare linens and an abandoned down comforter that had been tucked aside for a rare chilly day, blessedly free of grime.

The weather was still plenty warm so they opened all the windows and aired out the rooms and when Gianna was confident no spiders would crawl into her mouth while they were sleeping, she bid Beatrice join her under the duvet. There they dreamed with nothing but that big comforter between them and the night air. That was how they stayed until the morning.

For weeks they lived like this, playacting the roles of the two happy honeymooners. They got up, worked on cleaning up the house, cooked, ate, went to bed, and occasionally slept. It was a strange dance, one whose steps they made up as they went along. And sometimes they fell out of step.

Gianna had to go into town sometimes, to walk in the all too human places Beatrice still feared to tread and come back with supplies and dinner and a new book for her to read. It was nice, Beatrice thought, to be cared for in little ways like that, but though she gratefully accepted the gifts they also tended to remind her that when it came down to it, not very much had changed.

Her dictatorial father was gone, but so was her garden, her petaled elder sisters whom she cared for and cared for her in turn. The doors were all unlocked now, but many days she found herself lurking in the thresholds listening for the sound of tires crunching on leaflitter. In those interrums, she was as alone as she’d ever been.

When Gianna was there though, all was lovely. She gave her things she never imagined she would have-- at least not so freely, certainly not multiple times in one night. But in the wake of her affection a sick fretful feeling would open up like a chasm in her chest, taunting her as it ripped her in two, “Don’t you know how to be alive without trailing at someone’s heel?”

Its presence, this nebulous worry, dogged her day by day. In the small hours, while her girlfriend slept, Beatrice lay awake trying to trace the shape of this shadow that darkened the edges of her newfound happiness.

“Bea? You okay?”

She was standing outside in the grass, near the woods that surrounded the cabin. She liked to be here. Wandering too far made her nervous so she had to devise more creative ways to explore the world that was now open to her. Often she came here to test the reach of her awareness, feeling her way through the landscape as if with a phantom limb.

However Gianna found it a little unnerving to watch her girlfriend standing and staring into space for hours on end and typically only joined her when it had been long enough for her to get worried.

Beatrice blinked and rolled her neck experimentally. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She put a hand on her shoulder. “Dinner’s ready.”

They twined their arms together as they walked the beaten path back to the house. It was times like this that she felt she could forget her concerns and just enjoy the present moment. Whatever came next, she wanted to have as many moments like that as she could.

next chapter

#writeblr #horror romance #gothic #original fiction #rappaccini's daughter

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britishassistant · 3 years

Text

But I Like One Piece (19)

She opens her eyes.

There are insects on her face.

Oh Luffy, there are so many insects on her face.

It’s only years of practice and the knowledge of how upset Shino will be with her that prevents her from swatting wildly.

“Why are there insects on my face.” She mumbles, moving her lips as little as possible and lifting a hand to her cheek so some of them can scuttle off and onto her fingers.

She doesn’t want any falling into her mouth on accident.

“Because my kikaichū are capable of injecting small doses of chakra into your system, which restores your reserves and helps return the body to homeostasis.” Shino extends his hand and the remaining insects begin flitting off her face back up his sleeves.

Her confusion must show on her face, because he sighs. “Chakra injections to help you wake up.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Shino inclines his head as he retracts his arm, all insects safely retrieved.

She struggles to sit up. One side of her head throbs a little.

“How are you feeling, Ketsugi-chan?” Iruka-sensei asks. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous at all?”

She shakes her head. “No, Iruka-sensei.”

He purses his lips and tilts her head to the side, before pulling a small flashlight out of his jacket pocket and shining it in her eyes. “No bumps, and your pupils seem normal...what caused you to collapse, Ketsugi-chan? Can you remember?”

Her breath stutters in her throat at the thought.

“I don’t. Like them. The g— them. Those.”

Iruka-sensei blinks. “The weapons? They upset you?”

She nods mutely.

“Seriously?” Uchiha mutters. “First chakra and now this?”

“Sasuke-kun!” Iruka-sensei scolds, though his tone is slightly exasperated. “Well, if you feel bad again, be sure to let me know, okay Ketsugi-chan?”

Her mind won’t stop racing, even after they return to the classroom.

How, how, how, how can those—those things be here?!

This world is supposed be a ninja story, where people use taijutsu and chakra and kunai and katana to fight.

She’s pretty certain none of the flame wars in her past life ever talked about any characters bringing shitty g-firearms to the mix.

And not just any firearms either.

Nothing like the older models found in One Piece and museums of her old world, where the bullet and gunpowder needed to be inserted separately into the barrel of the g— of the weapon before firing.

The existence of that older type of weapon here might make a small amount of sense at least.

No, those were high-tech, modern firearms, the kind with cartridges that are inserted at the bottom of the handle, with bullets that have gunpowder built into the casing, that are pointed so they can pierce—

She only narrowly keeps herself from retching.

Naruto keeps shooting her worried glances as the day goes on.

He’s resorted to scribbling what happened?? on the edges of her notebook by the time the last lesson of the day draws to a close.

She does her best to placate him with weak smiles and shaking her head discreetly, but that seems to have the opposite effect judging by the way his brows furrow.

Shikamaru keeps staring at her as well.

However, it’s not the same as the concerned looks that Chouji, Ino, Hinata, Sakura, Shino and even Kiba keep giving her.

He’s staring at her like he knows something isn’t right.

Like he suspects something.

She does her best to avoid his gaze when they leave the classroom.

Lee meets them outside the Academy.

His greeting trails off as Naruto grabs his hand and drags the pair of them over to the tree swingset.

“Naruto-kun, what’s going on?” He asks, brows furrowing.

“Mayu passed out when she saw the weapons from Yuki.” Naruto accuses, arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed. “And don’t say it’s nothing, ‘cause you’re still pale and shaky. Not even chakra has ever done that to you, believe it.”

She glances down at her trembling hands. She squeezes them together to try and make the tremors stop.

“Mayu-chan.” She looks up when Lee claps his hands on her shoulders, staring her dead in the eyes. “Are you okay?”

She starts to nod.

Lee raises an eyebrow.

She doesn’t end up shaking her head but it’s a near thing.

“I’m—” She cuts herself off. “I’m not alright, but. It’s not something I ca-need to talk about. Can we just go?”

Naruto’s brow furrows even further and he makes a face. It’s the same face he made when confronting Ami over bullying Sakura, or confiding his worries about Uchiha’s diet in her. It’s his “I’m not happy and going to do something about it” face.

Lee’s frowning too, now gripping her hands tight. “You can talk to us about anything, Mayu-chan. You know that, right?”

Unseen stares from the surrounding trees bore into her as she nods. She very carefully does not look up.

She flounders for something, anything to make them understand.

“It’s a Tamara thing.” She hisses quietly.

It takes them a moment, but then sweet, merciful understanding flashes across Naruto and Lee’s faces, the pair of them stiffening like they’ve been pricked with pins.

“Ah! Is that so!” Lee’s laugh is too loud, too boisterous to anyone who knows him well. She prays to Robin that the masks don’t. “Well thank Luffy it’s nothing to worry about, right Naruto-kun?”

“Y-Yeah!” Naruto agrees, hesitating a fraction of a second too long for comfort. “You shoulda told us that’s all it was earlier, Mayu-chan, I was worried over nothing, believe it!”

She feels an eyebrow twitch, but tries to contort her expression into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, it’s just a little embarrassing, you know,” She fakes a laugh. “Girl problems and all that.”

“I see! Girl problems! Of course!” Lee says, clearly not understanding at all.

She takes a moment to wonder what exactly the boys do while the girls are in kunoichi classes.

Naruto loops an arm around her shoulders. “Yosh! Let’s get home then! Oka— Mayu’s okaa-san will be waiting for us, believe it!”

“Well said Naruto-kun!” Lee loops an arm around her other shoulder. “Yosh! Onwards!”

The three of them frogmarch home, chattering loudly about nothing.

They could not be more conspicuous if they were dressed in animal costumes and singing a musical number.

The unseen stares following them now have an added side of judgement which she does not appreciate.

She’s already racing upstairs to grab her coats and yukata when they all tumble through the front door.

“Welcome ba—” Okaa-san gives her an odd look when she clatters back down the stairs, clothes in her arms. “—Mayu? What’s going on?”

“We’re home Chie-oba-san! Nothing happened at all!” Lee proclaims in the same breath as Naruto blurts, “Mayu passed out!”

Okaa-san blinks, then grabs her shoulder as she makes for the front door. “Not your nice yukata, young lady, I just finished ironing it again. Go get your towel instead. Then you’re all going to sit down here and tell me exactly what happened calmly. Understand?”

“Yes, okaa-san.” They chorus meekly

Naruto calls dibs on telling his side of the story first.

She begins to regret letting him a few moments after he opens his mouth and launches into an embellished retelling of how she made a wheezing noise at the mere sight of the weapons and dropped to the ground like a broken mast, startling everyone and interrupting Uchiha.

He’s tearing up as he continues, “An’, an’ Mayu just wouldn’t wake up, no matter what, even when I shook her an’ everythin’ believe it, an’ Iruka-sensei yelled at me because he said I mighta’ hurt you worse, an’ then Shino did his bug thing an’ you woke up but you were still so pale an’ shaky an’ scared but you wouldn’ say anything, an’, an’—”

Okaa-san pulls him into a hug as he trails off into frustrated hiccoughs, rubbing his back soothingly.

Lee’s grip on her hand is so tight it’s beginning to hurt a bit.

“Well, Mayu?” Okaa-san says, voice slightly strained. “Was that what happened?”

“K-kind of?” She shifts forward so she can give Naruto a one-armed hug. “Sorry I scared you, I was just...just really, really freaked out. I never meant to scare you too.”

“...s’okay.” He mutters into her hair. “Dun’ do it ‘gain, kay?”

