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jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka · 8 months

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Pairings: Jake Kiszka X Danny Wagner *slash pairing

Summary: Jake is a busy man running the kitchen at the restaurant he, his younger brother Sam, and his brother’s best friend Danny all work at. He doesn’t have the time to meet new people let alone date, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let his needs go unmet.

Warnings and tags: you should know me by now only 18+!!!, sexual content, M/M sex, slash of course (future SamXDanny so if that will freak you out in later chapters maybe just skip this all together), unrequited love, angst, drinking, third person POV Jake and Danny, restaurant AU, I probably missed something so if I did let me know

The title is taken from a Sleep Token song so if you’re interested you can give it a listen while you read

Word count: 6.4k

“Someone please for the love of fucksake get me a dry towel!” Jake yelled after nearly burning his hand from picking up the heated handle of a pan some dumbass had positioned towards a burner instead of away. Everyone knew you weren’t supposed to move hot pans with wet towels. He didn’t expect the towel on the counter next to it to be saturated in whatever liquid it had been used to clean up then carelessly discarded right next to the stove.

Fucking amateurs, he worked with a bunch of fucking amateurs.

Jake was the sous-chef now, having just recently risen in the ranks of the kitchen after proving himself a worthy prospect the fateful weekend the previous sous walked out and abandoned them in the middle of a rush.

The majority of the staff were frozen in place, unsure of how to regroup and delegate without a leader telling them what to do. Not that the previous was ever very organized and leaderly to begin with.

He hadn’t been trying or expecting to earn a promotion. More like after working so many years in the kitchen of his family’s restaurant back at home had just made him naturally good at understanding what to do to make the line flow seamlessly and efficiently.

So he took control for the night, then the next night, and before he could say otherwise the kitchen manager was announcing him as the new sous by the end of the weekend.

Some of his coworkers were not happy about the news since Jake was young and hadn't been there as long as a few others who would have been in the running had they taken any initiative when it really mattered. Jake didn’t care though, sous-chef or not he was all or nothing in the kitchen. A real force to be reckoned with, and despite the couple that doubted him he had just as many if not turned more into his corner after showing his chops and getting things back in order. Maybe even better than before if he did say so himself.

It was just past midnight, 1am creeping up quickly when Jake was finally finishing up cleaning after the dinner rush. He was always the first to arrive at the kitchen, managing the prep for the night's menu and making sure all his kitchen staff showed up to work on time and sober. Well at least sober enough to not lose any appendages while wielding a knife.

He was also always the last to leave, taking a moment to himself to eat something while he waited for the restaurant manager to close since someone had to witness the cash being deposited into the safe.

“The fuck are you still doing here?” Jake’s bones nearly jumped out of his body at the sight of a tall and lanky figure stepping out of the shadows after he locked up the back door.

“Waiting for you” Sam replied with an amused laugh at the sight of startling his older brother.

Jake pressed past him, gripping the strap of his bag that held his notebook and his food-stained dirty jacket to be tossed in the wash when he got home. “Why?” He called backwards when Sam kept following him.

“I told Josh I’d help him set up for the party tomorrow night. Savanna ordered a few extra bottles at distributor price and they got delivered today so I’m going to drop them off at your place”.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me Sam. She can get in trouble for that!” He scolded him. He wasn’t necessarily mad at Sam, because that sounded exactly like something he would do without thinking about the repercussions, but Savanna, he expected her to know better and not let Sam’s bad influence rub off on her so easily.

“Don’t worry” Sam sighed, annoyed already by Jake's tone. “I paid her for them, it’s not like they’re losing any money”.

“Yeah, only the taxes they have to pay on those extra bottles” he quipped back actually pissing Sam off because well he didn’t think about that and he didn’t like being proven wrong.

“Yeah, whatever, it was a one time deal. Won’t happen again, sir” he drew the last word out, picking fun at the way Jake’s head chef had come in and demanded everyone start referring to him as Sir now. He wouldn’t admit it outloud, especially to his brother, but he quite liked it.

Jake started working at the restaurant straight out of culinary school. A little over two years ago now whether he believed it or not.

He was the first to graduate, having chosen an easier academic path than his brothers. Josh had just graduated next, having taken him one year longer to receive his bachelor's degree in fine arts and filmmaking.

It was a tedious search to find an area that benefited both Jake and Josh's dreams, culinary arts and film. Neither of them were ready to part after highschool, but eventually they found what they were looking for in Nashville. They made the move expecting to grow used to being out on their own but only a couple years later Sam and his best friend followed them out here.

After Sam’s first year of college Jake decided he had gotten enough partying in and got him a job at the restaurant so he could keep an eye on him.

At first Sam was just a waiter, but he hated that. Being quick to an attitude and having a loose tongue were not favorable attributes for the position. He was constantly getting in arguments with the guests.

Just when Jake thought Sam would be fired he got moved into the position as bartender. The role fit Sam’s set of skills far better, Sam being a genius mixologist since before he was even legal to consume.

Then Jake found out that Sam and the bar manager were hooking up. Savanna didn’t strike him as Sam’s usual type, but who was he to get in the way of his brother’s needs.

“You got tomorrow night off right?” Sam questioned as he followed Jake to his car, helping himself to placing his bags and bottles into the backseat before climbing in up front.

Jake didn’t reply. Of course he’d gotten the night off, Josh would literally kill him if he missed it, but he was dreading it nonetheless.

It was Josh’s going away party. Now that he’d graduated he was moving to New York to start working on a few sets. He had impressed one of his professors that was still in touch with a few influential people on Broadway, giving Josh a recommendation and ultimately a test run at a job the summer right after graduation. It wasn’t film, Josh was excited to be getting started somewhere.

Although Jake was more than proud of his twin, the idea of living alone for the first time half way across the US from his other half made him sick to his stomach.

Before leaving Josh decided he wanted to host a party. He convinced Jake to agree to have it at their place since it was a central location. He had invited quite a few friends from school and Sam turned around and invited people from the restaurant against Jake's wishes.

When Sam asked him why he was so pissed off he had invited their ‘friends’ Jake merely rolled his eyes. He saw those people nearly six days a week. Home was his escape from work and he did not want to see any of them there. Well, all but one.

Then there was Danny.

Jake was very familiar with Danny. Having also grown up with him in Michigan. He was Sam’s childhood and still best friend who followed Sam follow his brothers to Nashville.

When he first heard that Danny was coming with Sam Jake was shocked. He knew the two of them had been close in highschool, but to leave home together, there had to be a deeper reason.

Then the pieces started to fit the more Jake observed him. Sam got Danny his old waiter position when he became a bartender. Stating it was just easier for them to work together than separately since they were coming from the same school and to the same apartment.

Danny and Jake were a lot alike compared to their counterparts. Sam and Josh were both chaotic and high energy. While Danny and Jake were overall more reserved and soft spoken.

The four of them were like chess pieces on opposite sides of the board. Josh was the king. The most protected piece, able to take a step in any direction, but always having to watch where he went. He was the oldest, by five minutes mind you, but he still took that very seriously. Always striving to be one worth looking up to.

Sam, whether he liked it or not, was the queen. Also able to move very freely. Being the youngest he had the world in the palm of his hand.

Jake and Danny were both knights, the king's knight and the queen's knight. They were restricted in their movements, constantly fighting and sacrificing themselves for the benefit of those most important to them.

Jake was bound by his dream, wanting to follow in his fathers footsteps. Although their dad never went through culinary school, he managed to open and run a successful restaurant back in their hometown, all while juggling raising three boys.

The three of them grew up in that restaurant, feeling obligated to put in some work when they were able to give back to their parents. It was never a chore for Jake though. He loved cooking, and just about the time he realized he was good at it, so did his father, having been the one to convince him to go to school.

The plan had always been to go back home and take over, but after graduating he realized he had developed a taste for the finer variety of the culinary world. The restaurant he worked in was much nicer than the family restaurant. Not that he wasn’t proud of where he came from. The demographic for restaurants in Michigan and the ever growing Nashville just called for different atmospheres.

Danny was bound by love. Jake knew Danny was in love with his younger brother. It was written all over the boy's face the way he stared longingly at his best friend when he thought no one was paying attention. He didn’t know if Sam knew Danny was in love with him. He hadn’t figured that one out for sure yet, but if he had to guess the way Sam heedlessly brought Savanna over to their shared apartment, the answer would be no.

Jake pulled into his parking spot in front of his apartment, waiting for Sam to gather all his things before locking the car.

Sam had a key, but his hands were too full to dig it out so Jake let them in instead.

“You crashing here tonight then?” Jake grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge to take back to his room with him, tossing one in his brother's direction. If the party was going to be anything like what Sam had been hyping up, then they both needed to start hydrating now.

“Yeah, Danny will be over tomorrow afternoon to help” Sam opened his water and downed about half of it before jumping onto the couch where he planned to make himself comfy for the rest of the night.

“Great, can’t wait”.

“Are we already out of the booze?” Jake groaned while shifting through the empty glass bottles on their counter top.

“Not by a long shot brother” Josh called him out of the kitchen and into the small laundry room. He lifted the lid to the washer and revealed it had been filled to the brim with ice, multiple cans of beer and more liquor stashed inside. “Didn’t have enough counter space” he grinned.

“Clever” Jake shook his head in disbelief but also thoroughly entertained by his brothers’ resourcefulness.

After retrieving a bottle he mixed a strong drink before braving returning to the living room.

Jake had been buzzed since before people started showing up, holding out on getting completely shit faced for his brother’s sake.

Josh introduced him to a few of his close classmates, each one being shocked to find out that Josh was indeed a twin. Jake put up an easy going front, but he was getting burnt out quickly. Tonight was his first night off in over a week and it was going to be his only night off this one. It was a bitch to get this night specifically off, having traded a few days and come in extra to make up for it. Of course Danny, Sam, and Savanna had also worked it out to come, so Jake couldn’t help but wonder how the place was doing without all of them.

“Think the dinner rush is going smoothly?” Someone who was reading his mind muttered from closely behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Don’t sneak up on me, you know I scare easily” Jake spoke quietly back to Danny. He didn’t know why he felt the need to converse with him in a hushed tone when everyone else in the house was practically yelling at each other over the music. “Result of growing up with brothers who constantly played pranks on each other”.

“I remember,” Danny chucked, stepping up to stand next to Jake now instead of behind him “sorry”. he didn’t need to apologize, but the effort was still nice. “Are you enjoying the party?”

Jake sighed, letting his facade drop for the first time tonight. For Josh he had to be strong, Sam had done well in steering clear of him, but this was just Danny. “Honestly? I’m exhausted. There’s a dozen things I’d rather be doing with my day off”.

“I understand” Danny so easily responded. Although Jake knew Danny could get wild especially when getting into a mess with Sam, he retreated into a shell in big crowds of people he didn’t know as well as he did Jake and his brothers. He’d likely been masking all night too and was also relieved to be talking to just Jake.

Jake’s eyes kept scanning the room, watching Josh bounce around from group to group constantly making sure his guests were being entertained. If anyone was going to be exhausted by the end of the night it was going to be him, but for now he was feeding off the energy. Then his gaze found Sam, hand propped up against the wall as he leaned in towards his date, a pink flush in his face from his drink signifying he’d already had too much. He leaned over and whispered something into Savanna’s ear, making her blush even darker and giggle. In his peripheral he could see that Danny was also watching the exchange between Sam and his girl.

An idea hatched in his fuzzy brain, taking a large gulp of his cup for the courage to follow through with it. “Like I’d much rather be getting laid right now. Too bad the only one who looks like they're getting any around here is Sam”.

Jake knew he would get a rise out of Danny, he could see it in the way his grip was tightening around his cup. He did not expect Danny to say what he did though, and it was very intriguing.

“Jake, you could sleep with anyone you wanted to in this room” Danny nearly scoffed. He was getting riled up as Sam was now openly planting kisses down Savanna’s neck. He tore his eyes from them and looked down at Jake intently watching him in return.

“Like you?” Jake pressed, smirking when Danny’s jaw fell.

Jake had dabbled with both sex, never bothering labeling himself rather just letting himself experience every beautiful corner of sexuality his heart desired without too much thought. Some people, however, were off limits. On any other night his younger brother's best friend was definitely off limits.

As soon as he poured that last drink Jake knew he could kiss being sober goodbye, but what his drunken state was allowing him to do was none of his sober self’s business. It wasn’t a lie when he said he’d much rather be getting laid right now. The joke was that ever since he’d become aware of Danny’s secret little crush, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

“Jake, I-” Danny was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, not able to form a coherent sentence for everything that was running through his head right now.

“I’m going to make up an excuse to say goodnight to Josh so he’s not looking for me. You remember which one is my room right?”

Danny stayed silent, eyes flickering around to see if anyone was watching them have this shameful conversation, which no one was, then simply nodded his head.

Jake did just as he said, finishing his drink and pretending to be absolutely plastered as he approached his twin.

Danny watched, a smile fighting its way onto his face as Josh attempted offering to help Jake up the stairs, but Jake managed to convince him he could do it. With success, he turned around to send Danny a wink before trekking up and disappearing onto the second floor.

Danny made a stop by the kitchen, grabbing another plastic cup from the open package and filling it along with his before slipping away from the party.

He thought about knocking, but he had a cup in each hand now. His heart was pounding as he stood at the door, debating if he should just turn around and go back downstairs and deal with Jake being upset with him later.

Before he had too much time to think about it, the door opened and Jake was standing there having stripped down to only his boxers.

“Were you just going to stand there like a big idiot all night?” Jake had a permanent smirk on his face, making Danny question even further if this was a good idea or not.

Despite his better judgment he stepped inside, Jake shutting and locking the door behind him.

Danny’s eyes immediately went to his bed. It was large and dressed in deep red sheets with a matching duvet, taking up most of the room centered on the far wall. The headboard had built-in shallow shelves, just enough to fit a few books and some other various nicknacks.

He turned around to face Jake now, thrusting the extra cup into his chest until he took it from him.

“Thanks” Jake chuckled, making Danny’s blood rush at the sound mixed with the sight of his smooth chest barely rising and falling with the breaths it took to do so. He took a sip of the drink, actually wincing at the taste. “Damn Danny, you trying to actually get me plastered? Or do you just have to be that drunk to sleep with me?”

“Hmm?” Danny still hadn’t found his words yet, taking a drink of his cup as well to see he had mixed them really strong, but by complete accident. “No, it’s just-”

Jake cut him off again, his nerves making him talkative whereas it made Danny speechless. “Look, you don’t have to do this. It’s just I haven’t gotten any in a long time. You know what it’s like at work, I don’t have time to be trying to meet people. We know and trust each other, so it’s just convenient if we can help each other out with this”.

Jake took Danny’s cup from him and placed the both of them down onto the desk in the corner, moving slowly so Danny could think about what he’d said.

“How did you know?” Danny finally managed to speak up, but Jake didn’t understand exactly what he was trying to get at. “How did you know I’m into guys?”

If Jake was in his right mind then maybe he could have come up with something to say, but instead the truth came sliding out. “Because I know you’re in love with Sam”.

Well if that wasn’t a mood killer then he didn’t know what was.

Again, Danny was shocked into silence. He wanted to deny it, but knowing Jake as long as he had he actually felt a little relieved that someone knew his secret. Someone who he was also close with and knew would keep it quiet until he was finally ready to tell. If he was ever ready to tell.

“Don’t worry, this doesn’t have to mean anything” Jake tried to salvage this energy between them. He’d gone as far as to get Danny up into his room, and he would be damned if they backed out now. (Well actually if Danny said he felt uncomfortable or decided he actually didn’t want to then of course Jake would back off, but until then he was going to try to keep pressing forward).

“We’re both adults now, with needs” Jake started back over towards Danny, maintaining an intense eye contact as he carefully approached. “Needs that can easily be satiated tonight”. He reached over and placed his hands on either side of Danny’s waist, putting solid pressure in each of his fingertips.

Danny’s form was stiff underneath his touch, but was quickly softening as Jake tugged at him to move forward. Once he broke free of the imaginary roots holding his legs in place, Danny stepped forward, letting their lower bodies press together. Jake slid one hand up his still clothed torso, trailing it around his shoulder and burying it into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You have needs don’t you Danny?”

Danny shuddered at the feeling of Jake's fingers massaging his scalp, allowing himself to reach over and cup Jake's flushed face in his large hands. “Yes, I do” he sighed heavily, his warm sweet breath tickling Jake's cheeks with how close they were, but something was still holding him back.

“Besides, I do look somewhat like Sam. You can pretend I’m him, I don’t mind. Just for tonight”. With that Jake pulled Danny down into a heated kiss.

All of the force was in Jake's lips, but Danny reciprocated the kiss just with more hesitancy.

He already felt himself slipping away, the allure of Danny becoming stronger the closer he allowed himself to get. His lips parted ever so slightly, not enough for Jake to get his tongue inside, but enough for him to slit his lips in between. He took Danny’s bottom lip between his, now able to taste him, the warmth and bitterness of his drink still so fresh. Jake nibbled on Danny’s bottom lip before letting him go to take a step back and gauge his reaction.

“If we are going to do this then I need to know you want to. There can’t be any weirdness between us after this. We still have to work together, be around each other, and act like nothing has changed between us”.