She nuzzles into his shoulder, “I’ll try. Promise.”

Lee gives a cough behind her. “So...what alarmed you about those weapons, Mayu-chan?”

She stiffens, drawing back out of the hug.

“They— they aren’t right.” Her head throbs. “Maybe if it was earlier, a prototype model, maybe. But that kind of g—of weapon shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t even exist.”

Okaa-san’s brow furrows. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it shouldn’t exist!” She snaps. “This place prizes ch-chakra too much for their existence to make sense! You lot place a premium on throwing projectiles and close combat because chakra allows you to compensate. The existence of those kind of g— of firearm doesn’t make any sense, because there’s not a need for that kind here like there was in my world, it just, it just doesn’t make any sense, why is it here, why is it here?!”

Her breathing is ragged.

Her head hurts.

Everything’s so blurry she can barely see.

“Mayu-chan?” Lee’s voice sounds very small. “Does that mean those weapons are from your world?”

“I don’t wanna get shot again.” She chokes out. “I don—I—it hurt so much last time.”

Lee hugs like he’s trying to both squeeze the pain out of her and shield her from it ever returning.

It’s almost painful how tight his arms are around her shoulders, but it does help ground her somewhat.

Then there’s softness pressing against her side and Okaa-san’s arm is curling around Lee’s shoulders to pull them both to her, burying her face in the crown of Mayu’s head.

Naruto reaches over and threads his fingers with hers from where he’s curled into Okaa-san’s other side, squeezing as hard as he can.

They stay like that for a long time.

They startle when the front door snags on her winter coat when it opens.

“I’m baaa-ah? Darling, is the door broken?” Otou-san asks, poking his head through the small gap at the threshold.

“Welcome home Jirou-oji-san!” Lee waves.

“Otou-san! It’s coat and stair time!” Naruto yells. “You gotta come in right now, believe it!”

“Hang on, I need to get the door unstuck first!” Otou-san replies. “Hm...maybe if I unscrewed the hinges...”

Okaa-san gives a weak chuckle. “Mayu-chan, go pick up your coat before it rips or your father dismantles the front door.”

Otou-san smiles at her when she opens the door properly, coat in hand. “I’m home, Mayu.”

“Welcome back, Otou-san.”

The smile drops slightly when he gets a good look at her, and he reaches out to brush a thumb over her temple. “Ouch. How’d this happen?”

She winces slightly at the pressure. “I fainted at the Academy. It’s...a long story.”

Otou-san gives her a searching look, then turns that stare on the interior of the front hall, where her raincoat and towel block the entrances to the kitchen and the living room.

He closes the front door behind him and lays her winter coat back at the bottom of the threshold. “Well, I’d better hear it sooner rather than later, hadn’t I?”

She’s a little proud that she’s able to say, “I freaked out at the sight of the weapon that killed me in my past life” on the third try without blubbering.

Much.

Okaa-san drums her fingers on her arm. “How can you be sure that these weapons are from your world? After all, your world had katana and kunai and other weapons that are found here— maybe it’s just that our technology is beginning to catch up to yours.”

She shrugs in Otou-san’s hug. “I’d believe that if they weren’t so...so modern. This world relies on c-chakra a lot, which makes bladed weapons and thrown projectiles much more viable than they are in mine. We haven’t even been taught about the existence of g-firearms at the Academy before today. Yet, despite that, those things are just as if not more advanced than the ones from my world, with no precedent.”

“Yeah!” Naruto nods decisively. “What’s a preceden?”

“It’s when certain things have to happen first for something to exist.” Okaa-san explains. “Like you need to have eggs if you want to make omelette rice.”

Otou-san hums. “You’ve never spoken to anyone else about your past life, have you Mayu?”

She shakes her head. “Only you lot and Gai-sensei. And I wouldn’t tell anyone about...those things.”

“Where is Gai-sensei, anyway?” Naruto asks.

“He has a mission today.” Okaa-san says. “He dropped by earlier to say he would be back in time for training tomorrow morning.”

Lee nods, smile small and happy.

Then he leans against Okaa-san, arms crossed. “So if the guns are from Mayu’s past life, but Mayu-chan didn’t have anything to do with their creation, how did they get from that world to here?”

She purses her lips. She’d like to know that herself.

Naruto closes his eyes and tilts his head from side to side, like a dog trying to listen to something. “Hmmm...a wizard...no, a mindreader...Iwa nin...hmm...Mayu’s evil twin...magic teleporting frog...”

She snorts and opens her mouth—

Then freezes.

“Naruto, what did you just say?”

Naruto blinks. “Magic teleporting frog?”

“Wh-no! Before that!” She says, mind whirring a million miles a minute.

There’s a moment as Naruto’s lips work soundlessly, going back through what he said.

Then his eyes widen and he rears back. “What the heck?! Mayu—you—you have an evil twin and never told me?!”

“You think I would’ve noticed if that was the case.” Okaa-san mutters.

“Kaa-san!” She yelps, flustered. “And no I don’t have an evil twin—that’s not the point!”

“What is it?” Lee leans around Okaa-san to stare curiously at her.

“It’s just an idea, I don’t have any proof for it or anything,” She gently digs her teeth into her lower lip. “But when Naruto said ‘evil twin’, it made me think what if—what if there is someone out there who was like me? What if I’m not the only one who was reborn into this world from mine?”

The room goes still.

“If such a person did exist, why would they do this?” Otou-san asks carefully. “Why manufacture and export these weapons, if there’s no real need for them here?”

She shrugs. “Money? Power, maybe? I-I don’t know, I have no idea. It’s just— nothing else makes sense, does it?”

There’s a sharp rap at the front door.

They all freeze.

“Dear. Gai said he wouldn’t be back from his mission today until tomorrow morning, didn’t he.” Okaa-san says.

Otou-san stands, one hand on his bokken. “Yes. He did.”

He moves towards the door, while Okaa-sama pushes them behind her, hissing, “Go upstairs to the door of our bedroom. Do not come down until we call you.”

After a moment, her towel and coats are lobbed up after them.

The zip on her winter coat smacks her in the lip.

She pulls it off her head in time to hear her father faintly say, “...Nara-sama! What an unexpected surprise!”

“Geez, Nara-sama’s such a drag. Nara-san will do just fine.” The lazy drawl floats up to them as Naruto leans forward to try and get a glimpse of Shikamaru’s dad, towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

“Thank you very much, Nara-san. Would you like to come in?” Okaa-sama asks as Lee fidgets with the zipper on her raincoat.

“Nah, we’ll be quick. Shikamaru here just wanted to check with your kid, see if this whole shrine thing tomorrow is still going on.”

“Oh! Well we haven’t discussed that with her yet, so we’ll call her down.” She only gets a brief moment to panic before Okaa-san is raising her voice. “Mayu-chan! It’s one of your friends from the Academy for you!”

She shoves the coat behind her and traipses down the stairs.

“Hello Nara-san,” She says, a fake smile plastered across her face. “Hey Shika.”

“Yo.” Shikamaru replies.

His eyes still have that assessing quality from earlier.

He knows nothing, she tells herself. He hasn’t figured out you’re reincarnated, he doesn’t know there’s anything to figure out, please, please Sanji don’t let him figure anything out.

“So,” Shikamaru says suddenly, startling her. “How’s the head? It’d be troublesome if you woke up tomorrow too hurt to fix up the shrines.”

She touches the bruised area. “It’s a little sore, but I should be fine for tomorrow!”

“Are you sure, Mayu?” Okaa-san squeezes her shoulders. “We could always reschedule for next weekend if you aren’t up for it.”

“But Okaaa-saaan,” There’s a series of thumps as Naruto slides down the stairs one step at a time. “We’ve been waiting ages for this! Oh, hi Shika!”

“Hey Naruto.” Shikamaru raises a hand.

“I’m sure,” She nods her head. “Plus I think they’re eager for the shrines to finally be done too.”

Okaa-san’s expression goes tight and unamused, like it always does when they interact with her without it being an emergency, or Mayu asking permission first.

It’s not quite fair because Mayu suspects they can’t really help it, and it’s not really anything too direct, just flashes of emotion that are a little too intense to be her own.

She’s just glad they’re excited about the shrines too.

Then Shikamaru says, almost too casually, “The guns really spooked you earlier, huh?”

She can’t help it. She flinches.

Otou-san lays a hand over one of Okaa-san’s on her shoulder. “Ah, that...we were just discussing it with Mayu. We’re sorry for any worry her behavior caused, but...well...”

“But what?” Nara-san asks, one eyebrow raised.

Otou-san looks down, face twisted as if contemplating a difficult memory. “We don’t...enjoy talking about the journey from our homeland to Konohagakure. The...trials...we all had to weather. We’re just thankful we all made it here in one piece.”

Okaa-san nods and returns Otou-san’s doting smile, pretending to discreetly dab away tears with the sleeves of her kimono.

Shikamaru’s eyes widen slightly and he shifts, scratching his cheek and looking away.

It’s all she can do to not gape at the scene.

Are they—are they insinuating that her reaction to those things stems from their escape from Iron to hide her reincarnation? To the Jounin Squad Leader of Konoha and his son, no less?

She gives silent thanks to Franky and Robin.

She has the best parents in this world. The best.

“So the fact that the manufacturer of these weapons is based in Yukigakure comes as no surprise to you?” Nara-san says.

Otou-san jolts behind her.

Then after a moment, he sags, scrubbing one hand over his face. “You know, it really doesn’t. Does Yamanaka-san know?”

“He knows.” Nara-san nods, seemingly disinterested. He does a much better job of faking it compared to Shikamaru.

She glances back and forth between them, but there’s nothing on either man’s face that gives away any meaning to these non-sequiturs.

At least Shikamaru’s calculating look isn’t directed at her anymore.

Instead, he squints at Naruto. “Why are you wearing a towel?”

“Uh.” Naruto says, eyes darting to her.

Usopp help.

“We...were deconstructing a pillow fort! In my room.” She lies.

“A pillow what?” Shikamaru asks, eyes...oddly bright.

“A pillow fort! It’s where you take a whole load of pillows and blankets and towels and stuff and you create a fort using chairs and tables, or a chair and your bed if you have a raised one.” She explains.

Shikamaru nods, like this is only logical, though his expression has gotten even more weirdly intense for some reason. “Is that so? What do you do once you’ve built it?”

She shrugs. “It depends. You can just hang out in it and tell stories? Or nap?”

A slow, almost vicious smile spreads across Shikamaru’s face. He turns it upwards towards his father, who’s gone a worrying shade of grey and is staring at her like she’s pronounced a curse on his clan.

“Why.” Nara-san says, tone despairing. “Why would you tell him something like that exists?”

She shuffles so she’s partially hidden behind Otou-san. “...Sorry.”

Nara-san sighs, tugging gently on Shikamaru’s ponytail. “C’mon you. Let’s get going before you get any more ideas.”

“Actually, Nara-san, I have a quick question.” Okaa-san steps forward. “Would it—would it be acceptable for me to write to my relatives in Water Country? Perhaps inviting one or two of them over?”

She blinks up at her mother. She knows she has relatives in Water, but this is the first she’s heard about potentially meeting them.

Nara-san cocks his head to the side. “Writing a letter isn’t a crime. Inviting them here, to this village, for a visit...that’s more dicey.”

Okaa-san nods, chewing on her lower lip. “I suspected as much. Is that the same for all of Fire Country, or...? Ideally, we wouldn’t want to travel very far from Konoha.”

“Ideally.” Nara-san sighs again. “There are some villages nearby that might suit your needs. For now, I’d just put in a request for mail delivery at the mission desk. They can help you with any questions you have from there.”

“Thank you very much, Nara-san.” Okaa-san bows at the waist. “I hope you and Shikamaru-kun have a pleasant afternoon.”

“You too.” Nara-san bobs his head and takes Shikamaru by the shoulder. “C'mon, say goodbye.”

“See ya.” Shikamaru says, inclining his head like his father before the pair of them begin to walk away.

“See you tomorrow, Shika!” Naruto calls.

“Remember to wear clothes you don’t mind getting paint on!” She yells after him.

Shikamaru raises a hand in acknowledgement, before turning back to say something to his father.

Otou-san lets out a heavy sigh once the door is closed. “Right. Lee, could you bring the coats down with you?”

Lee obligingly comes down the stairs with both coats in his arms. “Are your relatives coming to stay, Chie-oba-san?”

“Maybe not to stay.” Okaa-san says. “But hopefully my brother Ikei and cousin Mei will get to meet you all.”

“All? You mean me, an’ Lee an’ Gai-sensei get to come with?” Naruto pipes up as he finishes setting down the towel, a huge grin spreading across his face.

Okaa-san beams and gathers the two of them into a hug. “Of course. I can’t let them leave without introducing them to three of my four favorite boys, can I?”

Lee’s eyes are shining and Naruto’s grinning and giggling. Otou-san leans over Okaa-san’s shoulder, pouting playfully. “Then what am I?”

“You’re the fourth favorite, of course.” Okaa-san teases, planting a kiss on Otou-san’s cheek.

Her mother turns and shoots her a small smile. “I also thought we could ask them it they’d met anyone who behaves...well, like you do. We’re a large merchant family spread all over, so it’s not unlikely that one of them has met someone in your circumstances without knowing it.”

“It’s not a bad idea, considering there’s likely one in Yukigakure.” Otou-san says glumly.

#my writing #naruto #one piece #but i like one piece #naruto uzumaki #rock lee #nara shikamaru #shikaku nara #shino aburame #iruka umino #sasuke uchiha #ketsugi mayu #ketsugi jirou #ketsugi chie #guns #usopp #straw hat pirates

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harringrovetrashrat · 4 years

Text

Steve was going to kill Billy. He was going to grab him by his shitty mullet and beat his laughing face into a goddamn pulp. He was going to shove Billy’s phone down his fucking throat. As Hopper chased him down the street, yelling in annoyance and exasperation, Steve thought of all the ways he was going to fuck up his stupid ass boyfriend.

It had been one hell of a fucking week. Billy’s community college in Indianapolis had had it’s finals, Steve had finally finished all of his certifications for childcare, and they were both ready to relax. To take a moment for themselves. To get absolutely shitfaced.

Their apartment wasn’t full persay, but for Hawkins, it was alive. Steve moved around a drunk couple making out, pretty sure they were Billy’s classmates because he didn’t recognize them, and headed for the kitchen. Ursula, one of his favorite people and one of the few of Billy’s classmates who seemed to genuinely like Steve, was taking shots and grinned when she saw him. She waved him over, not even trying to shout over the rock blasting through the apartment, and held up a shot glass.

“Steve!” She yelled once he was closer. “Time for vodka shots!”

“I dunno,” he shouted back. “Billy’s getting drunk as fuck and one of us needs to stay sober.” She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out.

“Dude, Billy complained all week about having to jerk off because you were studying so much, I get one shot, okay?” Steve turned red, running his hand over his face.

“Fair enough.” He tossed the shot back, smiling slightly at the feel of the vodka sliding down. He bit his lip, considering his options. “Let’s do one more.” As he downed his shot, smiling at Ursula afterwards, someone came up behind him and wrapped their arms around his middle. Steve startled, almost dropping his shot glass.

“Hey there, buddy,” Robin said, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Billy’s looking for you.” Steve rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Of course. Thanks, Ursula,” he said with a wink, and she held her next shot up in cheers before tossing it back. Robin tugged Steve back through the hallway to the living room, tugging his wrist lightly. He didn’t quite feel the shots yet, but he knew he would soon.

“I came back in from a smoke and Billy just zoned in on me and would not shut up until I brought you to him,” she complained, sounding fond at the same time. Billy stood up, holding his arms out, smile wide and dangerous.

“Bambi!” He cheered, drawing out the vowels. “Have I got the dare for you!” Steve gave Billy a blank look.

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard it,” he whined. He batted his eyelashes, which was just unfair, and Steve sighed.

“What’s the dare then?” Billy’s grin was feral.

“I dare you to streak and then jump into the pool naked.” Steve wanted to roll his eyes so hard they looked at the back of his head. He got as close as he could.

“Billy, we’re not fucking thirteen--”

“What, you fuckin’ chicken?” Billy’s tongue poked out from between his teeth and Steve felt the need to win simmering in his gut. He clenched his fists.

“No, it’s just that it’s a public fucking pool and if I get caught, it’s not gonna end well.” Billy rolled his eyes and scoffed, giving him a challenging grin.

“So you are chicken. Can’t handle a lil’ public nudity, rich boy?” Steve bristled at that, because he and Billy both worked to pay the bills, and he knew Billy was just saying it to rile him up, but boy, was it working--

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Hargrove,” he snapped, yanking his shirt over his head. Billy’s eyes lit up with glee and his smile was so brilliant, it made Steve pause. Billy licked his lips and Steve huffed, going back to undressing. “I’ll show you whose fuckin’ chicken.” The party had stopped and Steve turned, facing the sliding door. He wouldn’t be able to hide his nudity, obviously, but he was going to do what little he could to preserve his modesty.

“Damn, Hargrove,” someone yelled, “Your boy is packin’!” Steve blushed and he heard Billy laugh.

“I fucking told you!” Steve decided to block everything out. He grabbed the waistband of his boxer briefs, taking a breath to calm his racing heart, before yanking them down and kicking them off in one fluid motion. The party went silent and he threw the door open, running down the pavement. His heart was beating hard, but the rush of adrenaline was exhilarating. His feet slapped harshly on the sidewalk, and he made for the pool. It was in the middle of the courtyard, and he made a beeline for it, breath coming in sharp and harsh. His dick flopped and it kinda hurt a little bit, but he’d think about that later. When he didn’t feel so hot from the shots and adrenaline. “Whoo! Go, Baby, go!” Billy yelled, not too far behind him. Steve skidded a little ashe approached the pool, cannon balling into the deep end. As he flew through the air, he heard Billy cheering behind him, wild and happy. It made him smile.

He felt a lot less happy when he breached the surface.

When he pushed out of the water, whipping his hair out of his face, he saw flashing blue and red lights. His eyes went wide and he splashed a little, rushing to get to the ladder and get out. Billy was there, grinning and holding up his phone, obviously filming him.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Steve hissed, covering himself with a hand as best he could. Billy pulled at his wrist lightly.

“Aw, come on, King. I wanna show you off.” He caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth, eyebrows pumping once. Steve rolled his eyes and nervously looked around.

“The cops are here,” he snapped. “Let me get back inside.” The look Billy gave him was positively devilish.

“But what fun would that be?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up. He pursed his lips, nostrils flaring.

“I am never going to suck your dick again if you answer yes to this question. Did you call the cops?”

“Well,” Billy drawled. “I told Buckley to. She’s the one who did it.” Steve brought both lips into his mouth, biting down and staring at Billy incredulously. Before he could retort, there was a cough.

“Harrington,” Hopper sighed. Steve glanced behind him and Hopper was on the other side of the pool. “Families live here,” he said, exasperated. “Come on.” Steve’s life kind of flashed before his eyes. “I’m gonna have to take you in, formalities sake-- Hey!” Steve took off, hair still dripping wet, Billy’s shocked and excited laugh growing distant behind him. The party had followed them out, and he had to duck around laughing people, face red with embarrassment, one hand still covering his dick. He ran, skidding to make a turn and looking to see if Hopper was following.

He was. And he looked pissed.