Jake spoke with certainty, or at least he was doing a very good job at reassuring him that he was. In reality he was just as hesitant and nervous as Danny was. He did hope this would change something between them. Jake was determined to rock Danny’s world tonight. To treat him both as gently and as rough as a man like Danny deserved so he’d have no choice but to come crawling back to Jake for more.

Even if Danny couldn’t love Jake the way he loved Sam, at least Jake would have this. At the end of the night, he hoped that it would be enough.

Danny pulled Jake back against him, letting his head fall onto his shoulder, his curly hair tickling Jake's jaw, and just held him there for a moment.

Jake had to concentrate on standing still. Sure he had been this close to him before, they’d had their fair share of friendly hugs over the years. He’d never given him a hug with a half hard-on though.

Their hugs usually only lasted a short while, but Danny wasn’t breaking contact as he fought to think of a reason not to indulge. A real reason besides the obvious one. That if Sam ever found out he’d be furious with the both of them.

Danny turned his face in towards Jake's neck and let his lips brush over the sensitive raised skin there, finally admitting “I want to”.

He placed a kiss there, then higher up on his neck, his jaw, his cheek, until his lips landed back on Jake’s to seal the deal.

Something seemed to snap inside Danny, he let go of whatever last bit of reservations he had and really let himself succumb to the darkness within himself.

He’d always noticed this siren-like allure Jake had. He was appealing to put it simply, the way he played to his strengths without boasting about his accomplishments. Not very many men could keep themselves humble, but Jake never even wavered in his standards even as he took control.

Without letting his lips leave Danny’s again Jake mumbled “let’s go to the bed then. Unless you want me to tackle you to the floor?”

He felt Danny’s lips curl into a smile just before he gripped Jake's hips and spun them around. Backing him up through his room until Jake's legs hit the edge of his bed. Jake fell backwards into its embrace, curling his fingers around the collar of Danny’s sweater and pulling him down on top of him in the same motion.

With his feet still on the ground in front of the bed, Danny was bent over above him. One hand firmly planted on the bed next to his head and the other was roaming the expanse of bare skin on Jake's side, stopping every few inches to grip and squeeze then moving on as he deepened the kiss. Jake wasn’t expecting this position so soon, but it wasn’t a bother, he knew he could still take back control even from this angle.

Jake parted his lips now, a wide invitation that Danny graciously accepted, diving his tongue inside for his own taste.

With Danny distracted in exploring his mouth, Jake took the initiative to test taking it to the next step by wrapping one of his legs around Danny’s hips. His calf came to settle on the swell of Danny’s ass, and he leveraged himself up so that their fronts could grind together.

Danny let out a sound that wasn’t quite a moan yet, more like a stifled plea for more. Then his hand left Jake’s side, moving lower to gather his other leg and pull it around his hip as well before bucking back harder into Jake.

They were both fully hard now, rutting their erections on each other through their clothes like a couple of horny teenagers just trying to prove how turned on they were right now.

Jake was trying to remain patient, but now that Danny had reciprocated his desire, it was becoming harder (literally harder) to not lose his cool.

Despite how badly he wanted Danny right now, whatever way and in whatever position he would give it to him, Jake didn’t know the extent of Danny’s sexual history or if he’d ever been with another guy before.

He’d already accepted coming into this that he’d have to be the one to keep them focused and make sure enough prep had been done before things got too far.

They both needed a breath, so Jake pulled away first. “I sure hope your idea of getting laid doesn’t include staying completely dressed” he teased.

Danny stood back up, letting Jake's knees fall to the side onto the bed and worked at his belt buckle. As soon as he got the belt undone the button and zipper was next, undoing the both to allow a little more room for himself.

Jake wanted to complain when Danny abandoned what he was doing at his hips but quickly became appeased again when he reached up to instead lift his sweater off revealing a more toned torso than he remembered.

He had to bite his lips to keep himself from the subjective commentary that was flooding his brain since Danny seemed somewhat unsure of himself.

He wanted Danny to feel comfortable around him otherwise he wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy himself and Jake couldn’t have that.

Sitting up, Jake took over for him, digging his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and helping slide them down, his boxers getting caught and pulled off with them.

Jake held eye contact with Danny as he felt him spring free between them. Starting with one hand, but without looking away, Jake reached down and felt him.

He could already tell he was larger than he’d even expected, not too big, but so hard that he almost pulled back from his touch. “Fuck, Danny” Jake breathed out as he slowly tightened his grip and offered some relief.

Danny put his hands on both of Jake's shoulders to steady himself and he sighed and leaned his head back. “Yeah, that’s the hope” he chuckled once he’d gotten over the initial sensitivity of being touched by someone else for the first time in a while.

Now that Danny wasn’t watching, Jake took the opportunity to look down. He looked even bigger with Jake's hand wrapped around him. Jake had seen Danny naked before, plenty of fourth of Julys were spent at home changing together in the back of a van at the lake. Back then though Jake hadn’t dared look too far nor did he know at the time that he would someday be excited by seeing Danny.

Excited he was indeed, having to palm himself over his boxers for a second just to ease himself a little bit before moving onto his next course of action.

Danny felt Jake disappear as he lowered himself onto his elbows and knees on the bed in front of him. He took Danny by surprise as he traded his hand for his mouth, his plump lips stretched out as they wrapped around the tip.

“Fuck” Danny hissed, tangling his fingers in Jake’s hair as he started to bob his head.

Jake reached up again, stroking the base of his shaft now that he’d gotten it nice and slippery. “Yeah, that’s the hope” he pulled off just to repeat Danny’s smart aleck comment then went back in with even more vigor than before, sucking and twisting all at the same time.

The fingers in his hair tightened and he knew what that meant. Removing his hand, he let Danny rock his hips further into Jake's mouth until he was brushing up against the back of his throat.

“I’m close” Danny groaned, warning Jake since he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from continuing until he’d released.

With that Jake gave him one last cheek hollowed suck before popping off and backing further onto the bed.

Danny whimpered at the feeling of the cool air hitting his wet cock. Wishing now he hadn’t said anything so he could have stayed in the warmth of his mouth for even just a minute longer. A minute longer was about all he was going to last though, and he didn’t want to be finished yet.

“My turn” Jake called for Danny to join him, laying back and lifting his hips to slide off his boxers.

Danny looked anxious, maybe he had never done this before, but followed Jake's command, crawling over to him on the bed with determination in his eyes.

“You don’t have to blow me. Another time perhaps” Jake reminded him that they didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, but only wished Danny would be willing to try a few things.

“I need you to help me with something else, you see a blue book up there?” He nodded to the headboard above him. Danny’s eyes scanned the few books, quickly finding the one Jake was referring to and reaching to pick it up. Something about it felt off, it was light compared to its size, but the weight distribution was also moving as he brought it down and handed it over.

Jake pulled the cover back to reveal the book was actually hollow, containing a stack of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

“Often jerk off while reading in bed?” Danny questioned his stash as Jake retrieved the bottle and tore off one of the foil squares before handing him the book to put back.

“Wouldn’t you like to know” Jake smugly replied, opening the bottle and squeezing the tiniest amount since he knew a little went a long way onto his hand then coating his member with the slick gel.

Danny watched Jake work himself with wide eyes. The way Jake laid there seemingly without any fear and let Danny see him in such an intimate state, it was breathtaking.

“Have you ever fingered someone before?” Jake questioned. All teasing and jokes had left his tone, instead he was completely serious and trying to keep his breathing steady.

“I’m not a virgin” Danny replied, slightly chagrin about Jake's doubting of his skills.

“Noted. Good to know, but what I asked is have you ever fin-” it was Jake's turn to be cut off when Danny quickly snatched up the bottle and squeezed some onto his fingers before positioning them at his backside.

“Woah! Ok! Easy! You have to go easy”. Jake tried to scoot away, but Danny placed his free hand on his hip and pulled him back down until his inner thighs came in contact with Danny’s knees.

“Relax, you have to relax” he copied the same pattern of speech, but with a soothing voice as he leaned down and connected their lips once again before slowly easing a finger inside. “See, I do know what I’m doing”.

Trusting in his friend, Jake did relax, moving his hand that had gone steady against himself to grip Danny’s thigh letting all his tension reside there instead of other places.

“Does it feel good?” Danny questioned after a few moments of working another in.

Jake let a long breath out through his nose, “actually, you can go a little harder, if you want”.

“You don’t have to tell me twice” he gave Jake one more peck on the lips then twisted his fingers upwards before pressing further inside, as far as his knuckles would let him go.

“Oh!” Jake felt his voice nearly squeak when Danny managed to brush up against the spot no one else had managed to reach with just their fingers before. Jake never minded being fingered, but it was usually just a means to reach a better goal. The way Danny was handling him though, it was different than anyone else he’d ever been with before. It was like Danny was trying to make him enjoy it.

“How about now?”

“Oh god Danny, enough, I’m ready for you now”. Jake moved his grip from Danny’s thigh to his forearm, desperately trying to pull him away. “Would you lay down? I like to start out on top”.

The sound of that was appealing enough to get Danny to retreat, removing himself from between Jake's legs and flopping onto his back next to him.

Jake found the condom he’d left at his side, tearing it open before lifting himself up and mounting Danny.

He was situated just above his knees so he could roll the condom on before inching forward. A pair of big tanned hands caressed his thighs as he got into position.

Jake paused, allowing himself to study Danny’s face as he lowered himself onto him, slowly letting out the breath he was holding in as he did so.

Danny closed his eyes, letting his fingers dig into Jake's skin just as Jake had into his. “You’re really tight” he groaned, wiggling his hips trying to get comfortable.

“I know, I might have gotten a little ahead of myself, I forgot how big you are. Just give me a second” he placed his hands on the chest of the man below him. Then letting his legs do the work he began to move, the leftover lube inside of him from Danny’s fingers just enough to help him glide up and down.

“Forgot?” Danny panted, his hands traveling from Jake's thighs to his rocking hips. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t forget again”.

It felt like the earth turned on its axis, and suddenly Jake felt the bed beneath him again. Danny managed to stay tucked inside during the move, lifting Jake's leg onto his hip like the position they’d been in earlier.

He lifted Jake’s lower half barely off the mattress and began thrusting, making Jake cry out at the sudden deepness and shocking sensation he was driving through his body.

This was not how he imagined the night playing out. He meant to work up to it, build some pressure, make it last long. The way Danny was man handling him right now sent the plans of all the dirty things he wanted to do to him flying out the window.

Jake was glad the party still seemed to be going strong downstairs, the music a cover for his moans. In hindsight he had probably been a little ambitious in the way he egged Danny on. It really had been a while since he had gotten any, and Danny was giving it to him so good now that he was already dangerously close to the edge.

He reached in between their sweating bodies, stroking himself to his limit. “I’m going to cum,” he staggered out, “just don’t stop what you’re doing”.

Danny’s moves were faltering, he was close too, but he managed to keep it up just long enough for Jake to finish, clenching around him as his body quaked with pleasure.

Since he came so quickly, he’d expected to have to finish Danny off, but as soon as his body settled Danny dropped to his elbows, burying his hands into Jake's long hair.

If it had been anyone else Jake would have pushed him off. The overstimulation was getting to be too much especially now that his spent cock was caught pressed against their bodies, but Danny seemed so close he just bore down and let him have it.

With one more heavy thrust Danny was coming undone, his brows furrowed and his eyes clenched closed. Jake watched again as the smallest bead of sweat rolled down the tip of his nose and dripped onto his lips. His tongue darted out to lick it away, then he pulled his lips between his teeth, one silent word leaving his mouth.

It didn’t matter if Danny didn’t say it aloud, Jake had seen him say it a thousand times, he’d recognized it on Danny’s lips anyway.

Sam

Part 2

#Greta van fic #greta van smut #greta van angst #Janny gvf #Sanny gvf #jake kiszka #Danny Wagner #Sam kiszka #Spotify

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dgknightblue · 7 months

Text

RVB fic idea:

Donut is casting characters for Phantom of the Opera for the theater he works at.

Simmons really wanted to be the Phantom but he didn’t get the part as his voice just didn’t go deep enough.

Donut decided on either Tucker or Locus.

Christine is either Donut himself, Caboose, or Kai.

Those are the only names I remember. Sorry.

Anyways, Simmons sulks that he didn’t get a big role because his voice wasn’t right for it. Grif’s voice could be a big role, but he didn’t put in the effort or tried out for it. He’s stuck in the back with Simmons.

Simmons and Grif are backstage with Doc and Carolina. Simmons is an understudy for a minor role and is a background singer. Grif is the phantom’s understudy since it’s decent enough.

Wait. Caboose gets a deep singing voice so he’s the phantom’s other understudy. Tucker got a major role, just not the one he wanted.

Behind the scenes as the production goes (there are problems as they are the reds and blues) Simmons still memorizes everyone’s lines in case they need help. Sarge is in charge or props and costumes.

Of course everyone gets to choose what their costume looks like because there would be too much arguing if any of them were forced to wear an outfit they hated (and weren’t in their colors). Jensen venomously denied wearing a dress because she wanted a suit.

Caboose wanted a dress, and Donut put on a amazing suit.

Sarge for some reason decided to wear a half dress/ half suit to one up everyone even though he wasn’t one of the actors.

Time passes and accidents happen, Simmons still doesn’t get to shine in the end. He gets so frustrated, he would have even accepted being Christine’s friend for a day!

As everyone parties, Simmons is in the bathroom (with an unbroken mirror) crying.

Grif, who had to watch this disaster and trying to keep it from blowing up (bow chica- shut up Tucker), sits with him on the floor and eat cake with tears in it.

“You know you would have hated the attention.”

“I know….I just…. It was important to me. Being the phantom was really important to me…. At least it wasn’t ripped away from me instead of not having it in the first place. It would of hurt more.”

“Why did you want to be the phantom so badly?”

“Back when I was a kid, I was desperate for something to hold on to. I wasn’t… always a man…. And well… even now I feel like a stranger in my body and it’s been years.”

“So you wanted to feel like a man? Are you on a low period right now?”

“It’s not just that, I can’t explain it well but I didn’t tell you guys everything about my accident. The phantom is this mysterious and luring figure that’s shunned a way and disfigured… like me. I honestly never considered acting or music since I was more into science and math, not to mention sports and music were something my father forced me to do.”

“Did you hate it?”

“Oh I hated it, though some things weren’t so bad. I never dared to say anything since I… well I didn’t want to get hit again, but I guess it would have happen either way.”

“Dude.”

“Don’t, you didn’t hear that.”

“Sigh…fine.”

Grif places his hand on Simmons’ for a moment and squeezed. Simmons leaned on his shoulder.

“I’ve always tried to hard and gave everything I had…. But no one wanted it. Wanted me. Too antisocial yet talked way too much… too much personality yet nothing worth talking about…. Always so dull and not good enough.”

“I want you, you know. To be your friend and all.”

“The only person that compulsively cleans up after you no matter what? Of course you want that.”

“No, I mean it. I like being your friend. I think the others like you too.”

“I don’t believe you. Last time I thought I had friends, they humiliated me in public.”

“We aren’t like that, I promise if you asked any one they’d wonder why you were asking because of course you are.”

“Right, and I didn’t slash the breaks of those xssholes cars.”

“Uh….did you really?”

“Yeah, not that hard- I even rewired their radios to broadcast their screaming to everyone else’s radios. Sigh… good times.”

“Bull shxt.”

“No really, one time I was sick of this one girl making fun of me for being a “teacher’s pet”, so I stole her phone and did some shxt. She thought she was haunted and the only way to get rid of it was to cleanse herself by swimming in the river near the park. It was mid winter and cold as fxck, she got sick for weeks.”

“I still don’t believe that.”

“When my ex hit me, I stabbed him like five or was it fourth five? Times. Anyways, he wasn’t getting up so kicked him to check if he was alive. Luckily he was, so I asked one of my aunts to deal with him and I never did find out what happened.”

“….uh….”

“I’m just fxcking with you.”

“Oh thank fxck!”

“I just walked home crying until my cousin drove by and took me to their house. My grandma made me cookies while they dealt with him. Still don’t know what happened, but I only got a letter saying he’s sorry and that I can have his black Porsche.”

“What the fxck? He actually hit you?”

“And kicked me and I’m surprised I made it that far down the road with a limp and blurry eyes. I did get better after spending time with Aunt Trudy on one of her tours around the world.”

Grif frowned at him until he noticed how close Simmons was leaning towards him. He swallowed down a stutter.

“Thanks Grif, for trying to cheer me up.”

“It’s no big deal…”

“Of course it is! I have to pay you back.”

“Nah, it’s fine!”

“I prefer actions over words, so I tend to give gifts like a batch of cookies or pie.”

“Well if you insist, I’m not going to stop you.”

Simmons leans in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips with one of his hands on Grif’s cheek. Grif was too shocked to respond, it was over before he realized it.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to make you something you’ll enjoy.”

Simmons smile melted him as the burning from the kiss grew and showed on his face.

“Cough… okay…”

Simmons stood up and walked out of the bathroom. He opened the door to see the confusing sight of everyone else in the hall looking like they weren’t suspicious at all.

“Uh… Maine, can you please move?”

Maine moved and Simmons slowly made his way through the hallway looking at everyone. No one met his eyes.

Funny thing is, Simmons didn’t even think about where he kissed Grif. It was a thank you kiss after all. He’s European and has a large, mostly female, clan that smothered him with affection. He was the only baby of his mother and the youngest at the time. They couldn’t be near him, so he still felt lonely.

He missed his big sister, but she’s dead now.

It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have survived.

Anyways that’s it, bye!

#fanfiction #au #cute #red vs blue #phantom of the opera #poto au #phantom of the opera au #rvb au #grimmons #RVB Simmons #rvb grif #rvb sarge #rvb donut #rvb Kai #rvb Tucker #rvb caboose #broadway au #theater au

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darkwood-sleddog · 2 years

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Hey, just wanted to ask as someone who doesn't have a dog...how does health testing work? I know breeders test the parents but what about the puppies? If a puppy tests positive what do they do with the puppies? Just wondering 'cause I might want a dog years from now and I'm still confused about this.

Parents are health tested through a series of x-ray and genetic dna tests. This gives breeders a look at the genetics they are working with so they can do their best not to produce dogs with preventable issues.

In the United States we have OFA which has a wide variety of tests available for each breed and type, PennHIP which is as the name suggests more hip joint oriented and Embark which is a fairly new additional tool that can be used to test a variety of genetics, but does not replace the necessity of testing like that from OFA and PennHIP. (it's also commonly used for testing breed heritage in mixed breeds, although this is only good for about five generations back or so).

Puppies from health tested parents typically cannot be given health tests because for a majority of health tests, the dog must be mature (usually around 2 years old) for the health test to be considered valid. For example, it is impossible to test the quality of a joint such as a hip or elbow if the dog is not done growing as puppies go through many structural changes. A puppy that looks "good" on a hip x-ray can easily mature into a dog that does not have a good score later down the line.

How individual breeders test offspring two years out from maturing a litter may vary, but if you have a pet dog from a breeder it's likely you won't be health testing your dog unless an issue comes up because health testing is pretty expensive (many pet people embark their dogs for fun though). If a breeder produces a puppy that is going to be bred, once the dog reaches the maturity needed for health testing, they will be tested. The more generations are health tested the better the look at the genetic and structural health of the line. For example Slash's grandmother and mom have OFA hips rated "Good" and so does his dad. His sisters that have been tested are rated "Good" and "Excellent" so we actually see not only the quality of the hips staying good, but a potential improvement.

How individual breeders deal with puppies they produce having health issues will also vary person to person. Typically this is something to discuss with the breeder when having that introductory conversation with them before deciding to put down a deposit. Some breeders may offer to help pay for further genetic testing of a dog with issue so they can get a better understanding of where the issue came from, others may request the dog return to them, or be spayed/neutered. Again these are all just potential options, every breeder is different. Personally for me I like seeing a level of care from breeders about the genetics of the dogs they produce, breeders keeping tabs on the health of all dogs, even those happily settled in homes, is part of that.

And a breeder that health tests parents and does all that they can to produce healthy puppies can absolutely still produce dogs with health issues and it's not something to hold against breeders. Genetics are weird and things happen, but the important part of health testing is it gives us a full look at what's going on inside the dog and helps us, to the best of our ability, try and weed out those health issues (or not breed them in the first place).

#dogblr #faq #dog breeding #im not a dog breeder just an appreciator of those bringing life into this world #giving it the best chance at a high quality of life #so for me health testing is a huge part of that #and while i'm happy to see more and more people testing for joint health which is very good #i do get frustrated that people cut corners by JUST testing for joint health #there's a lot of other aspects of dog health that's available for us to test #and it irks me when breeders don't do the fullest extend of what they're able to prevent health issues #just my two cents #but apparently i have 'high standards' (i was once insulted irl for going off on health testing in this way by being told my standards were #too high)#which is ridiculous #mostly bc i purchase my dogs from a breeder that for me meets all the criteria of good and detailed health testing #like its out there and its not uncommon either

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the7thcrow · 2 years

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YESSSSSSS CROSS OVER ONTO THE SLASH SIDE.

seriously though, writing in that perspective is hugely beneficial in my writing growth and learning. i also have a vastly different writing style when i write 3rd person pov which is fascinating. IT'S FUN. COME DABBLE WITH ME!

I might ,okay. I MIGHT.

like don’t get me wrong, i still enjoy writing reader inserts and 2nd person pov. i do. but the other day i was considering writing a pretty big novella with my own original characters and stuff. the whole thing was plotted out. it sounded good. then I found some character sheets, a series of must-know questions about your protagonist, and thought it would be a good idea to fill them out. then i realized… i couldn’t. i actually didn’t know how. these major aspects of character building have just been absent from literally everything I’ve written and it was a major wake up call. and that’s the thing, with reader-insert i don’t really get to know my protagonist. don’t get me wrong, i think my protagonists have personality. i think the natgig mc is very dynamic and complex in particular. but I don’t spend the time building and getting to know them the way I should, and i think that trying to do so through reader-insert isn’t the best or most effective way in doing so.

also, while writing natgig 06, the opening scene is strictly between san and seonghwa, MC is hardly mentioned. and while writing it, i was sorta confused as to why I was having such a good time. it’s not a chapter I was extremely looking forward to like 05 was, and yet it was flowing so much easier. then I realized it’s because it’s in third person. then I realized pretty much all my favourite parts i’ve written in natgig have been from the boys (third person) perspective. I also think my voice sounds a bit different in 3rd compared to 2nd pov. I don’t think it’s necessarily better, but I do actually prefer reading in third person, so maybe it just sounds better to me in that sense. it’s interesting.

I think natgig is a good taster for writing mxm. dip my feet in the water ig. but I think down the line (more sooner than later) i am going to devote a lot of my energy to some mxm. I need it to work on and improve my writing. definitely not abandoning reader-insert, bc I still love it and it’s still fun for me, but I’m starting to hit a bit of a stagnancy. but ofc then I have to worry about trivial things like how anything other than reader-insert kinda tanks on here. which will be a bummer, but hey, I post everything on ao3 anyway. I’ll figure it out.

#this was an absolute monster of a response to a very simple ask I am so sorry LMAO #if you cannot tell I've been in silent contemplation for a while now #sorry to word vomit all over you <3 #svnthpop #mutual pals🕺🏼#asks

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braydaywrites · 3 years

Text

Cold Weather and Sorrows

C! Technoblade C! Philza x platonic self harm GN reader.

TRIGGER WARNING- self harm. Blood. Anxiety. Self harm addiction. Cutting. Gore. Stay safe <3

They/them pronouns.

Y/N had been suffering with self harm a majority of their life. Scars adorning the majority of the unseen parts of their body, but no one ever saw them. And they were happy that no one saw them. They were scared of what would happen if anyone found out. Would Y/N be constantly monitored? Would they be put on medication? Would they get exiled for being a freak? They knew it was far fetched but they were scared.

At this point in Y/Ns life they were living in the snowy forest with Technoblade and Phil. Things were going pretty smoothly, wake up, do chores, eat, work on the syndicate, cut, sleep, repeat. Y/N knew their habits weren’t quite the best, but they’ve been doing it for years at this point and stopping seemed quite impossible at this point. And if Y/N was being honest they didn’t really wan’t to quit, seeing as it had “helped” them through so much.

It was a normal day for the snowy fellows. They were currently at the syndicate room working on some paperwork. Techno was writing. Phil was working on the ender pearl stasis chamber. And Y/N was sorting some paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary. But what they didn’t know was that outside there was a horrid blizzard trapping them in the room.

They were just finishing up for the night. Phil headed out first. But to their surprise, Phil came right back as quick as he went. “Alright mates, seems as if we’re hunkering down here for the night.” Phil announced. “For why?” Y/N asked. Panic setting in. They needed to for fill there nightly routine of tearing their own skin to shreds. But if they had to stay here, there was no way Y/N could achieve that goal.

“Blizzard.” Phil said. “The entrance and exit are both frozen over. No way to leave. But in the morning the sun will thaw it out enough for us to leave.” Technoblade noticed how Y/N was shaking. Worried a bit. “Y/N, are you well?” Technoblade asked. This seemed to shock Y/N as they thought they hid their anxiety pretty well. “Oh- uh. Yeah I’m fine. But where will we sleep for the night?”

“Here’s the only room fit to sleep in.” Technoblade nonchalantly stated. “Oh…” Y/N was scared they really needed to cut. So badly. They didn’t know what to do.

It was now late into the night. But Y/N couldn’t sleep. They needed their release. Needed to bleed. And everyone was asleep now anyways. Or so YN thought. Technoblade was an extremely light sleeper and also had a tough time sleeping most nights, and tonight was no exception.

Y/N thought it was good. They though they could get away with just a few cuts. Nothing too extreme but enough to give them that relief that they oh so dearly craved. Screw it they thought. Reaching in their pocket to pull out a diamond pocket knife. Rolling up their sleeve and slashing several neat lines into their skin.

Technoblade heard Y/N moving around and opened his eyes. He thought, might as well get up as well. If he had someone to talk to who also couldn’t sleep. He slowly sat up from his makeshift bed and looked towards you. To say he wasn’t ready for what he saw was an understatement. You were sitting there. Knife slicing at your own skin.

“Stop.” Technoblade said. Not quite yelling, but sure projecting his voice enough to make Phil stir. Technoblade got up and walked twards where Y/N was. Frozen in shock. Knife still held against their arm. “Put it down.” But instead of doing what Technoblade said Y/N opted for attempting to slicing down on themself some more. “I said. Put. It. Down.” Technoblade said taking the knife away from Y/N.

“What’s going on?” Phil’s voice was rough, due to him just waking up. He looked around. Noticing the blood the tiredness what knocked out of him. “Y/N..?” Phil was concerned. He didn’t know what was going on all he knew was that his friend was hurt. And that was enough to trigger his fight or flight instinct.

“Y/N… calm down. You’re ok. We aren’t mad.” Technoblade tried to sooth them. Noticing the panic in their eyes. “They were cutting themself.” Phil said out loud as if it wasn’t already obvious enough. Phil went in and hugged Y/n trying to comfort them.

“Please. I- I’m sorry.” Y/N was panicking. They were scared. Scared of so much. “How long had this been going on?” Phil was scared. He didn’t have the medical tools he needed to patch them up. And he could not lose someone else. “5 years…” Y/N admitted.

“We’ll get through this. We will get you to stop. We promise.” Technoblade swore. Joining the hug.

Once they got home all the sharp objects were locked up. And Phil and Techno kept a close eye on Y/N. They never lost hope. No matter the amount of relapses they always believed that Y/N would get better and eventually through time. They did.

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

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sabxism · 3 years

Text

But I’m Here In Your Doorway

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Based on these lines from this is me trying:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

Word count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of and encounter with possible suicide, injuries (blood, bruises, etc), mention of (previous) deaths

Summary: reader loses everything. after she nearly makes an irreversible decision, she goes to Poe for help.

GIF not mine

The screams of your squadron members bounce around in your head. It was your fault, you knew that. You shouldn’t have set off without checking your ship. Without checking for any trackers. So it wasn’t a surprise when, out of nowhere, a group of TIEs burst out of hyperspace, straight into your fleet like pins being knocked over by 30 flying bowling balls. You had watched, helplessly, as your friends - your family - were picked off one-by-one. As they went up into terrifyingly bright balls of gas and flame and smoke. It was your fault. All your fault.

Part of you was trying to cling onto the notion that you couldn’t have known, how could you have known? But the majority of your mind beat back those thoughts, letting the sickening guilt take over and push you into a dark corner. Debriefing had been a nightmare. General Organa had, of course, told you that it wasn’t your fault, that it was nobody’s fault but the spy she hadn’t discovered in time. She could sense the weight on your shoulders, sense you falling into a pit inside of yourself.

After the meeting, she had pulled you aside.

“Y/N. I need you to look at me,” she said, turning your head gently but firmly with her right hand. “It isn’t your fault. You did everything you could. Sometimes, things are just out of our control.”

“I know,” you lied, just wanting this conversation to be over. Leia could sense your apprehension, and sighed.

“Look, I know that nothing I say is going to change how you feel, because I’ve been there, and I know what you’re thinking. I know it’s hard. Trust me.” you look down at the floor, scuffing the tip of your boot across the dusty ground. “It will get better. I promise you.”

“Thanks, general.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leia?” she asks lightly as you turn to walk away.

“A few more, apparently,” you respond, the ghost of a false smile resting over your face. With that, you turn on your heel and head to your quarters.

You step through the door as it slides open and sit down on your bed. You reach for your datapad, wanting to distract yourself with something.

You click the screen on, and your heart drops. Staring back at you are the smiling faces of your squadron. You’re all clustered around Mari’s new droid, with hands on its shiny purple head. She had been so happy to get that little guy.

Now they were both nothing more than dust drifting through the empty expanse of space.

You hurl the tablet at the wall, watching as the screen shatters and falls to the floor.

You place your head in your hands, silent sobs racking your body. You clench your hair in your hands, knuckles turning white. You stand up, body shaking, and walk out of your quarters.

You pass Finn in the hallway. He smiles at you, but you can’t bring yourself to do the same. You feel awful as he looks back at you as you pass him, but at this point there’s no use trying to fix it. You trudge outside and up to your x-wing sitting on the tarmac, the edges of the wings blackened from smoke. You glance around, checking the coast is clear, then scurry up the ladder and into the cockpit. You check the time.

1800.

Sighing, you boot up your craft and quickly take off. You cruise over the base a few times, watching everyone go about their day. Like nothing happened. Like 10 of the most beautiful, vibrant souls hadn’t just been snuffed like a match. You swallow the knot in your throat and head for the atmosphere. You need to get away from here.

“General Organa!” Leia turns, to see a frenzied runway tech sprinting towards her. “Y/N took off on an unauthorized flight.”

Leia swallows thickly, her heart dropping. “How long ago?”

“We noticed she was left just now - but it looks like she’s been gone about an hour.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do but hope she comes back safely.”

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You land on a nearby forest planet, after searching for about ten minutes for a place to touch down. You pick a plateau on the Western side, lowering your land gear as you begin to descend. You hop down from your ship onto the grassy earth, and look around.

It’s quiet up here. There’s a soft wind blowing, and it weaves delicate fingers through your hair and across your face as you take off your helmet. You let it fall to the ground, and decide to walk around for a bit. You make your way to the edge of the plateau, and look out across the forest beyond. It stretches on for miles, a swath of dark green. The last rays of the sun blaze across the sky, painting the clouds with a pink-orange hue.

You glance down, and your heart drops to your toes. It’s a long way to the ground below. You begin to back up, but for some reason you find yourself stopping. You get closer to the edge, still looking down. It would be so easy to just take another step. Just one more. All of this would be over. You wouldn’t have to feel this guilt anymore.

Your knee lifts up slowly.

Realizing what you’re about to do, you scramble back, falling to the dirt. You brace your hands on the ground, digging your fingers into the earth to anchor yourself. Your chest heaves, and your vision spins. The ground seems to buckle, to toss you around. The sky bends and arches above you as you struggle to breathe. You roll over onto your stomach and wrap your arms around your knees.

You don’t know how long you lie there, but by the time you have the courage to stand up and walk again, the moon is floating in the sky above you, and the stars glimmer against a black backdrop.

You climb back into your x-wing and sit there, staring at your dashboard. Your eyes meet one of the few pictures leaned against the fuel gague. You and Poe lean against his x-wing a few months ago. You have your arms wrapped around each other. He’s kissing your cheek, and you’re laughing, open-mouthed, your nose scrunched up and your eyes shut tight.

You take a shuddering breath. Poe. You couldn’t believe what you’d almost done - what you still might do, if you don’t get out of here. You couldn’t leave him like that. You rapidly go through your flight checklist and then take off, headed back to base.

You land on the tarmac around 0200, exhausted and beaten down by your own thoughts. You hop out of your ship, landing on the ground with a thud.

You start walking, not really knowing where your legs are taking you, but you end up at Poe’s quarters. You can hear movement inside the room. You raise a trembling hand and knock once.

He opens the door, and his eyes widen. His mouth moves silently, searching for words.

You swallow thickly, a nervous knot tying in your stomach.

He takes a step toward you, not quite believing what he’s seeing. Leia had told him that you’d left suddenly after their meeting, and he had grown worried that you were hurt, or worse. But here you are, standing in front of him. Your form is limp and you’re drawn into yourself. Your face and neck are caked with blood and dirt, and your eyes are clouded and empty.

“Hi,” you say weakly. He quickly closes the gap between the both of you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. Your arms hang limp beside you.

“Stardust,” he breathes, holding you tightly. “I was so worried.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, falling down your face and onto Poe’s shoulder. He pulls back, concerned. Cradling your face in his hands, his eyebrows crease with worry.

He looks down at you, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. There’s a silent question written across his features. You shake your head tearfully. You don’t know what to say.

“Baby…” he whispers, pulling you close to his chest again. You clutch at the back of his shirt with shaking hands.“I’m here now - you’re safe. You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.” He repeats those two words over and over like a mantra, equally to himself as to you. “Let’s get you inside, ok?” he says, and you nod. Placing a hand on the small of your back, he guides you into his quarters.

“I’ll grab some clothes for you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed. He rustles through his drawers, eventually coming up with a long-sleeved olive green shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts. He sets them on the bed next to you. “Are you good to take a shower?” You think about it for a minute, and slowly shake your head. The idea of being pounded with thousands of tiny droplets makes you want to hide under a blanket.