“Harrington!” He barked. “I don’t have the fucking patience for this tonight!” Steve ran back to their apartment, trying to open the door, but Tommy was there, wiggling his eyebrows at the locked door. Steve regretted ever making up with him. He and Billy together were the worst. Hopper was closer now, so Steve took off again, dashing around the courtyard and party goers. Billy’s laugh turned into a wheeze, kind of like an engine dying, and Steve was going to fucking kill him.

“Okay, Tommy!” Billy yelled. Steve turned to look, and Tommy was opening the door. A new surge of energy pushed him to run faster, barreling through the door and the people waiting around it. He slammed into the hallway, ran into his and Billy’s room, slamming and locking the door behind him. He collapsed on the bed, waiting for the pounding on the door. Steve panted, gasping for air, sweating from the adrenaline and physical exertion. He waited, finally starting to catch his breath, but no knock ever came. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he took his time, closing his eyes and taking soothing breaths. Billy was gonna be lucky if Steve ever even kissed him again, he fucking swore--

There was a soft knock and a rattling of the doorknob. Steve’s head shot up and he wrapped the blanket around himself.

“Go away!” He shivered a little, the water having cooled his skin.

“It’s me, baby!” Billy called. Steve sighed, seriously considering not opening the door. But he was a sucker, so he got up, unlocked the door, and turned to get back in the bed.

“Door’s open,” he called over his shoulder, flopping on the bed. Billy opened the door, shutting it softly behind him. He came and sat on the bed, giving Steve his space.

“So we’re all good.” Steve gave him an incredulous and angry look. Billy looked away, cheeks flushing. “I mean, Hopper is gone and you’re fine, just disturbance of the peace on your record.” Steve blinked at him, making Billy squirm. “Look, I know that was uh, probably too much, but,” he smiled a little, like he was trying not to. “You looked so, I don’t even know how to explain it. You always seem so tired and you do everything by schedules and rules and I guess,” he bit his lip. “I guess I just kinda wanted to see the old you. Not that you now is bad,” he said, finding Steve’s hand and squeezing. Steve allowed it. “I just wanted you to let loose again. Remember that we can have fun.” He paused and Steve felt like he might listen to Billy, might forgive him sooner than later-- “Plus,” Billy said, “This is definitely going viral.” Steve gave Billy a look that could have melted him down with it’s angry heat. “Too soon?”

“Have fun jerking off for another week, jackass.” But Steve didn’t let go of his hand, so Billy knew they were gonna be okay. "Plus," Steve said, voice teasing, adrenaline and anger starting to fade into exhilaration and relief. "It'll only go viral 'cause my dick is so huge." Billy threw his head back and laughed.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #streaking #cracky #silly #short #ficlet #nudity #they're fine hopper will calm down in the morning lol

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years

Note

Hello !!! I have a blurb request May I request reader x brain may? Reader has a major anxiety attack over something and Brian tries to calm them down. They end up passing out in his arms (partly from being exhausted, partly from hyperventalating). Their skin is clammy and pale. Their pulse is fast. Brian checks their breathing/pulse. peridiocally and puts them to bed. When they wake up, he comforts them. Fluffy ending please. Thankyousomuch !!! 🥺🥺🥺

how did you know i think about this at least once a week?! also, i put it under the cut cause this got ~very lengthy~ it’s literally the length of a small fic. i never claimed to be good at succinctness.

it was the crowd. at least, that’s what you blame it on when you wake up.

the show’s over, largely successful expect for the moment roger tossed his drumstick too high and couldn’t find his replacement. (he ended up drumming with his hand until crystal brought him another.) you’re tired, brian’s tired; it’s been a long weekend, and all you want to go is go home, curl up with a cup of tea, and fall asleep to the sound of your husband reading from one of his scientific journals that makes your eyes cross with confusion.

it starts—the familiar tightness in your chest, wrenching stomach, sweaty palms—as you follow him to the side-door of the venue. there’s normally a small collection of people waiting outside, pushed back by security, and you’ve gotten used to hiding your face from the cameras and waiting in the shadows for him to sign autographs and talk to fans. tonight, though, the crowd is different. you can hear them chanting before the door even opens, and when the door does open, the crowd is larger, rowdier, somehow more frenzied than you thought possible. it makes you nervous, but not nervous enough to say anything. it’s only for a moment; you can handle that much.

brian stiffens slightly when you step out of the venue and the night turns bright with the flash of cameras, the air filling with sounds of people calling his name, scrabbling for a sliver of attention. he looks over his shoulder, whispers, “i’ll just be a minute” before crossing to the steel gates holding the crowd back. you hesitate on the sidelines, mumbling in conversation with dominique while she, too, waits for her husband.

when he’s finished signing and smiling and sweet-talking, brian turns away from the crowd and winds his arm around your waist. he draws you toward the back parking lot, his thumb working a soothing pattern over the bottom of your ribs.

but then one of the gates breaks loose.

the crowd surges forward, hot on the heels of the band and, by mere proximity, the band’s entourage.

“oh fuck!” it’s dominique who scrambles to the side first, out of the way of the onslaught of bodies. perhaps on instinct, she grabs your wrist and pulls you roughly against her side as the crowd engulfs you from all angles.

the cameras are hot, the voices loud, and the crush of people breaks you out in a cold sweat. you squeeze dom’s fingers hard, turning your face away from the camera which sticks over your shoulder, trying desperately to find a good angle of the boys. you can barely see brian—just the outline of his head over the crowd—and he seems to be drifting further and further away as the mob undulates and grows.

“we gotta get out of here,” dom says, her voice as breathy as you feel.

you nod and swallow past your dry throat. “maybe... maybe if we just push our way through?”

“worth a shot. hold tight to me.” she lowers her head, her hand around your wrist like a vice, and starts shouldering her way through the lines of people.

the majority of fans ignore you in their fervor to get closer, but a handful don’t appreciate the way you push them back in an attempt to break through to the other side of the mob. a few hurl choice words—bitch, slag, cow—in your direction; some merely growl and shoot dark looks. one woman, closer to the age of your mother than any of the lads, elbows you in the back as you retreat, and it knocks the wind out of you. you stumble forward, falling before you can stop yourself.

asphalt digs against the palms of your hands. it bites your flesh, sharp pinpricks of pain. darkness—darkness from the night, from the bodies squeezing in around your head—edges closer, threatening to swallow you whole. you suck in a deep breath, but it doesn’t reach your lungs. tears blur your vision.

oh my god, i’m gonna die.

the thought crosses your mind, and you hold tight because, truly, if the crowd pushes back, if they push forward, if they push to the side, if they move at all, you will be crushed, flattened like a bug to the pavement.

clutching a hand to your sternum, you gulp for air. you want to cry, to scream, to make some sort of noise and let people know that you are here, on the ground, powerless to stand up. but your throat is too tight. the air passing through your mouth is thin, worthless. you’re going to pass out. you know this feeling, have felt it before.

an overwhelming surge of embarrassment flows over you. to be trampled by a crowd of queen fans—what a way to go. your mother will surely be proud of the way your life turned out.

you choke on a sob, still caught against the ground, now flattened, your shoulder digging into the pavement. faintly, you hear dom screaming your name, and you feel utterly ridiculous.

you wonder, briefly, before the world fades to black, your eyes rolling back in your head, if you remembered to turn the kettle off before leaving home. brian will be cross if not; he doesn’t like to waste the energy.

with the thought in mind, you succumb to the encroaching darkness and slump against the ground.

brian knows there’s something wrong before he hears dominique over the din of the crowd.

of course, it’s clear there’s something wrong. he’s surrounded on all sides by rabid fans, their arms frantically vying for his attention and approval, camera flashes like staccato notes before his eyes.

fred stands to his left, still the picture of professionalism despite the fine line of frustration etched in his forehead. there’s too many cameras, too many people. no matter how close brian knows fred is to hitting the roof, he would never; not so publicly, at least. roger and john are elsewhere, a few paces off, also swarmed, also fighting the mounting anger. it’s written on their faces. brian’s sure he looks none-too-pleased as well.

where in the bloody hell is security?

more importantly, brian wonders. where the hell is my wife?

he’d lost you early in the fray, ripped apart by dominique’s quick thinking and even quicker feet. but he’d thought by now he’d at least have been able to grab a glimpse of you. if not by the safety of one of the trailers, then among the horde. he can’t find you, though, despite using his height as an advantage in the search.

but he finds dom, and the sheer panic on her face, her doe eyes wide and fearful, is enough to tell him that something isn’t right. he pauses, the pen in his hand stilling on the pad of paper. dom’s speaking to no one in particular, to anyone who will listen, but he can’t make out her words over the sounds clattering around him. he concentrates, focusing on her mouth, until he can make out the words fell down and it’s all he needs to know.

he drops the pen and paper and wades into the thick of the crowd, using his forearms and height to part the sea of bodies. and maybe it’s his forceful movements, maybe it’s the anger casting shadows on his face, or maybe it’s nerves, but people move out of the way easily, without comment. he doesn’t need to say anything; they just move.

a hush falls over the crowd in a wave, passed along like a game of telephone. something is wrong, and brian isn’t happy is the message, and even those furthest away from the eye of the storm seem to get it.

dominique wrestles her way to brian’s side, face red and blotchy in panic. she breathes hard, gasping for air as she speaks. “i lost her,” she wheezes. “we got separated, but i saw her fall.”

“where?” his question comes as more of a command, but he can’t help it. he’s rarely angry, but tonight he’s royally pissed off. his hands clench to fists at his sides, his jaw set firm.

“i don’t know. i don’t know!” at this, dominique begins to cry. she presses her hand to her mouth, shaking her head back and forth in distress.

brian reaches out to steady her shoulder, opens his mouth to comfort, but before he can, a different, unfamiliar mouth fills the space.