“Too much,” you murmur, and he nods in understanding.

“Ok, love, that’s fine. We do need to clean you off and deal with these cuts, though.” he gestures to the lacerations across your skin. You nod weakly. You hear him pad over to the refresher unit and grab a medkit and some washcloths, which he wets under some running water from the sink.

He kneels in front of you, and motions for you to take off your flight suit. You slip it halfway off, letting it rest around your waist. Poe sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the bruises blooming across your torso and arms. You’d gotten tossed around pretty bad, getting knocked through space by several of the TIEs. You’d slammed your sternum right into the dashboard at one point, and small fragments of something had slashed open nearly every bit of exposed skin and even some under your suit.

“Y/N…” he says quietly, tearing up. You bite the inside of your cheek, hating to see him so upset.

He gets to work cleaning your cuts. He’s as gentle as he can be, but you still hiss as the cold water on the washcloth cleans out your cuts, and tears start to fall as he bandages up a particularly bad cut on your stomach. He holds your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need to, never even flinching as your vice grip tightens around his fingers.

“Ok, baby, let me check your legs and then you’re all set,” he says, and you turn away, face flushing with nervousness. He’s confused for a second, then has a moment of understanding. He’s never seen you naked - you weren’t ready to get intimate yet, so you guys had been taking it slow, and now really wasn’t the best time to breach that barrier. “You can change into the shorts first,” he says quietly, and you look back at him gratefully.

You make your way to the refresher unit, shutting the door behind you. You peel off your flight suit the rest of the way, followed by your undergarments, crusted with blood from the cuts on your stomach. You pile the discarded clothes in a pile by the shower, and slip on the shirt and shorts Poe had leant you. You take the opportunity to glance into the mirror above the sink, and grimace at the reflection that gazes back at you. Hair messy and tangled, face bruised and covered with small cuts, you were not a pretty sight to behold. Sighing, you head back into the main room.

Sitting back down on the bed, you lean against the wall and stretch your legs out in front of you. Poe sits down on the mattress next to you, surveying your exposed limbs. They aren’t as bad as the upper half of your body, but they definitely aren’t good. He dabs at the cuts gently, taking your hand again. He mutters sweet nothings as you clench your teeth and shut your eyes tightly for the next few minutes as he finishes up.

“All done,” he eventually says, and you relinquish your grip on his hand, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looks up at you, and you almost melt at the love in his eyes. You realize in that moment how lucky you are - that no matter what, he’ll always take care of you. Always.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he smiles softly, opening his arms. You crawl over to where he’s leaned against the headboard and collapse into his embrace, breathing beginning to even out.

“You need sleep, baby,” he says, and you nod. “You can stay here, if you want.” You nod again, and he presses a kiss to your hair. “I’ll grab some extra blankets from the closet.” He gets up and goes to retrieve them. You get under his comforter and lay your head down on one of the pillows. Your eyes drift closed.

Poe pads back over to the bed and pauses, looking down at you. He swallows thickly, tearing up. He makes a promise to himself then and there that he’d never lose you like that. Never again.

He lays another blanket over you, then switches off the lights. He quickly changes into some sleep clothes and then gets under the covers, laying down facing you.

“Poe?” you mumble, searching for his face in the dark.

“Right here, honey,” he says softly, and you inch closer to him, a bit nervous to get too close. He senses your unease and smiles softly. “Cmere,” he says, draping a hand over your waist and pulling you close to him. You tuck your head against his chest, a warm feeling creeping into your very core. Being this close to him is grounding. You take a deep breath in. The scent of the lavender soap he uses clings to his skin, and it washes over you. You listen to his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize what you just said. The two of you haven’t exactly said it before. You feel Poe freeze beside you, and your heart drops. You mentally kick yourself. How could you say that right now?

“I love you too,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You blush furiously as he tilts your head up with his thumb and forefinger. “To the edge of the universe and back.” He presses his lips to yours, feather soft.

“I love you,” you say again, just because you can. He smiles softly.

“I’m proud of you, I want you to know that,” he says after a while. “For...getting through all this. I know it hurts, and it’ll stay that way for a bit, but…” he pauses, taking your hand in his. “But I’ll always be here if you need me. To talk, or just listen. You can lean on me, ok?”

“Ok,” you say quietly, looking up into his eyes.

“Ok,” he whispers.

“Ok.” You smile, and his heart flips at the beauty of it. He pulls you into his chest once more, and you’re out like a light almost instantly. He presses his lips to your forehead before drifting off, holding you tightly in his arms.

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fluff #star wars angst #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #fluff #angst #fluff and angst

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sjmsstuff · 3 years

Text

Light and Dark

Chapter 3

A/N: back at it again, this time with a slightly shorter chapter, I’ve been swamped with work, don’t hate me x. Small bit of angst but like not loads.

Warnings: major warning for sexual abuse if you want to skip it just stop reading at <~> and start when you see it again, just know Gwyn had a nightmare.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,

Gwyn was entirely sure she was an idiot.

A fool, an imbecile, an utter buffoon.

She could hardly look at Az all morning at training and then she could hardly think of anything but him as she worked in the library.

Nesta came down an hour after they parted at training, looking flushed and happy.

It was astonishing the difference between who she was when she first arrived and the female who stood before her now. Happiness radiated from Nesta when it used to disapate in her presence. Her slender frame was no longer thin and skinny but toned and full. Her eyes looked less weary and the bags had disappeared.

The two friends chatted as Nesta completed her duties for Clotho and Gwyn scampered through the jobs Merril had given her.

Thankfully the cranky priestess was cloistered in her office for the evening, meaning Gwyn could talk without needing to look over her shoulder every few minutes, like a guilty man waiting to be apprehended.

Merril was still researching the idea of multiple worlds layering on top of each other. To be completely honest Gwyn had no idea what she was on about half the time but nodding and scurrying hadn’t failed her yet.

She left Nesta hours later to return to the dreaded office with an assortment of copied and highlighted texts that Merril had requested, each organised and double checked to avoid any scenes.

Though Gwyn had thoroughly enjoyed the first clash of her friend and her superior, she was not especially eager for a rematch. Clotho may be upset if one of the cleverest priestesses could no longer write.

Or breathe.

Merril was sitting with her back to the door when Gwyn entered, so she quietly deposited the books on a small table. Merril waved her off without looking up and Gwyn took that to mean she was dismissed.

Dinner was a dismal affair. She was close with a few of the other girls but shared nothing like the connection she, Nesta, and Emerie lived for. Probably because she hadn’t killed and nearly died for her fellow priestesses.

They were missing out.

Gwyn returned to her dormitory that night, resolutely not thinking about hazel eyes, soft mouths or slender, scarred fingers.

Instead she drifted off to sleep, humming a quiet melody.

<~>

Hands grabbed her waist, her heart. Someone was screaming, it sounded like her sister but she wasn’t sure.

She wasn’t even sure how she could hear anything over the pounding heartbeat in her ears.

How could Gwyn have a heartbeat when she was dead? Maybe she wasn’t dead yet, maybe she was just dying. It would be over soon.

Men laughed around her. Bile crept up her throat.

Her skirts were around her waist.

Cold wood bit into the back of her bare thighs.

Her thighs were forced open. There was a speck of soot on the ceiling.

Someone should probably clean that off.

She thrashed but it was no use when her wrists were locked. They felt trapped in stone.

Stone that smelled of death and stone that dug it’s nails into her wrists, biting like the teeth of a hound.

His sweat dripped down onto her face. It felt too similar to blood. The children’s blood, Catrin’s blood.

He robbed that special occasion from her. She wanted it to be important, it was supposed to be important, that moment in a woman’s life and it was stolen.

He was finished.

More lined up.

She stopped thrashing. She couldn’t move.

Broken.

Another unbuckled his belt.

A slash of red, then glowing blue siphons and-

<~>

Gwyn woke with a gasp.

She was out of bed and tugging on a dressing gown before she could even think about what she was doing.

Out of the dormitories and up into the library. It was quiet, fae lights burned low and sleep hung heavy in the silence.

It was probably hours away from dawn.

Up the stairs and there, a door. She swung it open and Nesta stood before her.

“Gwyn? What are you-“ Nesta looked concerned, Gwyn probably looked a state.

Cassian stood behind his mate, blade in hand, scanning the hall.

Nesta reached for her but she jerked out of reach, she needed-

“Gwyn?”

A smooth, deep voice. She almost collapsed in relief.

Instead she turned towards the warrior standing at the foot of the stairs.

Gwyn fell against his chest before she realised she had moved. Strong hand wrapped around her, then quickly withdrew. Soft shadows encased her instead. Singing soft words of comfort and they soothed her.

Azriels chest rumbled as he spoke to Nesta and Cassian. Then he attempted to guide her up the stairs but she clung to him.

He was the only solid thing in the raging sea and she wasn’t going to let go of her lifeline.

Instead Azriels strong arms wrapped around her legs and waist and she was softly carried into a room that smelled like home. ***

Gwyn woke hours later as dawn filtered through large windows that covered one wall. She was curled in an armchair, a softly moving pillow rising and falling beneath her head.

A pillow that smelled a lot like Azriel.

She shifted slightly in his lap to look up at his sleeping face. Dark eyelashes that shadowed high cheekbones, fluttered slightly. Gwyn shifted some more, readying to get up, but strong arms wrapped around her, tucking her in close, burying his head in her hair.

She sat there, comfortable in Azriels arms for minutes or hours until the sun rose fully, bringing with it the realisation of where she was, and what had brought her to this comforting embrace.

Embarrassment shifted her weight again, waking Azriel fully. His arms loosened, hazel eyes filling with concern, no doubt from the memories of the night before.

Gwyn rose fully, “Thank- Thank you for that,” she gestured vaguely to the chair they had been tucked in on, “But it really wasn’t necessary for you to sleep with me in your arms, your neck probably hurts and you would’ve been more comfortable in your own bed, not that I’d want to be in your bed,” Gods what was she saying? “It’s just that you probably would’ve been-“

“Gwyn.” Az still lay prone in the armchair, wearing loose bottoms and a thin sleeping shirt. Gods he was pretty in the early sunlight.

“Ye- Yes?”

“It’s alright,” He smiled softly, “I’ve slept in worse conditions and you didn’t really want me to let you go.”

Mother, could she get any more red?

“And, well,” he coughed slightly, “it didn’t really seem proper to bring you to my bed.”

Yep, she definitely could get more red.

“Oh, well, em, thank- thank you, again” she was making it worse.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Yes? No, she wasn’t ready to relive that experience before breakfast. She had only told two people what happened. Nesta and Emerie. Azriel knew because he was there but she wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“No, I’m fine.”

His expression was unreadable, but he rose, “Come, let’s eat breakfast. Cass and Nesta might join us, if they can separate for long enough.” ***

Nesta and her mate were indeed sitting next to each other at the table when Gwyn entered.

Nesta smiled kindly at her and Cassian winked in greeting before returning to the conversation with his mate. Gwyn took in the easy nature with which they chatted, Nesta occasionally leaning back to laugh at something Cassian said, the way Cassian’s eyes seemed to flare with pride every time.

She glanced over at Azriel who sat across the table from her and realised he had been watching her.

She resisted the temptation to look down, instead keeping his gaze and smiling back when he smirked at her.

Gwyn realised belatedly that Nesta had said something to her.

“What?”

Her friend’s eyes flickered between Gwyn and Azriel, “I said ‘you and I need to get Emerie and go to Velaris’. Rhys kindly agreed to winnow us and he’ll be here in about an hour.”

Gwyn’s brows furrowed, “Why are we going to Velaris?”

Gwyn had been to the city of starlight only a few times, but enjoyed each excursion immensely.

Nesta smirked, “We’re going dress shopping for Starfall.”

Chapter 4

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Tag list: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @illyrian-valkyrie @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @gwynkyrie @acourtofmidnightsnacks @simpforfictionalmenandwomen @bittermuire @mirubyai @velvetrays

#sjmsstuff writes #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel #light and dark #light and dark ch 3 #acosf spoiler #acosf

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cutesilyo · 3 years

Text

no place in the world (like manila) — an amephil fanfic

A few months after the outbreak of the Philippine-American War, Alfred falls in love with and is betrayed by a bright-eyed teenager with the prettiest smile on this side of the Orient in a single night.

This is not a love story.

Also available on AO3.

—

"Sir, I don't think it's safe for you to leave the camp," Major-General MacArthur warned. "I don't know how, but the revolutionaries know your face. They could attack you!"

"Pshaw," Alfred snorted. "I'm a nation. What could they do that could take me down, huh?"

MacArthur's mustache bristled in displeasure. "Be that as it may sir, might I remind you that you only arrived in Manila a week ago? Knowing you, you'd just get lost and I'd have to put together a whole squad of troops just to hunt you down. You could get captured, Alfred. I don't know how to tell you just how badly that would bring down morale."

Alfred just wagged his fingers, a bright grin on his face. "Look, if I get captured, I'd bust out of whatever crappy holding place they'd put me in without barely breaking a sweat! And knowing our soldiers, that's just the stuff that would make a great story to tell at dinnertime. How's that for morale?"

The way that MacArthur simply stared at him blankly told Alfred that this was not a convincing argument.

"I hate it when you do that," he groaned, slumping back on his seat. The leather was hot with the heat of the tropical sun and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. Oh, how badly he wanted to just finally get up and leave. "I'm just saying, I can't stay inside here forever just waiting for you to dictate our next move."

"It's part of our strategy—"

"And it's boring. I'm bored, Major-General. I might as well look around." Alfred's eyes glinted dangerously. "Besides, you'll capture the whole nation for me soon enough, won't you? No harm in wanting to see what we're winning once this war is over."

The silence lasted for a few seconds before the major-general sighed in defeat.

—

Private Patton R. Wilkes was assigned to “accompany” Alfred while he roamed around Manila, but he knew that MacArthur just wanted someone to make sure he would actually return to camp instead of getting lost or, God forbid, taking the next ship back to America. Though the both of them were dressed in civilian clothing, the private carried himself with a strict stiffness that just screamed hardened military man. If Alfred wanted any chance of escape, it looked like the private would be hard to shake off.

Alfred tried to stay optimistic about the trip anyway. He hadn't paid much attention to the city while he was on the way to the American camp, but he certainly expected it to have an air of exoticness. He was a bit disappointed not to see anything like the palaces of Japan or the distinctly oriental architecture of China. Instead, he found street signs written in Spanish, the excited chatter of fast-talking brown-skinned people, and the cacophony of guitars, church bells, and the sound of horse-drawn carriages trotting along the stoned roads. Walking around Manila was like looking at a funhouse mirror version of Mexico: more or less the same, but with just enough differences to make his head spin.

"Uh, you alright there, sir?" Patton asked.

"Was just thinking about a bad memory, is all," Alfred grimaced. He's sure that Alejandro would have his head once he returned to the continent. He's been pissing off a lot of Spanish-speaking nations recently, that's for sure. "Come to think of it, the Philippine Islands must have its own personification too, right?"

The private's face darkened. "He's a force to reckon with, sire. Haven't seen no hide nor hair of him myself, but some guys in the other squadron barely survived after fighting with the kid."

"A kid?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't know there were still nations out there who were that young. Then again, he was only a teenager himself, and he was even younger when he fought against Arthur as well. "I don't know how I feel about fighting a kid. Couldn't I just give him a lollipop or something and this could all just work itself out?"

He meant it as a joke, but Patton seemed to take it seriously and started furiously shaking his head. "Don't think you could even try negotiating with him sir, the kid's a savage. Hacked and slashed his way through the guys with some kind of golden knife, they said. We're lucky our medics are so darned fast, otherwise, we would've been down almost a dozen men from him alone."

Something in Alfred's resolve hardened at the thought of losing his soldiers to someone so brutal. He clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Don't you worry, Pat. We'll end this soon, and when we win, we'll make sure that nobody from these islands ever lays a hand on any of our own."

That seemed to comfort Patton somewhat, though he was still shaking with anger. "I'll give them a good walloping right by your side, sire."

"Now that's the kind of patriotic determination I wanna see!" Alfred crowed. He then immediately scrambled for his wallet and hurriedly gave the private a wad of bills. Some onlookers openly gawked at seeing the number of dollar bills in his hand. "Tell you what, why don't you buy some booze, head back to camp, and inspire your fellow soldiers, eh? God knows we need some fun around here."

"Um," Patton blinked, caught off-guard. "I don't know if Major-General MacArthur—"

"Tell Major-General MacArthur that I'm just trying to boost morale," Alfred winked. "Also, tell him I'll back by next morning!"

He didn't get to hear Patton's response as he took off running wildly in the opposite direction. He barely registered running past the stores, wet market, and the cathedral; he just wanted to be alone and independent, exploring this new land to his heart's content. The buildings were shorter and the roads were narrower here than in his own country, but Alfred was just so glad to finally be in a place filled with people just like he was used to.

Alfred collapsed on his knees, winded. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that he had apparently made it to one of Manila's many ports. Past the numerous small fishing boats and trading boats, he could see that the sun was already beginning to set. The sky was painted in a pretty combination of pinks and oranges in contrast to the ocean's blue, the stars already starting to twinkle faintly into appearance one by one. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the rocks seemed louder than everything else around him — a stark reminder that no matter where he went, there was always something bigger to discover.

He stood there for a moment, mesmerized when a loud grunt startled him out of his stupor.

He turned to find some kind of bull staring at him with its beady eyes, its long horns curving towards the back instead of to the front. It was pulling a wagon full of leafy vegetables that Alfred couldn't recognize, and the old man riding it looked startled to come across a foreigner.

"Hijo, padaan naman po," he said, with a strained smile.

"Oh, sorry, I don't know what you mean," Alfred tried, but the man just continued smiling at him. He was starting to think that maybe abandoning Patton, who wasn't fluent but at the very least conversational in Tagalog, was a bad idea.

Luckily, someone came to his rescue. A teenager with bright eyes approached him, an amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. He was dressed simply: unlike the suit and tie ensemble of the richer Filipinos he'd come across or the pale blue uniform of the Philippine Army, he wore a thin white top and trousers cut just above his ankles. The scabbard on his hip would have been concerning if Alfred didn't know just how many Filipinos carried knives in their daily lives. All in all, he looked just like any other street vendor, but the red handkerchief tied around his neck was vibrant enough to make him stand out. "You are American, yes?"

"Ah yeah," Alfred flushed, a bit flustered. The way the stranger leaned in was a little too close for comfort, but he looked harmless and at least he spoke English. "Can you help me? I think that man is talking to me, but I can't understand what he's saying."

The teenager grabbed his arm to pull him to the side. The old man tipped his straw hat in thanks, and the teenager smiled, saying: "Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito."

The two of them watched the wagon pass them by. They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Alfred blurted out, "I didn't know I was in the way, I swear."

"You did seem quite distracted." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other boy laugh. The both of them turned to each other at the same time, a small smile on each other's faces. "Not that I blame you. I am sure you have sunsets in America, but it is different here than in other countries. I think the colors are more vibrant, do you agree?"

"Certainly takes my breath away," he admitted. "I do have to ask, how come you speak English so well? I've only been in Manila for a few days but I don't think I've met another Filipino that's as good as you are."

The teenager only laughed again and held on to Alfred's arm tighter. As he looked up at him, his eyes and grin were equally bright with mirth; and despite himself, Alfred was a bit charmed. "Us Filipinos are not as stupid as you think, señorito. Now, you say you are a stranger to Manila, yes? Come with me, and let me show you around my city."

—

They ended up hailing a tranvia, a carriage made to carry a whole group of people instead of just a pair. Alfred found it small and quaint, making an internal note to build tram lines in the city once he was able. Yet the energy that the teenager had with him was larger than life. He had apparently noticed the other passengers giving Alfred a suspicious side-eye, and immediately launched into a round of jokes to dispel the tension. Though he barely understood the jokes due to them being told in a mix of Spanish and Tagalog, the way that the whole tranvia burst into loud laughter was enough to assure him that his companion was quite the comedic performer.

When they got off, the driver even thanked them for the entertainment and told them not to pay the fare anymore. Alfred let out an excited whoo! as the teenager did an exaggerated bow.

As the carriage rode off, Alfred turned to his new friend and exclaimed, "Wow! The way you handled that was amazing! I mean, I've been through worse than an awkward train ride, but you definitely saved my ass back there."

The teenager blushed slightly. "Think nothing of it. I would rather see my companions happy and comfortable in my care than anything else."

"Still, that thing you did was certainly a swell sight." Alfred breathed in the cold evening air and let it out with a contented sigh. He looked straight into the other boy's eyes as he said, "And it's really nice that you're going through all the trouble to be with me tonight too! Like, we don't even know each other's names but you just whisked me away like some kind of fairytale hero! That was really awesome of you, I have to say."

"You are a man of sweet words," the teenager said, with a smile that looked almost bittersweet. Then, as if he had completely forgotten about his melancholy, he grabbed Alfred's arm again and dragged him towards the next street corner. "But let us not waste time talking! Most of these shops close soon, and I would hate for us to miss them!"

Helpless, Alfred let himself be strung along.

Sadly, most of the shops they went past had already closed for the day. Still, the teenager cheerily talked his ear off about what wares they sold and the local gossip about the people who ran those stores — like Pepito, owner of the clay pottery store, who had apparently given away all his lotto winnings to the next city's blacksmith. The one time that they had actually been able to buy something was when they came across a small, brightly-colored cart that apparently sold the Filipino version of ice cream. Both the vendor — Mang Tomas, as he was introduced — and the teenager had chuckled when he brought out a wallet full of dollars, so the teenager had to reach into his own pocket to pay with a few coins. As they walked past yet another cathedral, Alfred caught his friend singing the hymns under his breath. When they reached the plaza, the teenager then asked the lady standing nearby — Aling Nena, he was told — to give him a jasmine garland, the scent of the white flowers so powerful that it immediately made Alfred sneeze on his friend's face when he put them around his neck. Yet instead of getting mad like he expected, the teenager had only laughed and told him he looked handsome.

No matter where they went or who they talked to, his friend always seemed to know everyone's names. Alfred had no idea how he had the time to possibly get so familiar with all the people around him, but he certainly understood the sentiment; he loved talking with all the Americans that he came across with too. Personally getting to know the people who made his nation always made him feel more connected with them in a way that war and politics never could.

And if the Philippine Islands was truly to be his someday, Alfred knew he wanted to treat them similarly. More than anything or anyone else though, nobody in the archipelago had intrigued him most than the young man beside him whose smile was brighter than any star.

Yet all his experience in small talk failed him tonight, and not for lack of trying. Every time he asked questions about his friend, he was always diverted away from the topic.

Which part of the city are you from? was met with a vague Do you ask the flower which vine it came from? You are better off simply enjoying the whole garden.

Where is your family? had been completely ignored as his friend said You must be hungry, yes? I know a place with the best empanadas this side of Binondo.

What is your name? earned him a cheeky wink and a teasing If your mind still ventures to inane questions like that, then I am not doing very well in completely impressing you.

How old are you? made the teenager burst out into loud, hearty laughter that lasted for more than a minute. Alfred didn't even bother to try asking anything else after that, choosing to focus on his empanadas and arroz a la valenciana for the rest of the meal.

Later, when they were served a bottle of gin to share along with a bowl of peanuts, his friend had the grace to apologize for his behavior.

"I truly am sorry," he said, but the playful grin on his face made it difficult to take his apology seriously. "I simply do not think that you knowing more about me is more important than us having a good time together."

"How am I supposed to find you again if I don't know who you are, huh?" Alfred couldn't stop himself from whining. He ignored the glass in front of him, taking a swig straight from the bottle and letting the alcohol burn down his throat. His friend watched him in bemusement. "This has been the best night of my life in a long time. And if this is the last time we see each other, I don't think I'm going to forgive myself if I don't push you into giving me a hint."

This time, it was his friend's turn to take a drink: he filled his glass half-full and downed it all in one go. "You are certainly bold, señorito, I will give you that. A good friend of mine warned me about how loud and annoying Americans were, but it seems he neglected to tell me about how forward you all were as well."

Alfred resisted the urge to roll his eyes; of course, he would get deflected yet again. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more about your friend."

The teenager looked surprised. "You wish to know more about a man that insulted you?"

"If this is the closest I get to you telling me more about yourself, I'll take it," he shrugged. "Besides, I'd love to know how this friend of yours thinks. Americans are the greatest people in the world! He must be stupid if he doesn't know that."

The other boy laughed. "Of course you would say that, you biased brute. And I will have you know that my friend was quite smart, actually. One of the smartest men I have ever known."

Alfred felt like he wouldn't like the answer, but he asked anyway: "Was?"

All traces of laughter from his friend's face faded away into a hollow smile. "Killed by firing squad a few years ago."

Silently, Alfred poured gin into both of their glasses. They drank in solemn solidarity.

"My sincere condolences," said Alfred, and he meant it: he had lost too many friends himself over the centuries. "And I'm sorry I called him stupid."

His friend waved it off. "No worries. Pepe was incredibly intelligent, but he definitely had his fair share of stupid moments — you wouldn't believe how many times that man fell in love over the course of his short lifetime. Still, I miss him terribly and I wish he was still around. God only knows what he would have thought about everything happening at present."

"Oh, I know the feeling." Despite him dying decades prior, Alfred still longed for George Washington's steadfast guidance sometimes. He reached, a bit messily, for another drink. "It's uncanny, yeah? Some people just have this weird ability to analyze the present and predict the future. I certainly don't know how they do anything like it, really. I kind of just talk big and hope for the best."

"Funny that you talk about the future," the teenager chuckled. "Somehow, my friend even managed to predict that you would come here, Alfred. I did not believe him at the time, of course, but here you are."

"Here I am," Alfred repeated faintly. "Hold on, how did you know my—"

"Why were you all alone in my city, señorito?" His friend interrupted, looking up at him through his eyelashes. He leaned closer, close enough for the skin of their arms to touch, and Alfred suddenly forgot about all his worries. "I was very surprised to see you on your own, looking every bit like a lost little lamb. You are very lucky that I found you."

"Lucky indeed," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his shirt. It felt like the temperature in the room had risen by a dozen degrees. "Just wanted to explore, is all. MacArthur told me we had to stay low for a few more weeks, I got bored, and he let me out."

Those bright eyes were practically glittering as the teenager looked up at him, his fingers slowly tracing up his arm. "And you were alone? I always thought American soldiers traveled in pairs, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"No! No, you're right, you're definitely right," Alfred stammered out. He was sure his face was completely red by now. "I was with Private Wilkes earlier, but we, ah, got separated. He must be on the way back to Bulacan by now."

"How unfortunate," the other practically purred, clearly delighted. "Say, tell me, how did this Wilkes look like? Because I am sure that he does not look as handsome as you do."

That damned smile, now coy instead of kind and sweet, was tantalizingly close. If only he had the courage to lean down—

Alfred, trying desperately to distract himself, grabbed the bottle again and took a long swig.

There were about a million promises that threatened to spill from Alfred's lips, each one more outrageous than the other: Come with me. Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I'll love you. Yet at the moment, he found himself tongue-tied. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way the young boy across the table had so effortlessly allured him, but he felt like he was about to go insane. He barely registered the both of them standing up to leave, didn't question why they didn't need to pay at the restaurant, paid no heed to what his friend had whispered to the men standing guard by the door. His mind was in a muddy haze, and all he could focus on was the fact that his friend was holding his hand as he was led into the dark streets.

Dimly, Alfred thought that however striking he looked by the setting sun, he looked much more ethereal bathed in moonlight.

He must have said this aloud because the teenager laughed.

"You are a man of sweet words," he said, and there's that oddly bittersweet smile again. "And I wish we could have met in better circumstances."

"What's wrong with the way we met today? I had fun," Alfred argued. He swayed slightly on his feet, and his friend held on to him to keep him from falling. "Didn't you have fun?"

"You forget we are at war, señorito. And you forget that you are seeking to control me and my people, not find a lover." Despite the harsh words, the way his friend said this was soft and sad. Almost like he was somehow hurt. "It does not matter what we feel today if we are bound to fight each other tomorrow. Should you not know this by now?"

They walked together in silence, each supporting the other. Slowly, Alfred's alcohol-induced dizziness began to subside. It was replaced by a growing emptiness in his chest — and a heavy, heavy realization.

"You knew I was America this entire time." When his friend deigned to respond, he continued. "Then, why...?"

At this, the teenager laughed — broken and wistful and desperate, all at once. "I do not know myself. I was ready to attack you, but for some reason, the look in your eyes as you watched the sunset stopped me. I thought, if you could look at my country with such amazement, then you could see that this war is unnecessary. That if you could know my land and my people the way I knew them, full of vibrancy and color and light, then you could realize that they did not deserve to die.

"Yet as the night went on I began to realize my efforts were fruitless. It was not them you were looking at anymore, but me." Here, his friend faced him; Alfred barely catching a glimpse of his wet eyes before the teenager looked away. "Believe me, I would love to spend another night like this with you. But you have your responsibilities and so do I."

"Fruitless," Alfred repeated hollowly. The cold night wind was in stark contrast to the hot rage he felt bubbling inside him. He forcefully wrenched himself away from his friend, yelling: "You made me tell you classified information!"

In seconds, he watched the teenager's face go from shock to hurt to an angry glare.

"Do you not understand how badly I need to win this war? My people did not give their lives to free me from Spain just so you could swoop in and take over! So forgive me, señorito," his friend spat mockingly, "for trying to find whatever advantages my poor nation can get against such an imperialistic nation like you!"

"And do you not understand what we're trying to do here?" Alfred shouted. "We are fighting this war to save you! Don't you see that your country is a mess? That you're underdeveloped, uneducated, and unfit for self-rule? I was the hero who helped save your people from Spain, jackass, and—"

"—and you promised to give us independence, and yet all your countrymen seem to do is kill." The teenager finished, both his eyes and the hilt of his knife glinting golden under the moonlight. "Is that what freedom means to you, America? I beg to differ."

As Alfred stepped away from him in furious, furious betrayal, all he could think about was that the other boy looked so small.

"I thought of you as my friend," he said.

"And I thought of you as my liberator," the teenager said coolly. "I see we were both wrong."

A harsh whinny interrupted them both. Alfred turned to find Patton riding a chestnut brown horse, his face red from exhaustion but seemingly unharmed. The private stopped in front of him, dismounting without grace on the pavement. His face was red from exhaustion and his clothes looked considerably ruffled, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"It ain't my position to say this sire, but don't you dare ever try to run away from me like that again," Patton panted, giving a quick side-eye to the other teenager before dismissing him. "We best hurry now, because those two won't be happy about their stolen horse."

Just as he was about to ask who those two were, a pair of Filipinos with muskets turned the corner and ran towards them. He vaguely recognized them as the same two men who were standing guard at the restaurant. They shouted loudly, a mix of Tagalog and Spanish expletives that Alfred could barely recognize, and a phrase distinct enough that he felt like it was something significant: amang bayan.

Patton evidently recognized the words. He looked at him in a wide-eyed panic, saying, "Sire, we need to leave—"

And as quick as lightning, Patton fell to the ground with a sickening crack. Caught completely off-guard and his arms restrained, he was helpless against the teenager who had a knife at his throat: a knife that, as Alfred began to realize with a horrified lurch of his stomach, was engraved with golden flowers and the insignia of an eight-rayed sun.

"You must be Private Wilkes," the Philippines smiled. "I do hope you are enjoying my country."

"Get off him or else!" Alfred screamed, the combined events of the night making him feel like he was about to reach his breaking point. He reached for the pistol he kept hidden on his belt and took aim, hoping to God that the other nation wouldn't force him to shoot. Even after everything, he didn't feel like he had the nerve to hurt Philippines after the hours they spent together; maybe some other day, but not tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the two men had caught up to them. They angled their muskets at him from a distance. The horse, which Alfred had been planning to use for escape, had already taken off running in the commotion.

Patton stared up at him with fear in his eyes, a bleeding gash on his forehead, and Alfred's hands began to shake.

Above all else, Philippines was still smiling: eyes bright, amused twitch of the lips on his sharp face. Slowly, he stood to approach him.

Like a switch had been flicked, his features turned soft and kind again — more like the boy that Alfred had met earlier, the boy who had dragged him around the streets of Manila with lighthearted laughter, the boy whose smile was brighter than any star. All Alfred could do was stand there, mesmerized once again, as his hand was gently pried away from the gun.

"Alfred," Philippines said this quietly, almost like he was invoking a prayer. He motioned the men to stand down. "I do not wish to fight."

"I don't want to either," Alfred admitted. Maybe there was hope... "C'mon, we can talk this through, right? Look, we haven't had a battle in months. It should be really easy to negotiate, yeah? I'll set up a meeting with your generals and mine, we'll have a civil discussion with no weapons allowed, and we'll reach a compromise."

The other nation was leaning in, and this time, Alfred took his chance. He held Philippines' cheek in his hands and they kissed, soft and quick and chaste.

"Of course," Alfred said, as he pulled away. "I would need your complete surrender—"

He was swiftly kneed in the stomach, disarmed, and shot.

"Alfred, I do not wish to fight," Philippines said, as he watched Alfred collapse to the ground. "But I have to. I hope you understand."

He vaguely registered Patton reaching out to him as his eyes closed and the blood pooled around him, but all he could focus on was watching the other nation walk away into the darkness.

—

When Alfred came to, he was already back at camp. Without thinking, he immediately trudged to the general's war office.

"Good morning, Major-General MacArthur," he smiled, bright and cheery. "Gather the troops. I want to destroy Manila immediately."

—

Notes:

This is set in October 1899, during those months when there were no battles or skirmishes between the two armies. On the first day of November, the Americans launched a major attack on the Filipinos. This attack happened in San Fabian, Pangasinan, not in Manila, but let's forget about that.

Major-General MacArthur is, of course, Arthur MacArthur Jr., who was a major military figure during the Philippine-American War. I also claim artistic license in hinting that the American camp was in Bulacan because it probably wasn't.

Alfred's comments about Manila looking like Mexico are based on a comment by former president Manuel L. Quezon when he visited Mexico back in 1937: "Everything was the same." He meant that very, very affectionately.

Here's a nifty map of modern Manila. Alfred and Patton start out in Quiapo, which is basically the heart of downtown Manila. Alfred runs all the way to Muelle del Rey, which, coincidentally, happens to be the same place where the Jones Bridge stands today. Alfred and Phili take the tranvia to Binondo, Manila's business district and home to the world's oldest Chinatown.