“hey! can we have help over here? there’s a woman passed out!”

brian drops his hand like its touched hot metal and sidesteps those in his path, quick to maneuver his way to the huddle of people around a prone form on the ground. it’s your form, her realizes, the form he knows better than his own, has memorized with his fingertips and traced a thousand times over. his gut clenches, and he mutters “that’s my wife. out of the way” as he bends to pick you up. your head lolls against his shoulder, eyelashes fanned against your cheekbones.

carrying you as he does toward the stage door, he’s reminded of your wedding night: the way he carried you over the threshold in much the same fashion, snug against his chest, though you’d been conscious and giggling and pink with blush. tonight, you feel frail in his arms. your skin is clammy to the touch, breathing shallow.

someone holds the backstage door open, and he ducks into the cool hallway of the concert venue. shuffling through the hall, he makes his way to one of the dressing rooms and ever so gently lays you on the couch. the room is dim, partially stripped of the queen paraphernalia from moments ago. footsteps, hurried and hard, thump in the hallway. roger sticks his head in the doorway a moment later, dominique close behind.

“is she okay?” roger asks.

brian doesn’t tear his eyes away from your face, from the fluttering behind your eyelids and the uneasy rise and fall of your chest. “get me a damp wash cloth, please?”

roger nods. “be right back.”

you wake to the sound of a foot tapping against the linoleum floor. you don’t remember much about the evening. just the concert and then leaving and then the crowd—oh, you’d fallen, hadn’t you? maybe that’s why your head throbs and your shoulder aches.

you blink slowly, groaning as light from the ceiling aggravates your headache. you press the heel of your hand against your forehead. there’s something damp against your skin. a cloth perhaps?

the couch dips as someone places their weight beside your legs. “[y/n]?” the voice is soft, melodic, a song you know well. “can you hear me?”

“brian?” when your eyes open completely and you see the strained face of your husband hovering over you, you try to push to your hands, to sit straight on the couch, but he gently holds you firm by the shoulders.

“no, no. just lay there for a minute. don’t move too fast.”

“what happened?” you twist, glancing about the room. your gaze runs over freddie and john and roger and dominique and crystal and ratty and gerry all smooshed together, shoulders touching, knees knocking, as they stare on at you in anticipation of your next move.

“some fucktard let the—” roger starts. dominique shushes him with a hand on his thigh.

“you fell,” brian says. he lifts a hand, brushes the hair away from your face. “got pinned down.”

“oh.” you frown as you try to remember, but the memory is too hazy. all you remember is the descent and nothing more. the rest is blank. “that doesn’t sound like fun.”

brian cracks a grin. “no, it doesn’t.”

you twist your hand around his fingers and smile, though the movement needles at your headache. “did you come save me?”

he shrugs. “not really.”

“that’s a lie!” freddie pipes up. “he carried you in here like fucking prince charming. i almost swooned.”

you chuckle then wince at a sharp pain in your ribs. “my knight in shining armor.”

he colors, dipping his head against the rise of blush in his cheeks. “hardly.”

your fingers run across his knuckles then pull him down by the wrist, crushing your arms around his back. you hold tight and whisper, “thank you, prince charming.”

you can feel his smile against the curve of your neck and his mouth against your skin as he says, “anything for you, princess.”

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #j blurbs

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 35 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet’s promotion became official, and Bianca set her sights on a certain blonde.

This Chapter: Violet begins her new job, and things are not exactly what she expected.

***

Even though everything was technically all the same, Violet felt like she had walked into a completely different building.

She had greeted Roxy with a smile, the receptionist at her desk when Violet had walked in at 9:30 for her visit with HR, people actually present unlike when Violet usually came in at the crack of dawn. Trixie had insisted that she take a slow morning, almost forbidding her to come in with the rest of the floor, and Violet guessed that it made sense since it was her first day.

Violet walked out of the elevator, her heels clacking on the floor, her stomach filled with butterflies.

Her morning had been a lot more messy than she preferred. She had changed her clothes a million times, unsure what to wear, until she had finally settled on a simple long sleeved top and a full skirt. It was completely Fame approved, but Violet felt comfortable in it, none of it too flashy or attention grabbing. Violet knew how to use a sewing machine in heels, but she still had a pair of flats in her bag, just in case someone truly cared about the company's safety guidelines.

She paused in front of the door, smoothing down her skirt, one, two, three times, before grabbing the handle and opening the door to the first day of the rest of her life.

“Violet!” Trixie smiled brightly, standing up from where he had been leaning over Gia’s shoulder, who was somehow still miraculously working at the company - even after her screw up in the Fall. “Welcome! I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Oh,” Violet stopped. She couldn’t remember ever being greeted with so much enthusiasm when coming into work, but it was nice, very nice. “I’m happy to be here?”

“Yes you are,” Trixie grinned, walking over to her, the man wearing a somewhat ridiculous white t-shirt with a pink and blue band logo Violet didn’t recognise. “We’re going to have so much fun, but first, Everyone!”

Trixie clapped his hands, catching the attention of the entire department who all turned to them.

“This is Violet Chachki, you all already know her as Fame’s assistant,” Trixie smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Say hi.”

“Hello,” Violet said, lifting her hand in greeting. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself, the whole thing horribly embarrassing, everyone looking at her. Violet wasn’t unused to attention, but she disliked it heavily when it was focused on her person, and not on something she had created.

She attempted a smile, doing her very best not to let anyone know how awkward she felt.

“She is going to be working with us now here in the best department of Galactica!” Trixie released her, earning a laugh from everyone. “I want you all to make her feel welcome and settled since we all know what it was like to be new,” he finished with a lot of them looking on with slight smiles and waves.

“You got it coach!”

Violet turned to look at the source of the voice, an incredibly tall bald man with a gigantic smile and a raspy voice the one who had called out. Violet recognized Bob, who was the design department's project manager, though she didn’t think she had ever seen him in Fame’s office.

“Let me show you around.” Trixie looped their arms together, dragging Violet with him before she had the chance to put down her bag, or even take off her jacket.

The design floor was a myriad of various fabrics in countless colors and prints with a multitude of textures to choose from.

Dress forms, in an assortment of sizes, lined the walls under large glass windows that brought in natural light and a beautiful view, of the east side, of Central Park.

The floor had neat rows of long work tables each with their own computers, drawing sections, sewing machines, hanging dress form and a rolling stool.

“Aaaaaaaand this, is your desk!” Trixie smiled brightly, throwing an arm out as he showed Violet her place.

“What…” Violet looked at the big collage that was put right in the middle. “Is that?”

“Right?” Trixie grinned, clearly very proud of himself “I made it for you.”

“Oh…” Violet bit her lip, unease welling up in her body. The gesture was kind, but it was strange to see so many pictures of herself, most of all because she had no idea when most of them had actually been taken. “Thank you.” She was sure she could stuff it in her drawer later, the paper looking sturdy enough to be shoved down there.

“Don’t mention it,” Trixie gave her a halfarm hug, holding her against his side for a minute. “Now, next on the agenda- Jovan, pay attention.”

“Sure thing coach.”

Violet watched as Jovan turned around, the man sitting backwards on his chair, one of his long limbs pulled up in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position.

“Hello.” Jovan smiled, a gigantic white toothed grin on his face. He was bald, the top of his head somehow not smooth like Bob’s, but instead sort of wrinkly.

“Jovan will be your desk mate.”

Violet had wondered who she’d be seated next to, and while she had never actually spoken to Jovan, he wasn’t her worst option.

“Hello,” Violet held out her hand, “I’m Violet.”

“Please,” Jovan snorted, grabbing her hand in a surprisingly hard grip. “I already know who you are.”

“Jovan is one of our contemporary designers.”

Violet nodded, hiding a smile. It was clear as day that Jovan was in contemporary, his shirt a multicolored almost neon asymmetrical tunic.

“One of the best,” Jovan squeezed her hand, letting it go, “contemporary designers. Don’t touch my stuff, and I promise that you and I will get along great.”

“Jovan-” Trixie started scolding, but Violet cut in.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Violet put her bag on the table. She had never seen Trixie scold anyone, but judging by the furrow of his brow, Jovan was toeing the line.

“What’s on the agenda, coach?” Jovan had somehow managed to cross his legs around the chair, a pencil dangling from his mouth.

“Oh,” Trixie smiled, and Violet reached inside her bag, grabbing her notebook. “Violet has the morning off.”

“Wha-” Violet paused, unsure if she had heard Trixie correctly. “Excuse me, what did you say?” It was only Monday, but Violet knew that design had their weekly department wide meetings every Thursday, and if she was being honest, she had expected to be thrown directly into the work, the Christmas collection just around the corner.

“The morning off.” Trixie grinned. “Decorate your desk, say hi to everyone, get all your little knick knacks in order and later we’ll have cake to celebrate your first day.”

***

Jovan groaned slightly. He was supposed to be working on the holiday collection but he just couldn’t seem to find an interesting angle.

Jovan didn’t like making gowns, and though he had managed once or twice to sneak in a pants suit or something mildly interesting, Raja and Fame had a clear almost inarguable preference towards high classic glamor when it came to the holidays.

He flipped back and forth between his sketches, pencil in his mouth, erasing a line here of adding one there. After a bit, he sensed a disturbance in the energy, his attention shifted slightly across the table to his new deskmate.

Violet was sitting at her desk, tapping her nails on the wood, her lip between her teeth as she was looking out on the department. She was practically radiating nervous energy, her desk already all neatly set up.

Jovan noticed a leather bound planner, a collection of pens and pencils in an empty Dior box, a thick stack of sketching paper, as well as a well stocked sewing kit, a golden pair of scissors sticking out.

She seemed to be in worse shape than he was, clearly not used to being given idle creative time, and Jovan smiled slightly, deciding to take pity on her.

“Hey, Violet.” Jovan pushed his chair out, scooting over to her table. “I’m working on this dress,” Jovan put his sketches down on Violet’s desk, “and I can’t figure out the hem length. Will you check it out?”

��Oh, um, sure…” Violet leaned over the desk table, pushing a bit of her hair behind her ear. Jovan hadn’t noticed the bracelet or her rings before, the golden jewelry clearly well worn, but also well taken care of. “What’s the problem?”