The names of the store owners and vendors that Phili talks about are references to assorted media in Philippine pop culture. Pepito is a reference to Pepito Manaloto, a long-time comedy show about a man who won the lotto. Mang Tomas (Mang being an informal way to refer to a male adult older than you) is the name of a popular brand of gravy. Aling Nena (Aling being an informal way to refer to a female adult older than you) is a reference to the song Tindahan ni Aling Nena, about a boy who falls in love with a storeowner's daughter.

The garland of white jasmines that Phili puts around Alfred's neck are supposed to be sampaguitas, our national flower. They're usually sold near churches and are given as a sign of respect.

I have no idea if there are actually empanadas and valenciana sold somewhere in Binondo, but let's jot that down to artistic license. But these are very much Filipino foods that were adapted from Spanish foods, which is why Phili brings it up when Alfred asks about his family.

The old friend that Phili keeps talking about is Jose Rizal, our national hero. He is primarily known for being a great writer, whose novels inspired the Philippine War for Independence, and for being killed for it. He is also known for being having a long list of lovers, many of them not even Filipino. Lesser known is the fact that he visited America, hated it, went on a train ride with an American, and hated it. He wrote a whole diary entry about how much he didn't like America and Americans. He had also predicted that out of all the world powers, it would be America who would probably take an interest in conquering the Philippines when Spain was out of the picture. Go figure. Rizal was also affectionately known by his nickname, Pepe.

I imagine Phili to be particularly proficient in arnis, which is also known as kali or eskrima. It's a kind of Filipino martial art, most easily recognizable as that one martial art where everyone is dual-wielding a pair of sticks. The sticks are actually for training. Traditionally, arnis is fought by dual-wielding knives or swords, and it's meant to be quick and efficient in defending, attacking, disarming, and killing. Phili's fictional ornately designed knife is inspired by this very real ornately designed knife. The detail of the eight-rayed sun is a reference to the eight-rayed sun in the Philippine flag.

Lastly (phew!), some Tagalog to English translations!

Hijo, padaan naman po - Young boy, kindly let me pass Pasensya na po, lolo! Hindi kasi taga-rito - Sorry, grandfather*! He's not from around here. Lolo literally means grandfather but is a general way to refer to any elderly man regardless of any actual blood relation. Amang bayan - Fatherland

#hws #hws america #hws philippines #usph #amephil #hetalia philippines #hetalia america #aph philippines #aph america #historical hetalia #mine

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Official Accounts Part 20- Rescue

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for canon-typical violence, major character injury, and manga spoilers

Masterlist

No one had come rushing down the stairs after Dabi had alerted you a guest had arrived. Nor had Dabi felt inclined to go check who it was, much to your chagrin. “Hmm, seems our little guest is shy. Shall we call whoever they are down?” Dabi asks. You don’t dignify his question with a response and choose only to glare at him. He saunters up to you, placing a warm hand on your waist, but soon warm becomes hot and then hot becomes burning. Literally. You grit your teeth for as long as possible, not wanting to give the deranged man in front of you the satisfaction, but eventually the pain grows too intense and you can’t help but cry out.

Hawks flinches at the sound of you crying out. His heart wants him to rush in there but his head knows better. Hawks is a smart, calculating man. He knows that Dabi is intending to get a rise out of him. He knows that in a one-on-one fight between him and Dabi, the other man has the advantage. He knows that back up is on the way. The kind of back up that will make this a quick and easy job. He knows all this. His commission approved, highly tuned instincts know this. A small, unhelpful voice in the back of his head reminded him that the last time he chose his brain over his heart in regards to you it had cost him your affections. Is that why every single cell in his body is telling him to go in anyway? No. Hawks would wait. Because it was the rational and logical option. It was the option that was least likely to get both of you killed. He could wait the 10-15 minutes max it would take for one of the others to get there. But then you cried out again, and without him consciously deciding to, Hawks was speeding to your location as if his body was moving of its own accord.

The minute he had eyes on Dabi, Hawks lunged forward and slashed at the other man, aiming for the seams between his healthy and scarred skin. He manages a couple hits but Dabi had been anticipating the winged hero so he quickly moved away from you and out of the way. “Ohh I was hoping it’d be you that showed up!” Dabi laughs. “You should’ve left her out of this,” Hawks growls back. His instincts were on fire in a way they’d never been before. Not the refined instincts of the HPSC, drilled into his head since childhood. No these were more primal, more feral, than that. “We both know this isn’t a good match up for you Hawks. What could possibly have driven you to come charging in like this, hm?” Dabi taunts as he unleashes his blue flames in Hawks’ direction. Hawks rolled away as quickly as he could but still winces as he feels some of his feathers get caught in the blaze. “You gonna talk or we gonna fight?” Hawks snarks back before once again diving in to try and close the distance between he and his adversary.

Dabi had chosen his location well. The confined room severely restricted Hawks’ mobility, further disadvantaging him in a fight already not tipped in his favor. To compensate he sent several feathers out to increase the amount of areas Dabi would have to defend. If he had to take the villain down with a thousand tiny cuts instead of a dramatic final slash he would. But Dabi is smart too and so he picked and chose which feathers to ward off and which to let land. As much as Hawks was hanging in there he was literally burning through feathers at an alarming rate and no matter how much he tried to dodge, the tightness of the room pretty much guaranteed he’d take at least a little heat. This was bad. It was really bad. But he couldn’t stop now. So he pressed on and hoped back up would arrive soon.

Your heart had constricted painfully in your chest when you saw Hawks come flying down the stairs. You knew this was not a fight he would likely win. Not alone. Which is why you wasted no time taking advantage of Dabi’s focus being entirely on the winged hero instead of you. Your eyes turned to the chain and handcuffs confining you and you took a deep breath to steady your hands before getting to work. You carefully grab hold of the chain and start pressing it past the raw skin of your wrists to get inside one of the cuffs until you can loop it over your hand. Then, slowly but surely, you’re able to pull it through until you free the handcuffs from the ceiling chain. You immediately begin working the chain connecting the cuffs, trying to line up the links just right to get the tension you need to break them apart. “C’mon, c’mon,” you groan in frustration as your eyes dart between the cuffs and the ongoing fight.

It’s going as poorly as you knew it would. Granted, Hawks is certainly giving a valiant effort. Dabi is cut and bleeding in several places. A few of the staples on his arms and face are even detached. But there is no questioning who is leading. Hawks could barely fly in the confines of the room anyway but now even if he had the space he wouldn’t have the feathers to do so. He’s breathing heavy and there’s already large angry patches of red skin from the burns he’s received. He can’t afford to throw away any more feathers by sending them at Dabi from all angles so the most he can do is duck and weave Dabi’s flames as much as possible to try and get in close and get in an incapacitating hit. Then you see the determined look in his eye, despite the fact he’s fighting a losing battle, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. It’s like watching your mother’s last moments all over again. One lone hero against a force they clearly can’t beat and yet so, so determined to press on. At least back then the tv screen had put distance between you and the struggle. Now you were watching a hero fall in real time.

You watch in horror as Dabi finally gets the hit he was waiting for and Hawks goes careening to the side. You continue to fumble with the cuffs, the tension constantly falling away just before it can break the chain keeping you from helping Hawks. Dabi laughs and it’s a cruel sound as Hawks has no choice but to curl up and cover his head and vital organs from the raging blue flames. Tears are flowing down your face and your vision blurs as you watch Dabi slowly approach the fallen hero before kicking him in the stomach once, twice, three times. The links of the handcuffs catch and once again you begin to bend them in hopes this time the tension will finally break them apart. “What will be left of you if I clip your wings?” Dabi cackles as he reaches for what little is left of the appendages in question. But before he can do anything the cuffs finally snap. Your quirk comes roaring back to the surface and no sooner do you feel it swell within you are you directing every ounce of it at Dabi, your eyes glowing with the power of it. Dabi slams into the back wall and you surge forward to put yourself between him and Hawks, who looks on the verge of passing out. “Well, well, well. He wasn’t kidding when he said your quirk was strong. This makes things interesting,” Dabi smirks as he slowly gets back to his feet. “Really? Because I’m already bored of you,” you fire back before surging forward and wielding your quirk with a ferocity you never had before.

You’re not a trained hero. Technically what you’re doing is illegal, considering you don’t have any kind of hero’s license. None of that matters in this moment though. What Dabi had on you in experience, you compensated for with agility. It isn’t enough to get you a win but it can buy you time as you pray more help is on the way. Your ribs are aching, you’ve acquired several severe burns, and you’re starting to slow down but still you push and for the first time you think you understand why your mother made the choice she did. Suddenly a familiar voice echoes through the room. “DIE!” Bakugo screams as he comes crashing in, tackling Dabi in one explosive move. You don’t stop to see the result, your faith fully in your friend as you rush to where Hawks is lying unconscious on the ground. You wrap one of his arms around your shoulders and do your best to stand, half walking half dragging him out of the room. You don’t look back until you’ve managed to get him outside of the building but even still you can hear the sound of Dabi and Bakugo’s fight.

“Hawks? Hawks! C’mon I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up for me,” you plead as you lay him down on the concrete, kneeling beside him. You pat his face repeatedly until finally you get his eyes to flutter open. “Oh thank god! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Jesus Hawks!” you sigh, already cataloging his various injuries to report to emergency services. “Keigo.” “What?” “My real name. It’s Keigo. You... you can’t use it where someone might hear but you can use it.” His voice sounds so weak you could cry again. “Your eyes are glowing. ‘S beautiful,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to cup your face before passing back out. “It’s gonna be ok Keigo,” you reply in a hushed voice, although you doubt he hears you. It’s not too long after that you hear the familiar rumble of Chargebolt’s motorcycle as he races to the location, Mirko arriving shortly thereafter. “They’re inside! Hawks needs urgent medical attention,” you tell them before they can ask. Mirko gives a curt nod and rushes into the building, following the sounds of the fight. Chargebolt hesitates as his eyes scan over your various injuries, the tear tracks still evident on your face from when you’d been crying earlier. “I’m fine, Denki. I promise. Just toss me your phone so I can call an ambulance and the cops. Dabi stole mine,” you assure him. He nods and does exactly that before racing in to help Mirko and Bakugo. As you dial the emergency services number your gaze returns to the number two hero. Almost all of his feathers have been burned away, leaving just the nubs of his wings and the immobile feathers at their base. Laying on his back the way he is, someone who didn’t know who he was wouldn’t be able to tell he’s supposed to have wings at all. Your heart aches as you can’t help but think how small he looks without them.

Author’s Note: I wanna give a big shout out to @dutchintheusa on tiktok who is the one I got the hack about escaping hand cuffs chained to the ceiling from that (y/n) uses here and how to escape handcuffs without a Bobby pin. He’s got a bunch of emergency/survival escape techniques as well as general advice to stay safe in a scary world. I would highly recommend checking him out. The fight is heavily inspired by the fight between Hawks and Dabi in the manga and the fact I have repeatedly wished I could insert myself into that room and protect Hawks (hence the spoiler tag). Also I listened to Tantrum by Ashnikko on repeat while writing this if you want an idea of the ~vibe~ of the fighting lmao.

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @main-ruthyruth

#wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks #hawks x y/n #hopelessoa

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aku-writes · 3 years

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I tried to flesh out Ji-Woon Hak more. Dunno, key word is tried.

Note: I kept some of BHVRs OG lines from his lore, so please keep that in mind. A good chunk of the beginnging is pretty much bhvrs.

Another note: Everything highlighted in blue is BHVR's original words. This will include rewording.

Ji-Woon Hak thrived under the attention of others, energized by every eye that watched him and every tongue that spoke his name. Amidst the prestige, he had only one desire: more.

Working at his family’s restaurant as a child, he would draw in business with knife-throwing spectacles. Gullible tourists gladly handed over their money to see part of the “traditional Korean experience”. His talent for knife-throwing was not the only thing that brought in customers, Ji-Woon was a natural with his voice and his father only nurtured his talent for singing. Ji-Woon’s father spent the restaurant’s earnings on dance lessons and vocal lessons for his son, pushing him to attain the fame he could never achieve.

Ji-Woon did not disappoint.

After years of showing his abilities to nobodies at talent shows, he finally got his wish of a chance of stardom when Yun-Jin Lee, a producer at Mightee One Entertainment, recruited him into her training program. He was swept away as soon as possible to a dormitory in Seoul where, for fourteen hours a day, he was crafted into a star. Ji-Woon was not only taught how to move and sing, but how to carry himself with the right balance of confidence and modesty as well. Each detail was chiseled into him as if he were a statue.

Draining as the process was, it worked. Yun-Jin selected Ji-Woon to join the band NO SPIN, and with him, he brought raw new energy to their tracks that sparked almost immediate fame. Ji-Woon lived in a daze of interviews and adoration, and though the frenzied schedule exhausted his bandmates, he was invigorated by it. Each day was an affirmation that he was greater than the mediocrity society spewed out.

But one person can only take so much pressure. Fame or no fame, Ji-Woon and his bandmates were still drilled on being more than perfect. It may not have taken its toll on him as physically as it had his friends, but those around Ji-Woon could see the change. There was a different spark in his eyes. A spark that would set everything ablaze. Including them.

They screamed out his name as the fire spread through the studio. Smoke filled their lungs as they pounded on the window for him to free them, their escape blocked by fallen speakers. Yet, as he stood there, seemingly frozen in his spot as he stared at the heavy equipment. . .he backed away from them. Ji-Woon’s back soon faced them as he ignored their cries as he quickly made his escape.

To Ji-Woon world had become stale; the fame, the fortune, the attention, all of it was becoming background noise. It was old news, he needed something new in his life, and fate had granted him the change he desired. The death of his bandmates reinvigorated him and his new solo career. No longer was he just part of NO SPIN, now all the eyes would be on him, The Trickster. He rode on the attention his bandmates gave him, moving him into a prosperous career as a solo artist and producer; a wild child with a soft heart hidden beneath the glam.

Something, however, was growing within Ji-Woon; something akin to the embers of obsession. The last words his friends had called out had been his name. Their voices were the fuel that fanned the embers. He needed to hear those cries again, the feeling they sparked in him filled the empty cavity that the staleness had started to create.

But no one could see it, not even through his eyes, the gateway to the soul. A decade of being taught how to be perfect made it an effortless task to hide what had begun to burn within him.

The first time he killed it was at random, a spur of the moment. An open window. A fire escape. A bat to her skull. Gagged and bound, he played with her, dissecting her alive on her bed like a frog. But something was not right, there was no satisfaction in it. All Ji-Woon got from her was muffled cries and please, not the screams and wails he had craved.

But Ji-Woon learned and he adapted. He changed his tactics, from breaking in to abduction. It wasn’t hard for him to find a secluded area to do his dirty work, far from where anyone would hear and soundproof enough to hide the cries he let ring from his victims. Each kill was recorded, each sound was utilized and hidden into the music that he produced. But he did not stop with just incorporating the wails of his victims into his music; Ji-Woon began to leave a trail of breadcrumbs with each murder, a mink boa from a photoshoot around a slashes throat, teeth plucked out to mimic the mouth of a boxer that had appeared in a recent music video.

But he was not garnering the amount of attention he wanted from it. So he struck closer to home. The idol turned his attention to a fan who had recently come to a VIP meeting with him, she was to be his next victim. He brutalized her, keeping her restrained as he beat her. The fan’s wails when he carved his blade through the flesh of her breasts as he slowly spelled out I HAVE SEEN GOD sent shivers down his spine. Ji-Woon waited patiently as she neared death before he struck again. He drove his fingers into her eye sockets gauging the soft and squishy orbs from their holes, vitreous fluids leaking from one of them as it ruptured within his palm. In their place, he pressed the diamond cufflinks he had been wearing down into now empty sockets. There was a second where he paused, only to simply wipe the precious stones clean

But nothing lasts forever. Violence quickly became Ji-Woon’s preferred media of art. His obsession with the cries of death left him a mental wreck, all his focus being on planning and committing the gruesome murders. This, of course, did not play out well in the eyes of the executives. Though he may not have had the largest cut in the company’s revenue, his fame and audience still played a major role in the continued success of the production company.

They were going to give him one last chance. A last chance to create his magnum opus. If not, he was done. He was going to be cut off. Ji-Woon would go back to being nothing but a dying spark of what had been a bright career.

He was incandescent..

Exhaustion was driving his mind in circles of brutal attacks and complete focus on producing a hit with Yun-Jin. But it would be done, it would be his best performance yet. They would all see. The performance would be like none they had ever seen. And it would be their last.

Animosity swarmed in his chest as he strode to the performance room where he was greeted by the filth that sought to throw him out like dirty rubbish. Behind him the door clicked shut, the lock quietly being done to provide some privacy.

The clicks of the heels of his shoes echoed as he walked up to the stage. As the music began, it played like he had started with Yun-Jin, but it slowly faded into a vile and grisely beat. A twirl on his feet hid the motion of drawing a throwing knife from its hidden spot. None had even seen it escape his fingers until it was already lodged into the neck of one of the trash, blood spraying out and coating the desk and floor. It took Ji-Woon no time to fill the room with the stench of death as the blades flew from the tips of his fingers effortlessly, impaling and slicing through soft flesh. The only one who was left untouched by the whirlwind of death was Yun-Jin. She had been the person to drag him out from the grime of the masses. She would be the true VIP of his greatest performance yet.

There was no pause in Ji-Woon’s wave of violence as a dark cloud formed on the floor of the room. Fiery yellow eyes turned to Yun-Jin. She now would have his full attention, and his her’s. She had frozen to her chair the entire time, watching in dreaded awe. He settled the razor tip of a bloodied throwing knife under her pretty chin, tilting her head up towards his face. Gore drenched his clear skin.

But that scared look on her face disappeared as a dark fog began to swallow the room, her lips pursing as she spat in his face just as she was consumed by the plume of inky darkness. A roar of pure rage crawled out Ji-Woon’s throat as he swiped at the empty chair as he too was swallowed in the cloud.

It was not heaven nor hell, nor anywhere in between. It was a land entirely of its own. A stage with thousands of eyes watching him. A stage with many sets. Hunting grounds to make his prey scream beautiful notes for all to hear. All he had to do was accept and the only death in his story would be the continued slaughter of his victims.

His stage is The Fog, and all eyes are on him.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #the trickster #ji-woon #ji woon hak #dbd yun jin lee #yun jin lee #lore #lore rewritie #aku writes

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plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms · 3 years

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Those Linked by Destiny (1)

Summary: Bucky, Sam, and Natasha are on a mission to once again defeat Hydra who this time had opened a time portal that unleashed monsters and beasts that were extinct for centuries for good reason. On the way, they try to recruit the only remaining person who had any knowledge on how to defeat these creatures. Her kind also almost extinct. A Witcher.

Fandoms: Avengers, The Witcher

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Witcher!OFC (Female)

Warnings: Angst (coz this is me), Dry Dark Humour, Violence, Gore, Lots of Blood, Burning Sarcasm, Lots of Cussing

A/N: Hello, beautiful creatures! I’m back with a new hurricane of a crossover. This continues on from my completed series There’s More Than One Way To Start An Apocalypse (AvengersxSupernatural) but this can be read by itself. I made this an OFC instead of an xReader since I needed to be specific with how the Witcher character looked. I hope you enjoy and I welcome all kinds of feedback.

No permission is granted to repost my work. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Masterlist

1: Returning a Favor

The sun was preparing to set when Sam, Bucky, and Natasha reached the small sleepy town. Their clothes were starting to scratch and bite at their skin from the sweat and grime of trying to make it to their destination on foot. They had been taking back roads and keeping to thick forests to keep hidden from Hydra and the monsters they had unleashed. It hasn't always gone smoothly for them.

The Avengers and Team Free Will had split up to tackle three major missions; hunting down every remaining grace powered monster created by the Archangel Michael, re-establishing the Avengers initiative and operations, and this new unfamiliar threat. They had discovered that Hydra was back and had opened a portal that unleashed creatures that were wholly unknown to even the Hunters.

The trio was tasked with gathering as much intel as they could and searching for a friend of Natasha and the Nephilim who they said was the only person who could help them. It had taken them eight months to track down someone who was practically a ghost.

They were all on edge and nearly losing hope, but finally they got a lead on an exact location. It took nearly two weeks to reach the town after a particularly nasty encounter with a cluster of monsters. They were outnumbered and had no knowledge about the enemy to even properly fight. They barely made it out alive.

Sam sat on the forest floor with his back to the trunk of a tree clutching his open abdomen. He was bleeding on the grass and the first aid they had been continuously applying on him was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. They needed to get him patched up properly. Bucky switched his legs to lean more on his left as he crouched behind thick shrubbery beside Natasha. Judging by the sharp pain from his other leg, he was sure it was broken. The female assassin wasn't any better off having taken multiple large slashing wounds to her back.

Bucky suggested that they go back to Avengers headquarters. It was Natasha though that insisted this is where they needed to go. They needed to lie low, heal, regroup, and find backup, but they were running out of time. The more time Hydra was left alone, the worse it was going to get. Bucky was skeptical, especially with Sam clinging on to his life, but he knew that Natasha was in fact right.

In front of them was a medium sized log cabin tucked away in the forest with a garden and a small greenhouse out back. Bucky's enhanced senses could pick up common vegetables and herbs like tomatoes, carrots, and basil, but he also caught whiffs of plants that smelled like exotic flowers of some sort. The house was still fairly close to town with only a 45-minute drive but it was miles away to the next house.

The serene silence of the isolated area was disrupted by peels of laughter from a group of children that were running around the garden. Their hands and clothes were stained with either paint or dirt. Some more gleeful that they had both. Bucky frowned.

Were they supposed to seek shelter in a daycare?

The children would surely be scarred for life if they saw the Falcon bleeding out nevermind who his two companions were. His worry for his friend’s wellbeing clouded the Sergeant’s capability to grasp why this was where they needed to be.

The slow crunch of tires on the dirt road followed by two soft beeps disrupted Bucky's tired brooding. A mini bus parked beside a weathered brown truck in the driveway. A woman came out the back door clutching a child, that was practically a baby with how small it was, securely to her chest. Bucky couldn't see her face, only her slender figure and the wavy hair that fell down her back in a mess of random pastel colors that seemed to be popular with the youth these days. Her short yellow sun dress flowed with each movement she made.

Bucky's doubts at Natasha's plan grew. How could this hipster possibly help them? The low groan of pain from behind reminded him that they had no choice at this point. They were here now and Sam needed urgent medical attention. He would just have to trust Natasha a bit more.

He watched as she instructed the children to put away their art materials and wash up. He watched as she hugged or petted each beaming child as they boarded the mini bus. He watched as she carefully strapped in the baby in his designated seat while exchanging conversation with the middle aged driver who smiled warmly at her. He still couldn't see her face, but he could hear her laugh at something the driver said. After a final wave the bus full of energetic children started to pull out of the driveway.

Bucky's doubts continued to gnaw at him, but now for a different reason. This woman seemed so kind and carefree. Must they really disturb her peaceful life for their chaos? He turned then to voice his worries to Natasha, but before he could get a word out he felt an unbelievably strong force hit his chest and propel him backwards. He was forcefully pinned to a tree with the air knocked clear out of his lungs.

His first instinct was to fight back, but opening his eyes after the attack he froze when he met with the most peculiar yet mesmerizing pair. Round almond shaped and framed with thick heavy lashes were eyes the color of bright molten gold with irises in dark slits like that of a cat's. He would swear they were contacts if he didn't notice how they stretched and dilated as they retained their murderous gaze on him. Her hair fell like a cloud around her face softening her sharp bone structure and the snarl on her gloss covered lips.

So enthralled was Bucky at her unique features, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to register the double bladed axe she held easily with one hand outstretched flush against the skin of his throat. One small flick of her wrist and Bucky would be bleeding to his death in minutes.

"Why have you brought him here, Natasha?" she said, her voice even and low. Bucky noticed a European accent but he couldn't quite place which particular area.

"You know me?" Bucky met her unfaltering glare with his own.

"Everyone knows you, Winter Soldier," she sneered. "Everyone knows all of you."

Bucky scowled at the name. He didn't appreciate the tone she had when she said it. There was an obvious disdain and anger in her tone that he wasn't sure was warranted.

"Easy, Prima. We need your help," Natasha tried to coax her but she did not advance in case she gets provoked.

"And if I refuse?"

"Well then I'm cashing in that favor."

There was a long tense silence before his throat was reluctantly freed. He rubbed the shallow angry line it had left. The woman with cat-like eyes sighed as she swung the large weapon to hook over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. She rolled her eyes before she turned and gestured for you all to follow.

Bucky noted how Natasha's shoulders sagged in relief. She was worried that her contact might decline. They each took one of Sam's sides and practically hauled his barely conscious form to the cabin. They followed the woman into her home, the receding skyline bouncing light and shadow on her figure. It wasn't even ten minutes ago that Bucky was hesitant to disrupt this woman's very normal life, but normal people don't just carry battle axes let alone have the skill to wield it.

"Natasha," he whispered. "What exactly is she?"

Natasha had told them a little about Witchers in between dashing from town to town, but it amused Prima that Bucky was still thoroughly surprised when they actually met her. Clearly she didn't go into the specifics.

He could hear the smirk in her tone despite still having her back to them. She had heard his hushed question despite walking far ahead of them and decided to answer.

"Perhaps we can discuss my nature when your friend is no longer seeping Water Hag poison from his wounds."

"So that's what that thing was. How do you know it's Water Hag poison?" Natasha grunted under Sam's weight.

"I can smell it and that's the only reason I'm granting you this favor."

Prima rushed inside her home ahead of her guests, going quickly to the kitchen to pull out a large tarpaulin from under the sink. She was definitely going to help them but that didn't mean she was going to damn well leave an Avenger to bleed all over her precious furniture.

She opened the chest that doubled as a coffee table and pulled out thick worn blankets. She was already laying these out on the floor by the fireplace by the time the rest of them came through the front door.

Bucky surveyed the room as he entered. It was a force of habit to commit every detail to memory when entering a new environment. Normally it could mean life or death, but in this instance it was pure curiosity with a healthy mix of suspicion.

From the outside, the cabin had looked a decent size but from the inside it looked much bigger. He thought that perhaps it was too much space for someone he presumed was living alone.

The house was a mixture of modern and rustic decorated in wood, metal, and splashes of vibrant color here and there. A gray short hair cat perked up in attention from its bedding as they entered. The main floor was open with no walls dividing areas and a set of stairs led to a spacious loft that again had no partitions. Large windows lined the walls providing an almost 360 degree view to the outside. It was almost like being in a glass box, but he knew for a fact that those windows were heavily tinted outside providing the utmost privacy. The state of the home told Bucky a lot about its owner.

"Lay him down here," Prima said pointing to the makeshift cot. "It's best he is by the fire. We need to keep him warm."

Natasha and Bucky gently laid down their friend as instructed. Sam groaned as the material pressed on his injuries and Natasha made quick work of cutting him out of his ruined tactical gear with her knife. His body relaxed the slightest bit after being freed but this also meant that his wounds opened again to spill more of his blood on the tarpaulin.

"It's worse than I thought," Prima murmured. "Take this and apply pressure to the worst of it. I must prepare a few things."

Natasha nodded as she took the towels from her. She rushed through the back door and from its opening, Bucky could see that she went straight into her greenhouse. She was back within minutes carrying a small woven tray filled with plants he couldn't even begin to identify. The cat followed closely on her heels, the small bell on its neck ringing softly.

She headed straight for the other end of the room to what he initially thought was a library and craft area. Looking at it closely now he could see not only books but a wide array of jars, bottles, and small boxes. She grabbed two containers from the shelves and dropped its contents into a wooden bowl. She began mashing and mixing them together quickly before pouring the strange yellowish liquid into glass vials. She grabbed a few more bottles from the shelves before making her way to kneel by Sam's head.

"Help me sit him up. He needs to drink this."

"I'm not sure about this, Nat," came Bucky's worried tone as he eyed their host with narrowed eyes.

"Bucky!" Nat warned. They didn't have time for this.

"What the hell is even in that?"

"Sergeant Barnes, would you like me to educate you on the finer points of alchemy before or after we save your dying friend?" Prima argued, her jaw clenching. "Clock is ticking, Sergeant. The choice may well be taken from you soon."

Bucky's teeth gritted together as his whole body tensed with the decision. His brow was in knots, but ultimately he knew there was only one decision to make. He cursed under his breath but moved to heave Sam into a sitting position.

Prima uncorked one of the bottles and tipped it over Sam's lips carefully making sure that he took every drop. His face scrunched at the taste but his eyes remained closed, too exhausted to open them. His breathing started to speed up until they were shallow huffs and his temperature steadily rose.

"What the hell's happening to him?" Bucky fumed but Prima held out her hand to halt him as she carefully watched Sam's reactions with her strange cat eyes that were now narrowed into slits.

The air in the room was thick with tension and the only sounds were that of Sam's heavy breathing that was rapidly growing more laborious. When it seemed like he was at the height of his torment, Prima acted fast and shoved a second vial of clear liquid to his lips. He almost choked on the liquid but by some grace of the gods he managed to swallow it all.

After the last drop had gone down his throat, his eyes shot wide open before fluttering close as he dropped unconscious against the pillows. Bucky panicked when he couldn't hear his heartbeat and was about to lash out at Prima again when suddenly a faint thump that was fighting to get steadier met his ears in a manner that was uniquely stubborn like Sam.

Prima took a hand to feel his sweaty face and was relieved to find that his temperature was dropping closer to normal. They were past the worst of it now and she was grateful he took well to the potions. It was a gamble. Humans were not meant to take in Witcher brews. She could have just as easily killed him.

"He should be fine by morning. We must allow the potions do the work for now. I'll keep watch in case he needs another dose."

She grabbed one of the other bottles in her stash and tossed one to Natasha who easily caught it. The assassin raised a quizzical brow at her.

"Take only a small sip, Natasha. Pour the rest of it in the bath upstairs and take a long soak. It should help close up your wounds. You are welcome to rummage through my drawers for clean clothes."

"What happens if she takes more?" Bucky asked.

"Well all her injuries and even scars from her childhood will cease to exist. Every broken bone and illness will be cured," she shrugged as she relaxed against a wall stretching out her legs in front of her. She closed her eyes to allow the tension of the last hour to ease off her body as she absentmindedly stroked the cat that had now curled up contentedly beside her.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Natasha mused before carefully taking only the small sip she recommended.

"And then you die," the Witcher chuckled allowing a sharper than usual canine to peak out from her smile.

Bucky was not amused despite Natasha chuckling at the comment before making her way up the stairs. He was understandably wary of anything chemical to be put inside his body after what Hydra had done to him. Their host seemed to somehow sense this so made no move to offer him any concoction for his injuries.

"Bathroom's through the door behind you should you fancy a shower, Sergeant. There should be clothes in the cupboards too but they might be a tad tight. I'll go into town in the morning to purchase more appropriate wear for you and your friend. First aid kit is under the sink."

Bucky gave a small nod as he silently walked to the door she gestured to. As he meticulously washed the dirt and fatigue from his body, he found his thoughts straying to their unusual host. He had realized that her accent was classic old European, with the kind of vocabulary that prim and proper upper-class citizens used. What did not make sense though was how a European socialite would have the practiced ease of wielding a battle axe. Her cat eyes alone tipped him off that she was not merely human. The more he thought about it, the more everything he knew so far contradicted with each other. He was no closer to figuring her out when he stepped out of the bathroom adjusting the shirt and jeans that clung to him.

He saw the Witcher sound asleep on the floor, her head lolled to the side and her mouth softly parted. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't bring himself to disrupt her peaceful sleep. He instead made his way to crash on the sofa. Sleep came to him as soon as his head met the arm rest. He drifted off with the Witcher's eerie eyes the last on his mind and a nagging feeling that there was something about her that was strangely familiar to him.

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twdeadlysins · 4 years

Text

not the same

pairing: loki laufeyson x reader word count: 1.5k+ summary: you’re used to death because you can see the dead, but nothing prepared you for this. // set during infinity war warnings: infinity war spoilers, major angst, a hint of fluff if you squint, usual marvel themes, and possible typos by yours truly a/n: get the tissues bc this one hurts my soul

gif is not mine

He won.

Thanos won despite all your efforts — despite all the small victories along the way. It really seemed like you were winning and getting the advantage, but maybe you let that get to your head too much.

Maybe, it just wasn’t enough.

No matter how hard you and everyone on your side tried.

Vision died at the hand of Thanos while fifty-percent of the population turned into dust, some right in front of your eyes that were soon blurred by tears.

How were you going to get them back?

Your knees had given out and collided with the ground after witnessing Bucky turn into ash and his gun meet the dirt.

Staring at the spot he once occupied, you even didn’t comprehend Steve trudge over to where his best friend had once stood until he called out your name. You averted your eyes to the blonde with a tear streaming down your dirty and bloody covered cheek, mouth slightly agape with shock and realization at what just happened to all your friends — to your family.

“Y/N, can you see them?”

Attempting to blink the tears away, you sharply inhaled and wandered your eyes around frantically before peering back at the captain with a shake of your head. He combed his fingers through his locks with a defeated sigh as he moved from his crouched position to sit down and hang his head.

The power you had wasn’t exactly the most helpful in fighting bad guys, but it proved handy only if the person no longer existed.

Seeing the dead wasn’t something you were born with, it occurred when you had a near death experience.

Kinda ironic.

The city was under attack and there was an explosion at the cafe you regularly visited. You had flat-lined twice on the operating table and when you woke up, you were met with Tony Stark.

He felt responsible since he couldn’t prevent the explosion and wanted to make sure you were okay. You were in shock, not only because the Tony Stark was in your presence, but your deceased father was in the room.

Tony wanted you to be a part of the Avengers, promising that he and Bruce could aid you in learning and adapting to your new ability. You didn’t think you and your new found “superpower” was worthy of being part of the team, but you accepted nonetheless.

Figuring out your ability was when you also met Loki.

In order for him to stay with the Avengers, he was forced to work with you, Bruce, and Tony in your training and experiments as some sort of punishment.

At first, Loki was a bit of an annoyance, always making snide comments since it was obvious he didn’t want to be there — but they were never directed at you. With the help of the God, you eventually learned that you could summon the dead, but only if they allowed you to — they could choose to stay or leave.

Although most of the time, it was out of your control.