“See, I’m trying it three different ways, but they all feel wrong...” Jovan tapped his sketches, already enjoying how seriously Violet considered the question, examining each sketch closely and looking at them back and forth a few times before attempting an answer.

“I like the length on the second one, but the shoulders on the third one might balance it out more,” she finally said, and he smiled.

“Yeah, good call, thanks!” Jovan stretched, yawning slightly. He was already feeling much better, but Violet still looked lost.

“I need caffeine.” Jovan stood up. “You wanna come for some espresso or a latte or something?”

“Oh.” Violet looked genuinely surprised at his request, sneaking a quick glaze at Trixie’s closed office door before she made up her mind. “Um, alright…” Violet reached for her coat, but Jovan stopped her.

“No,” Jovan smiled. “I just mean the espresso machine we have in the break room.” Jovan pointed over his shoulder, Violet following his fingers, her brow furrowing. “You did know that we have a break room down here, right?”

Jovan had heard the rumor that Fame only drank Starbucks, though he hadn’t imagined that her assistants shared the luxury, but Violet shook her head, the woman both looking mystified and curious, and Jovan realised that he had never actually seen her in any of the Galactica break rooms ever.

“Come on,” Jovan grabbed her elbow, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll show you.”

***

“Stop, omigod, I can’t breathe,” Maxwell wheezed, clutching Bob’s shoulder and practically choking with laughter at his boyfriend’s story.

“No, but listen. Then Acid turned to him and-”

Maxwell reached up and covered Bob’s mouth with his hand, having just spotted Jovan strolling towards the break room with Violet in tow.

“Incoming mole,” he warned, giving a nod with his head.

Maxwell had been working at Galactica for his entire career - over ten years now. He’d seen many assistants come and go from Miss Fame’s office.

Most of the time, they moved on to other jobs in the industry, working for buyers or as stylists. Occasionally, they were promoted within the company. Shangela had started off as Fame’s assistant years ago, and so had Laganja in marketing. But this was the first time anyone had been sent to design. Granted, Violet was one of the more competent and longer-lasting assistants, but still.

He was suspicious.

Bob seemed perfectly ready to welcome Violet to the family with open arms. Maxwell, on the other hand, was more cautious, and the last thing he wanted was for Violet to walk in on some debaucherous story about drag queens.

“Look professional!” he hissed, before removing his hand.

“First of all, I’m always professional. And second, would you relax?” Bob smirked, leaning against the table, his favorite mug in hand. “She seems perfectly nice.”

“Oh please,” Maxwell huffed, “You just want upstairs gossip.”

For as long as Bob has been at the company--nearly as long as Maxwell, he’d been utterly fascinated with senior management. Their weird quirks and tempestuous moods, all the tabloid nonsense.

“Uh!” Bob gasped, holding a hand to his chest. “I resent that!”

“Well, resent it or not, it’s true,” Maxwell quipped.

“You name one time when I’ve been the source of gossip around here,” Bob said, a hand on his hip, in full queen mode.

“That’s...what...all the time!” Maxwell sputtered, caught off guard by that ridiculous defense. Bob was a notorious gossip. He was the only person Maxwell knew who still talked on the phone with multiple people every day, for fun. It was half the reason why they’d never moved in together, Maxwell unable to imagine living with Bob’s need to talk on the phone for hours in the evening. Maxwell enjoyed people too, sometimes, but after work, he more often than not wanted some peace and solitude.

“So you can’t name one specific time? Interesting.” Bob’s brown eyes glittered with amusement, always the happiest when he was in teasing mode.

“You’re impossible!” Maxwell turned to Jovan, who was now busy with the espresso machine. “Bob says he’s not a gossip.”

“Ha!” Jovan snorted. “Violet, what do you want?”

“An americano is more than fine.” Violet smiled, and Maxwell realised that he wasn’t sure if he had ever seen that expression on the former assistants face before.

He had never spoken with her before, Ivy always the assistant who came along to the design meetings, but he had seen her follow Fame down the halls, and he still remembered how bad he had felt for her during Fame’s temperature meltdown at their September show.

“Violet, Violet, Violet,” Bob put a hand down, turning his body towards her. “Do not listen to them.” Bob pouting at both Maxwell and Jovan. “I’m not a gossip. I’m a very trustworthy confidante, so if you have anything you need to share about, you know, upstairs...I’m all ears.” Bob grinned.

“Ah!” Maxwell cried triumphantly, “Case in fucking point you fucking gossip!”

“Upstairs?” Violet looked genuinely confused for a moment.

“You know,” Bob pointed at the ceiling, “Upstairs.”

“Ah.”

Maxwell made a face at Bob, clearing his throat slightly.

Why did he have to reveal everything right away? They didn’t know how trustworthy this girl was yet, and so they should really assume zero percent. It was the only safe and logical conclusion.

“Sorry, assistant code,” said Violet with an apologetic shrug. “My lips are sealed”

“Wow. Okay, I see how it is,” Bob said, and Maxwell rolled his eyes.

“Honestly Bob, what if she’d come down here and started reporting all kinds of rumors? Wouldn’t that make you concerned?” he asked, reaching up to tug on on Bob’s ear.

“Concerned…. Entertained… Potato, potahto.” Bob grinned, taking another sip from his mug.

“Goddammit,” Jovan said, struggling with the machine. “Cracks, can you help me? This fucking thing, we need a new one-”

“Sure.” Maxwell stepped over to the machine to assist. He remembered when Trixie first got it for them, almost six years ago, how everyone had just gone crazy over it. But lately it was acting up, and the designers were not pleased when they needed to wait an extra 30 seconds for coffee. The company should really take care of it before there was some kind of mutiny. He made a mental note to talk to Trixie later.

“So, Violet,” Bob continued, “How’s it going? Is our boy Jovan being cool, or is he in one of his moods?”

“Fuck off,” Jovan cut in, sitting down heavily. “I’m fucking delightful.”

Maxwell chuckled to himself over that, Jovan’s stormy moods something everyone in the department knew intimately.

“He’s been very kind,” Violet said, her hand gripping the edge of her skirt.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bob smiled, rolling his eyes. “Look, Violet, let me give you some advice,” Bob turned to Jovan. “You’ve gotta pay attention to that big vein in his forehead, and when it starts popping out...run.”

“Oh.”

“Eat a dick, Bob.”

“Yours?” Bob looked down, leering at Max’s brown khakis, a grin on his face, “Or like, any dick?” Bob teased, wiggling his brows. “Either way, I’m down.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, giving Bob a Look intended to say ‘not in mixed company,’ gesturing towards Violet, the poor girl probably scandalized by this kind of talk, judging from her ramrod straight posture and demurely folded hands.

He turned to Jovan for backup, only to find him sitting at one of the tables, big wrinkly head in his hands. Maxwell tapped him on the shoulder, hoping to help him avoid an existential crisis before eleven am.

“How’s the Hanukkah dress?” Maxwell asked, which is what he’d been jokingly calling the blue cocktail number that poor Jovan was working on. Jovan rolled his eyes.

“Killing me. Violet had a good idea though, so I guess I’ll try that.”

“Are you gonna embroider a menorah on the front?” Maxwell teased.

“No, I was thinking that the skirt would just be a giant dreidel.”

Maxwell laughed at that, though truth be told, you could never be too sure with Jovan. He might just do it.

“Did Coach assign you anything yet, Violet?” Bob asked.

“No..” Violet tilted her head. “Is there a reason you call him that?”

“Oh. Yeah. So, Trixie’s the only straight guy around here-”

“Straight identified,” Maxwell corrected, and Violet snorted, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

“Yeah, so, we like to give him shit. We call him Coach. You know...” Bob made his hand into a fist and punched Violet very lightly on the shoulder, deepening his voice. “Coach!”

“He’s the only straight guy, and of course he’s the one in charge of the department,” Jovan added pointedly.

“Well, yes, there’s also that,” Bob chuckled. “Anyway, have you gotten an assignment for the holiday collection? I’ve seen some pictures of your student stuff,” Trixie had dropped by with Violet’s portfolio, shoving it to Bob who had loved flipping through it. “I assumed you’d be doing gowns most of the time.”

“No-” Violet opened her mouth, but then seemed to rethink it, and close it again. “Not yet.”

“So...Chachki,” Maxwell said, handing her coffee over. “Are you Jewish?”

“No,” Violet said simply, and Bob burst out laughing.

“She said nope,” he giggled, popping the p.

“Well, where are you from? What’s your deal? Tell us everything,” Maxwell continued, undeterred by Bob’s laughter.

“Oh. Um… There’s not much to tell. I graduated from Parsons a few years ago. I’m originally from Atlanta-”

“Hey! Me too!” Bob exclaimed. “I’m from Clayton County. Where’d you go to high school?”

“-But I’ve been in New York since I was 13.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

“I got a job working for Miss Fame, and...that’s about it.” Violet looked around, her lip between her teeth.

“Wow. Fascinating,”

“Sorry, I’m not very interesting.”

“No no,” Maxwell said. “You should write a memoir.”

“Omigod, she’s like twelve years old, leave her alone,” Bob said. “In case you haven’t noticed, Violet, these guys are a mess and you should ignore 98% of everything they say.”

Bob put his arm around Maxwell, squeezing him affectionately even as the insults rolled off his tongue.

“And what about you?” Maxwell asked.

“Me?” Bob asked. “Oh, fully same.”

***

“What,” Violet was staring at the table, a brown concoction staring right back at her, “on earth is this?”

“You never seen one before?” Alexis smiled, getting in next to her, “They call it a cronut, girl. Everyone in the city is obsessed with them,” she grabbed one, “and they’re delicious.”

Violet had spent lunch with Alexis, Gia and April, the three women slipping back and forth between English and Spanish, their conversation practically impossible to follow, but Violet hadn’t minded.

It had been incredibly nice to just sit with someone for lunch without constantly checking her phone, Violet unsure if she had ever actually had an uninterrupted lunch break at Galactica before.

“Huh.” Violet bit her lip, still not too sure about the offered treat. “Are we already-”

“Hey, Violet-” Violet turned her head to see Blu slip in next to her, a big smile on the Irish woman's beautiful face. Her ginger hair was pushed back with a hairband, her grey eyes attentive and kind. “Are you coming to the happy hour?”

“Happy hour?”

“Mmh,” Blu nodded, “a couple of us always go round the corner for a pint on Mondays at 5:30. You know, for bonding and stuff.”

“Huh.” Violet bit her lip. She had seen Blu and Gia working that morning, but it seemed strange to her that they were expecting to be let go at 5:30, the whole thing even stranger since both Blu and Gia were actively enjoying the pastries.

“So, you coming?”

“Oh, no,” Violet did her best to smile, to look genuinely apologetic. “I can’t.”

Sutan had texted her about whether or not she wanted to come over after work, and Violet couldn’t wait to cuddle up on the couch, tucked safe and sound under Sutan’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Blu smiled, though Violet wasn’t sure it actually was based on the look in her eyes, “You can come next time-”

“Violet!” Blu was cut off as Trixie came over, “Blu! Are you enjoying the cronuts?”

“Yes boss,” Blu held up her cronut, over half of it gone. “It’s delicious.”

“Have you had any, Violet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Here.” Trixie grabbed a plate, quickly scooping one up for her. “It’s pumpkin chai this month!”

“Thanks.” Violet took it, unsure what to do. It wasn’t that she hated all desserts, wasn’t that she hated all sweets, but what she did hate was trying new things when she was feeling nervous, and even though everyone had been beyond kind to her so far, she couldn’t help the unsettling feeling in her stomach that something wasn’t right.

“I can’t wait to see your finished blouse,” Trixie was smiling, his hand on Blu’s arm. “I’m counting on you.”

“Mmh,” Blu nodded, pride in her eyes, and Trixie gave her one last squeeze, clearly intending to walk on and make sure everyone was having a good time.

“Trixie-” Violet took a step forward, her now boss turning around to look at her.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, if I could-” Violet wanted to throw herself out the window, the entire thing so terribly awkward, the fact that she was daring to even consider questioning her boss’ process, “it’s about the holiday collection-”

“Oh, that silly thing?” Trixie laughed, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But,” Violet took another step forward, “I’d like to, like to worry, that is-”

“You’ll watch the design meeting on Thursday, see how things are done around here.” Trixie smiled. “Ease into it, take it slow.”

“But I have an idea for-” Violet didn’t know if she was allowed, but she had already picked up a few of the unfavored fabric swatches, a white silk and some crushed red velvet so to Fame’s taste that she knew she had to give it a try.

“If you really want to speed things up, you can spend tomorrow shadowing April.”

“Really?” It wasn’t what Violet truly wanted, but anything, literally anything, would be better than another day of ‘taking it slow’.

“It’ll be perfect for you,” Trixie smiled, “I promise.”

Trixie then took a bite of the cronut in his hand, his eyes going wide. He turned from Violet to call out, “Kimberly! Kim, did you try these pumpkin chai cronuts?! Oh my god...”

As her boss wandered off to wax poetic about his pastry, Violet dug her fingers into her palm. Wasn’t this department supposed to be the lifeblood of the company? Why was everyone so chill?

Violet tried to be positive, tried to believe that Trixie was only doing what he thought best for her, but she couldn’t help wondering if she was still working for Galactica, the feeling of utterly uselessness washing over her for the first time since she had started at the company.

***

“Are you feeling chopsticks or fork?”

“Fork please.”

“Of course.” Violet smiled as Sutan began to dig through his cutlery drawer, soft jazz playing from the radio in the window. She had gotten somewhat used to seeing him without his suits in Paris, early morning Sutan walking around in pajama pants and t-shirts for as long as he could, but there was something special about seeing him in casual chinos and the sweaters he seemed to favor now that it was getting colder outside.

They were in his kitchen, Violet sitting at the table. When she had come over, Sutan had been setting up in the dining room, but she had asked him if they could please sit in the kitchen instead, the room so much cosier and lived in than the dining room.

Violet had been looking forward to her first day in design since she started at Galactica, but now that she had gotten there, it felt like a hollow victory.

She was sure tomorrow would be better, that it’d be more meaningful, but for now, she just wanted to spend time with the man she really genuinely liked.

“Here you go.” Sutan handed her the fork. “You know,” Sutan smirked, crossing his arms, “You should really learn how to use chopsticks.”

“I know how to use chopsticks,” Violet looked up at Sutan, putting her fork down. “I just prefer not to.”

“Sure lovely eyes.” Sutan grinned, grabbing the back of her chair, leaning down to kiss her, when the doorbell rang.

“Ah,” Sutan gave her a quick peck, his lips tasting faintly like peppermint with an undercurrent of cigarettes, his eyes sparkling.

“That must be the food.” Sutan stood up, reaching into his pocket for a wad of cash Violet hadn’t even noticed. “Do you mind finishing setting the table?”

“Of course not.” Violet stood herself as Sutan walked out, and she quickly crossed the room, opening the cabinet she knew housed Sutan’s plates.

The request hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, Violet helping more often than not, but as she actually looked at the kitchen table, she realized what she had accidentally said yes to.

Sutan’s laptop was sitting in the middle, but besides that, the table was covered in work stuff, Sutan’s laptop, headshots, what Violet could only assume was contracts, folders and modeling portfolios spread all over.

She couldn’t see any kind of system, and if she had been at work she wouldn’t have dared to move a single thing, but Sutan had asked her to take care of it, and take care of it she would.

Violet knew Sutan had an office, but she had never actually seen him use it, or heard him mention it. Violet felt weird moving Sutan’s work things, but as she quickly piled it all on one end of the table, she recognized that this was probably why she liked the kitchen so much.

It was obviously the place in the apartment Sutan used the most, and the one she instinctively felt was more Sutan than Raja; everywhere else, even Sutan’s own bedroom, so obviously designed and furnished by his twin.

It was a strange thought that Raja had so much influence on Sutan’s life, but it wasn’t something she was ever going to bring up, their relationship none of her business.

Violet was just a moment in time for Sutan, so who was she to make any sort of suggestion about anything.

“Ah, great.” She was just setting the plates, when Sutan returned with more takeout bags than Violet had ever expected. “You’re almost done.”

“Are we expecting company?”

“Company?” Sutan looked confused for a moment, and Violet nodded her head towards the food in his arms, which caused him to laugh. “Please. This is just for us.” Sutan put the bags down, opening up the first one. “I figured it was worth celebrating your first day.”

“Huh.” Violet sat down on her chair once again, watching as Sutan produced one white cardboard carton after another. “How much did you get?”

“Oh you know, just a little bit of everything. I have dumplings, wontons and egg rolls, chow mein, orange chicken, beef and broccoli, black pepper scallops, garlic eggplant. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Violet didn’t want to tell Sutan that she only had a very limited idea of what she genuinely liked beyond orange chicken and white rice, a childhood of bland suburban chain restaurants and her years in New York on a tight budget never leaving her much room for indulgence.

“Interesting.” Violet bit her lip, but Sutan grinned, continuing the unpacking. “Have you ever heard of cronuts?”

“What?” Sutan paused, a carton in hand. He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “Lovely eyes. I may be older than you, but I don’t live under a rock?”

“Hmm.” Violet had no idea that cronuts were apparently so well known, but she wasn’t going to show Sutan that. “We had them at work today.”

“Did you like them?”

“Not really.” Violet took the carton of rice Sutan handed her. “They take a lot of breaks, at work, I mean.”

“Sounds like a nice place.” Sutan smiled, sitting down.

VIolet nodded, opening her rice as Sutan started talking about his day. It was always nice to be around him, Sutan often chatting away in his low baritone, filling out the silence so Violet never felt obligated to speak if she didn’t want to.

“Oh-” Sutan paused, a piece of broccoli in his chopsticks. “That reminds me. What are you wearing on Friday?”

“Friday?” Violet quickly ran through her week in her head, and she was fairly certain that she had nothing on the agenda for friday.

“Yes? For Bianca’s birthday.”

“Bianca’s birthday? Bianca Del Rio?”

“Mmh.” Sutan popped the broccoli in his mouth, quickly chewing it. “It’s her 40th, and I figured it’d be nice if we coordinated.”

“Oh.” Violet bit her lip. Surprised that Sutan was dumping it on her like this, since she knew for a fact that he hadn’t mentioned it until this very moment. “And the birthday is this Friday?”

Violet tried to hide her anxiety, her heart speeding up in her chest. She didn’t have any idea what the dress code was and what to wear or where the party was being held.

“I can invite someone else?”

“What?” Violet’s head snapped up at the words. Sutan looked completely relaxed, like he hadn’t just dropped a gigantic bomb, like this wasn’t strange at all, like it was normal for him to have so many girls lined up that he could find someone with no problem at all.

“If you don’t want to go-”

“No, no.” Violet closed her hand, digging her fingers into her palm under the table. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #vitan #bob x cracker #violet chachki #trixie mattel #yvie oddly #bob the drag queen #miz cracker #blu hydrangea #raja gemini #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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spritewrites · 4 years

Text

like children

Fandom: Shades of Magic (by V.E. Schwab)

Characters: Kell Maresh & Rhy Maresh

Word Count: 2055

“Go away. I’m working on a strategy.”

It was late afternoon when Kell said it, but he still hadn’t changed out of his bedclothes. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t quite remember when the last time he’d changed his clothes was. His blue eye was red with exhaustion, and his reddish hair was sticking up at odd angles - he’d been running his fingers through it. Thirty-six hours awake isn’t ideal for anybody, magic or not.

“For what?”

Rhy was laying on his bed, idly picking at the bedcovers. He had the cool, measured tone that Kell recognized, the one that made the frustration rise in his throat. It was the tone Rhy always adopted when Kell stayed up too long. The one he used when he was trying to convince him of something, something he didn’t think he’d like. Such as calming down. Or eating. Or sleeping.

“For the games.”

Rhy barked out a laugh. “The Essen Tasch? Saints, Kell, why? I entered you to be a stress reliever, not so you could run yourself into the ground!”

A fist clenched around the edge of his parchment, wrinkling the corner. It took a moment for Kell to realize that it was his. He cleared his throat, smoothing the paper back out as best he could. Rhy didn’t need to worry about him, on top of all his responsibilities with the competition.

“If I’m going to compete,” he replied, “I’d prefer not to be humiliated in my own city.”

The stray piece of thread that Rhy had been tugging at came loose. “You’re the most powerful magician in Arnes, probably in the whole world. None of the other champions can compete with an Antari. Your win is… inevitable.”

“You flatter me.”

Rhy laughed at that. “Trust me, brother, I don’t intend to do anything of the kind.”

Kell groaned, trying to steady his voice before Rhy can realize exactly how exhausted he was. It couldn’t work, he knew. The only reason Rhy was here was because he could feel that bone-aching tiredness in their bond.

“Still. I should be doing research. Practicing. Alone.” His voice dropped slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I’ve never worked with only one element before.”

Rhy’s eyes were lit with amusement, and something else. Something sadder. “Well. You’ll have to… hold back, then. So, there’s not much need to study. You can rest.” A hint of mischief grew in his smile. “Besides, you’ll need all your strength if you go up against Alucard Emery.”

Kell felt his cheeks grow hot, his mild scowl deepening into a frown. His classic look, and he knew even before Rhy opened his mouth that his brother would tease him for it, but for all his secrets, he could never hide his feelings from him. Besides, anything he felt, Rhy would feel too. Inevitability again.

“Ah, come, is my favorite brother feeling a little self-destructive?” Rhy teased, leaning up on his elbows. His black hair shone in the light, painting the perfect picture of an innocent angel. Kell nearly snorted. Anything but.

“If you’re only going to distract me, then I don’t recommend sticking around. There’s the door.” A gust of wind ruffled Rhy’s robes on its path to fling the chamber door open. Kell turned back to his papers, ignoring the grumbling he could hear from the prince’s direction.

The leash he was tethered to here at the castle felt shorter than ever, and Rhy’s relentless presence was a symptom of that tether. He could remember a time, not so very long ago, when his frequent travels as the crown’s Antari had kept his time with Rhy short. Perhaps too short. His thoughts would drift often to his carefree brother, envious both of his position and his weightlessness as he waltzed through Red London society, blind to the true depth of the responsibilities that Kell held. During those times, he had often wished to be able to be closer to Rhy, like they had been as children, siphoning off some of his easy charm and wit. Now, he thought ruefully, he wished dearly that his brother would go away.

Kell was snapped from his thoughts by a hard pinch at the back of his neck. He cursed, spinning to fume at his brother. “I thought I told you to get out and stop bothering me!”

Rhy hadn’t moved – he was lazing on his back, hands tucked behind his head and wearing a grin that spoke only of mischief. Saints, Kell was familiar with that grin. Stupid bond.

“You did. But you seemed unfocused. I figured I’d draw your attention back to your… work.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Rhy replied easily. He rolled onto his stomach, clutching a satin-edged pillow to his chest and kicking his bare feet. “Truthfully, I wanted to spend some time with my favorite brother. Since, of course, you’re not busy. Not busy doing anything healthy, anyway.”

Kell rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child.”

One of Rhy’s eyebrows quirked up with almost a mind of its own. His curly head dropped into something like a bow, and he adopted his most regal voice, the one he reserved for the high court.

“Forgive me, Master Kell, for my insolence. Please, continue your work. I shan’t disturb you again.”

This time Kell did snort, a gruff, low sound that hurt his throat. He didn’t think that was supposed to hurt. Come to think of it, a lot of him was hurting right now. Rhy probably felt it too. Maybe sleep would be welcome.

He’d scarcely had the thought when he felt something large and soft hit the back of his neck. He reeled to see his brother casually staring up at the ceiling, feigning innocence, and one of his pillows on the floor. Kell narrowed his eyes, but Rhy refused to look at him. He was actually humming. Ass.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Hm?” Rhy replied, sliding his gaze over to Kell’s furious glare.

“You’re going to try to wear me out, so I have to sleep.”

“Oh, am I?”

Rhy sounded amused. Kell fought the urge to set the bed on fire, just to see his brother jump. He settled on rolling his eyes.

“It’s not going to work.”

“It isn’t?”

“I’m impervious to your efforts to distract me.”

“Ah, you are?”

“I am as immovable as a Veskan warrior.”

“I see.”

“So. There’s really no need to try. And you can just leave me be.”

Rhy grinned, eerie and catlike, a grin that made the hair on the back of Kell’s neck stand on end. Sanct.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The shriek that Kell let out as his brother launched at him would have been quite embarrassing, had it not been disguised by the screech of chair legs against the stone floor when they both toppled over. Instantly, Kell’s wrists were in Rhy’s grasp, and he grunted and squirmed as best he could, but the crown prince was heavier than he looked.

“Get off,” he wheezed, heating up his palms and trying to grab at where Rhy’s hands held him firm – not enough to burn, just enough to make him let go – but he couldn’t quite reach. His heels scrabbled against the wooden floor, and distantly he could hear Rhy chuckling. Kell felt his face grow hot with rage and embarrassment at being so easily overtaken. The absolute bastard.

In a desperate effort, Kell filled his lungs and blew out a huge gust of magical wind, lifting his brother off of him, but also scattering his papers in a tornado around the room. No matter. He’d gather them back up when he wasn’t fighting for his life.

“No fair using magic!”

Kell knew how to wrestle with Rhy. He’d had practice. In recent years he’d sometimes been called upon to act as his sparring partner during Rhy’s combat lessons, but he’d been rolling over the grooved stone of the halls of this palace with his brother since before he could remember.

Unfortunately, Rhy had had the same practice. He managed to get an arm around Kell’s knees, but Kell still had the upper hand, most of his wriggling body still free, and he couldn’t quite pin his legs down for the kicking. Kell tugged at Rhy’s elbow, trying to dislodge the vice-like grip, but suddenly found himself with a face full of the same pillow that had hit his back before.

Kell yelped, twisting to try to escape over the bed, grasping desperately at his slipping sheets in an effort to climb away. Unfortunately, Rhy was Rhy, and when it came to these fights, when it came to Kell, Rhy was merciless. He’d scarcely made it over the edge of the mattress when he felt his younger brother at his back, grabbing at his waist and laughing breathlessly with the sheer energy of the fight.

Kell was laughing too, sort of, trying to fight it, so it was coming out more as huffs through gritted teeth. Rhy looked absolutely delighted at this development, much to Kell’s chagrin. Part of the game, at least as it was originally played, was Kell trying to maintain his mask of dignity. Laughing wasn’t part of it. Not ideally, anyway. His body sometimes had other ideas. Especially when Rhy was looking up at him like that, so adoringly, so carefree. The giddiness of it all was hard to fight.

And Rhy knew it.

The prince managed to sneak a hand under his brother’s shirt and dig into his sides, exactly where he knew Kell was horribly ticklish. Any other time, Kell would have shrugged him off easily and scolded him for his ridiculous, childish behavior. But his utter exhaustion made his nerves sing, and, to his horror, he broke into hoarse, helpless giggles. Rhy’s smile widened, and at first that made Kell struggle harder – Smug bastard, he thought – flipping onto his back to shove at the prince’s ruthless fingers, the ones that knew exactly where to prod to get the best reactions.

But then he saw that look on Rhy’s face. It was everything that he always wanted to see – joy, mischief, humor, love. Everything he was always looking for when he gazed into those honey-brown eyes. He couldn’t deny Rhy that, not now. So, despite his natural instincts, Kell stopped fighting, falling back against the sheets and resigning himself to full-out laughter just as evil hands crawled their way up to his ribs.

“Do you yield?” teased Rhy, fighting back laughter of his own as he tried to tune out the mirrored (albeit faint) echoes of sensation on his own body.

Kell tried to speak, he really did, but it’s awful hard to get out a coherent sentence when your not-so-little brother is tickling you to pieces. Finally, he managed a nod, and Rhy mercifully rolled off of him to collapse onto the foot of the bed, a huge grin on his face.

“F-fuck you,” Kell choked, clutching his stomach and gasping for air.

Rhy chuckled. “Feeling tired yet?”

Kell swatted weakly at him, still leaking giggles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The creases around Rhy’s eyes softened a little. “You don’t laugh like that anymore.”

For a moment, Kell simply felt his breath enter and leave his lungs, listening to the wind whistle outside the window. He could lay here forever like this. Then he took Rhy’s hand.

“No. No, I don’t.”

For a while, the two brothers lay beside one another, catching their breath and staring up into the dark fabric that covered the ceiling. If you unfocused your eyes enough, Kell thought, you could almost imagine yourself soaring into that inky blackness, dodging between the stars.

“Hey, Kell?”

A sigh through his nose. “Yeah?”

“…Never mind.” Rhy’s voice was small. Kell held his breath. For a second, he was certain that if he turned to look at his brother, he would see him exactly as he’d been that night after he’d rescued him from the Shadows. He squeezed his hand.

“Rhy?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.” For cheering me up. For knowing me well enough to know that I need cheering up. For the Essen Tasch. For being my brother.

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for a long time, long after Kell fell asleep.

#tickling #tickle fic #shades of magic #ve schwab #ticklish!kell #my fics #kell maresh #rhy maresh

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