People would show up out of nowhere and you had to concentrate on shutting them out — to decide on whether or not they could be there.

Eventually it was a two way street, either you both agreed to see each other or one of you declined.

During your training sessions whether it be sparring or the fact that you could see the dead, you grew fond of the mischievous man. The two of you soon spent time together outside of your work, learning more about one another and it led into something more — a bond — an undeniable connection — love.

Loki understood the thoughts and concerns you had about seeing ghosts, and the emotional toll it brought upon you. He helped you in any way he could and you did the same for him when he was fighting his demons and his past.

He wanted to be a better person — for you. You were his motivation — his light at the end of a dark and seemingly never-ending tunnel.

“Y/N?”

The blank stare you had on the ground jumped up, orbs searching your surroundings with confusion and desperation.

It was Loki.

Thor had come down with a strike of lightning in the midst of battle, accompanied with unfamiliar guests to join the fight. Loki must’ve been with him and you didn’t notice somehow.

“Loki? Where are you?”

“Right here, my love,” he softly called, causing you to zone in on his figure with a relieved smile that he wasn’t gone like the rest of them, missing the way his voice was filled with sorrow.

“Thank God.” Placing a palm on your knee to stand up, you whimpered at the ache in your muscles, and the pain of all the cuts and bruises you received, especially where a deep slash was made on your bicep.

Before you could trudge over to Loki, Steve spoke up, now standing with a bewildered expression.

“Y/N, you see Loki?”

The bizarre question felt like someone swung a metal bat to your gut as you halted your movements, peering at the captain who searched in the spot where the man you loved was.

“Do you not see him?” you asked, glossy orbs bouncing between the two men.

Steve shook his head and a strangled sob left your lips as you glanced over at a pained Loki. Your knees gave out once again, stating that he was in fact there before your very eyes — that he had to be.

A pair of cold hands grasped your wrists that were entangled in your hair and you gasped, seeming to be in a ship with Thor, Loki, Thanos and his goons.

There was a quick white flash and next thing you knew Thanos had his gigantic hand enclosed around Loki’s throat, cutting off his air supply.

Another flash and his lifeless body was lying there, face blue and eyes soulless. His brother gripping his form, mourning the loss he witnessed — and now you did.

Flash.

Your wide, traumatic eyes met Loki’s worried ones, not knowing what just occurred.

That had never happened before — seeing someone’s death — seeing it so vividly as if you were there in the flesh.

“Thanos, he kil- he killed you,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut, letting the tears spill. Your hand was against his chest where his beating heart would be pumping for you, but it was hollow — like the way yours felt.

He was a ghost.

He was dead.

“How did you-? Did you see what happened?”

You nodded your head, breaking down even further, unable to steady your breathing.

Loki pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your middle as you wept. “Love, I’m so sorry you had to see that.” He cradled your head as you angrily balled the fabric of his clothing in your fists, grieving at the loss of who you believed to be your soulmate.

“Although I’m not physically here, I’m still here with you, dear,” he assured, drawing away to hold your battered face within his delicate hands, making you look in his eyes.

“It’s not the same,” you murmured, voice broken along with your heart. “You’re not actually here — not with me. You’re gone and I’m the only one that can see you.”

He was aware of how you felt about that. That you couldn’t live your life talking to the dead or you’d go crazy. You wanted to surround yourself with life — with the living, not the dead.

And now he was the dead.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. I’m going to get you back, Loki. I need you.”

He couldn’t help, but smile. He also couldn’t help the thought of you letting it consume your life, to become so obsessed in getting him back that you didn’t have a life of your own.

Stuck and unable to move on, to grieve properly.

But that was an argument for later.

“I love you, Loki,” you exclaimed, holding back a sob as he kissed your forehead before pressing a chaste one on your lips. His lips felt so cold and you would give anything to experience the softness and warmth of them again.

“And I love you. Summon me whenever you’d like, love. I’ll accept it.”

He was gone when you opened your eyes.

Steve’s heart ached even though he couldn’t see or hear Loki, your side of the conversation was enough. Thor and Nat finally stepped up after watching from afar, not wanting to interrupt, and the latter sat down next to you, enveloping you in her arms.

Nothing could prepare you for today.

Losing the battle.

Losing your friends.

Losing your family.

Losing your soulmate.

All at the hand of one person.

Thanos.

“We’ll get everyone back. We’ll get him back,” the Black Widow reassured while you glared into the distance, clutching onto her arm as water pooled from your eyes.

The captain was already peering at you with remorse when you connected your orbs to his. As you wandered them over to the God of Thunder who felt responsible, you uttered something that caught his attention.

“Whatever it takes.”

taglist: @gruffle1 @mysterious-398 @impala-1979 @sourwolf-sterek32 @imnotrevealingmyname @therantygeek @alwaysasadaesthetic @tallyovie

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki angst #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki oneshot #f.#loki #loki laufeyson

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darkwood-sleddog · 3 years

Text

Hmmm another funny thing about our run yesterday was turning around. We’d never turned two teams at once, usually the dogs are in the same string and I just grab my leaders and swing them around…

But yesterday I thought, oh I’ll turn the older dogs first so Slash can observe and understand, somewhat forgetting that Zombie has “bad at conceptualizing going the other direction as a sled dog disease” and so I gave them the command “Come Haw” and of course they just stand there even though they execute this command every day on walks. Slash on the other hand turned haw IMMEDIATELY and had zero issues, but turned before Mr. D was ready so…tangles. But I was pleasantly surprised.

#dogblr #alaskan malamute #dog mushing #sled dogs #working season 21 22 #look I think if I put my non bungee one dog line on there will be less issues tbh #sometimes I’m just like can I fast forward until Slash has confidence for single lead #and then other days he just proves he’s almost there anyways #still need to do some major line out work with slash though #when he’s excited he immediately turns around and faces his whole body towards you like #‘look at me!’#and gets himself all tangled #he’ll get there though #it took sigurd a really long time to be consistent and he was the best sled dog yesterday #slash is already a great sled dog he’s just young and amped like 85% of any run

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nameless-shrimp · 3 years

Text

HANGING BY A MOMENT || SATORU GOJO

You and Satoru Gojo were the strongest together; some even said you both were the most powerful duo. However, after the incident that happened, it was questioned whether you were the most strongest with your mindset.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

Type: One-shot

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/implied suicide, depression, heavy angst with character death, swearing, and grammar errors.

Notes: Because I like to hurt my heart a lot. This is pretty bad, not gonna lie, so I'm sorry if it's terrible.

The thing about Satoru Gojo was that he was the strongest.

It was shown through the cursed techniques that he portrayed. Whenever there was a small cry for help, he could sense the weaknesses of the curses and was able to be exorcised within a matter of seconds to minutes, or maybe, less than an hour. He was too good for the jujutsu world.

However, beneath all of the powers that he was able to show off, what was the most strongest of all is his love for you. And—it really did start after you were assigned to train with him at first, when he was a second-year and you were the first-year.

Both of you battled through everything together; you both became the most powerful duo. Cocky smirks and cheeky grins were shown after each curse was exorcised and you were there for him throughout his own mental battles as well, whilst he did the same for you.

But as time went on, it suddenly began to worsen for you, and you weren’t sure if it was due to the stressful order of the higher ups or maybe, it was because of the horrendous scenes that you were forced to witness every single time you walked out the door for a mission.

With your husband at your side, Satoru always found his way to be there for you.

Satoru knew about your sudden depression that hit you so hard, almost as if a tidal wave had swept your voice away and every night, he heard you cry about having to risk your life on a daily basis. He couldn’t bring himself to go to work most days, leaving Nanami the work to pick up after him, and Satoru knew you were a priority, but the innocents around the world were just as important too.

However, whenever you broke down crying, wanting the mental pain to stop, Satoru could only hold onto you and give you soft kisses on your neck, forehead, hands—anywhere. He wanted you to calm down, to be safe, to be trusted, and to be happy.

“I love you,” Satoru whispered close to your ears, holding you close to his chest, not minding the tears that were dripping onto his bare chest. He sighed, clutching onto you tightly. “I love you; you’re not alone. You’re going to get through this. You’re the strongest person I know, baby, you’ll manage.”

“I know,” your voice croaked, and his heart felt as if he was losing its pieces. He couldn’t stand seeing you in so much mental pain.

As time progressed, you avoided going to the sessions with the students, and they all relied on Satoru to pick up the pace with everyone. He couldn’t blame you though, you didn’t love the life you had as a jujutsu sorcerer, and Satoru kept up a happy face in front of his students. Sometimes, taking them out to dinner and annoying Nanami helped get him through the day, but most nights, you were underneath the covers, frightened by the past trauma that soared through your head.

The nights were endless, but Satoru remained by your side. With every pull to his chest and kiss to the forehead, it eased your breakdowns a little bit more. Satoru couldn’t blame you for acting the way you did. The sight of blood, murder, indescribable and unforgivable crimes of assault were all over the streets as a jujutsu sorcerer; this wasn’t something you had asked for and you simply wanted it to stop—to make it all fucking stop.

“The life you have now isn’t for you, you don’t have to walk this path anymore if you don’t want it,” Satoru explained to you one night, where your breath was heaving against his chest and you stared at the minimal ceiling above you. “Nanami quit. He couldn’t take this shit anymore either, so you can do the same.”

“And what about you?” You questioned, trailing your fingers along his.

He smiled at you, comfort growing within the blue aura gaze of his eyes. “I love you. I’m supporting you with whatever you wanna do, especially if it’s best for you.”

And—well, that lasted for one night.

The higher ups had assigned you a mission, despite the fact that you avoided the majority of your sessions with the students and that you declined most of the missions you received. While Satoru was out in Tokyo with his first-years, you laid in your bed, covers pulled up to your neck as you read the message that was sent to you by Principal Yaga. It turned out that there was a special grade curse that was inhabiting a college campus and it needed an immediate exorcision.

You have taken out multiple special grade curses; most of the time it was with Satoru, especially when you both were still students at Jujutsu Tech, and you knew that this would’ve been a breeze. However, you haven’t trained in about two months; you knew that you were rusty, you knew that your mind was lost in its own shadows and your thoughts wandered to different directions. It wasn’t the best bet for you to go fight this special grade curse on your own, but—for some reason, a part of you decided to take control.

The moment you left the house, you contacted Satoru that you would be out on an important mission, and despite the multiple times he tried to call you, you declined every one of them. The higher ups had their ways, and you always ignored what they said, not minding their conservative viewpoints to slash your own opinions of them; they had their own despicable tasks, and perhaps, this was one of the missions that you’d be falling in for their act.

It didn’t take long until you realized you were next to burning buildings and the bodies of innocent students were laid out in front of you. It was a breeze fooling around with the special-grade curse, and it had that cocky grin on its face every time it tried to make a move on you, but with every swift dodge, it only caught itself in its own tangled web.

However, you felt your movements to be fast and sturdy, though it was all hollow. Nothing but emptiness was washing over you as you only kept your arms crossed while dodging every physical attack that the curse tried to unleash on you. Their techniques were weak, as you always thought, and you never could stop yourself from laughing because you knew you sounded like your husband.

A part of you wanted it all to vanish and have this come to an end. And with one glance of the burning buildings around you as you bent down to look at the decaying bodies that were surrounding your presence, you felt a strong surge of power growing within you.

Before you knew it, you decided to flash a smile, and finally make it all come to an end.

“Sat—”

“Don’t.”

“Satoru!”

“Don’t fucking get in my way.”

Yaga attempted to get in the way of Satoru, who was stopping him from coming into the building. With an unpleasant look on his face, Yaga grabbed ahold of Satoru, ignoring the fact that Satoru did not use Infinity, and then pushed him against the wall, making eye contact with the white-haired man whose eyes hid beneath the blindfold.

Yaga didn’t admit it, but he knew it.

Satoru’s eyes were pooled with sorrow underneath his blindfold, and maybe, like one of these situations, Satoru was thankful to have worn a blindfold every day for his life. At least no one could see how much suffering he was going through; one moment he felt his heartbeat stop its pace, and another, it continued to beat rapidly, such as when Yaga caught him off guard and now his back was against the wall.

“Is it true?” Satoru gritted his teeth, placing his hands on the grip of Yaga’s. “Fucking tell me if it’s true.”

“Satoru…” Yaga’s voice lowered and he looked away, not wanting to admit the news of his wife’s death right in front of him. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose in displeasure.

With that expression, Satoru got his answer. He pursed his lips, unsure if he should cry or let out a frustrated scream, but he did neither. Instead, he tightened his lips in a thin line, holding back a choke, and then asked, “how did… what happened…”

“Satoru,” Yaga sighed, lowering his grasp on the man and then he placed his arm down, finally letting Satoru go from his grip. “You don’t need to—”

“Like hell,” Satoru interrupted angrily. “Tell me what the hell happened.”

“We don’t know,” Yaga cautiously spoke at the mourning man in front of him.

“How the fuck do you not know?! You’re telling me nobody knows how my wife di—”

“The higher ups assigned her a mission for a special grade,” Yaga explained, turning his gaze away from Satoru. Clearly, not even Yaga, himself, wanted to talk about such depressing matters. “Y/N agreed to it immediately. The curse was exorcised, but her life was taken in the process of it.”

“No fucking way,” Satoru quipped, stomping on his foot. “She’s not that stupid. She wouldn’t allow herself to die so easily to a special grade. We went through so much shit together. And you’re telling me her life was taken away from it?”

“Sato—”

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Satoru…”

“God,” Satoru grunted, placing his palms on his warm forehead. There were too many emotions running through his mind; perhaps anger had gotten in a fight with sadness, and now both of these mixed emotions were the process of his thoughts. Nonetheless, he was drowning himself, and he wasn’t sure of where to actually process the news he was receiving in order to get to shore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not serious, are you?”

Yaga remained silent, unsure of how to properly help the grieving man.

Without another word, Yaga stepped aside, allowing the entrance for the front door to be wide open. Unsure of what Yaga’s thoughts were processing, Satoru didn’t hesitate to push the doors open aggressively as the man he just walked past just kept his head down, not wanting to pester Satoru any further with his actions.

The audible footsteps was enough to make the atmosphere of the room go shallow. And once the door was open to the infirmary, the sight of your corpse was enough for him to stand there. It was impossible to have you look so beautiful despite your figure to be in a pale hue and your eyes were closed. His legs were frozen and he felt his fingers twitch, and without hesitation, he looked down, not minding the people in the room that had their eyes on him, contemplating on the actions he was going to do.

People knew Satoru as the strongest. That’s what everyone saw him as, the balance for everything, and despite the man that he was, Satoru consistently remained high and mighty but still protected those that weren’t as powerful as him. He really was the strongest.

But with a loud, piercing scream that escaped his lips and echoed throughout the hallways—for Satoru to be the strongest, it seemed that it wasn’t the case anymore.

The rumors spread very quickly.

With how powerful you were, and Principal Yaga was there to witness how much potential you portrayed and that you were able to outmatch Satoru in your matches with him when you were both students, it didn’t take long for theories to pop up. And with every speculation wavering in the air, Satoru wasn’t sure if his own students and faculty were trying to destroy him more than he already was or if they were suffering through your death just as much as he was.

Satoru could even hear Yuji’s words, with his face stuffed with his lunch, Yuji barely spoke out, “do you think L/N-sensei did it on purpose…? Maybe she allowed herself to di—”

A smack on his face was audible and it seemed like Nobara scolded him for bringing you up with Satoru’s presence around.

The words were exhausting; Satoru couldn’t bear with the rumors and speculations of your sudden death. It wasn’t easing the sudden sharp pain that his heart would get at the sight of your favorite pastry at the bakery or the lollipops he’d avoid eating due to the fact that they were your favorite flavor. He couldn’t take it anymore, and it was gnawing him deep down underneath his flushed skin.

“Gojo-sensei?”

He heard Yuji’s words, and his students were staring at him, keeping his head down on the table with his fists clenched. Satoru couldn’t be angry with his students. They were just as unhappy about the situation as he was, but there was no lie in the air when Satoru knew that he was grieving the most from your sudden loss.

Satoru didn’t say a word. He got up from the table next to his first-years and then left to go to another room—he wasn’t sure where he was going; anywhere but there, or really, anywhere to get to you, somehow.

He ignored the waves of the other faculty members and Satoru kept his gaze down, wondering if you’d scold him for just leaving the kids behind without a single word or—or—or the sound of your voice; the soothing, so comforting, and gentle voice you had whenever he felt mellow and down on himself. He could practically hear you speak to him with his own ears, suggesting to go out for ice cream or that you were there for him whenever he needed to speak out his own mind.

Satoru’s hands ticked as he turned the knob of the door in front of him and was invited with dust falling onto his face. He fought back a sneeze and then waved the particles away, and he invited himself to your own office. He remembered you called it your little ‘getaway’ from the other faculty members and the students, and the only person that was really allowed to be in this room was Satoru.

Satoru sat down on the chair, not minding the dust, and his eyes gazed upon on the brown wooden frame of your marriage day. His heart felt warm, but it didn’t take long for it to fall into its empty space again, and he clenched his fists, feeling so incomplete and confused.

It had been three months since you died.

Satoru listened to everyone’s rumors; maybe you did decide to let yourself die easily to a curse, but he knew you from the bottom of his heart—or so he thought. You knew you wouldn’t go that route and you’d give it your all; he felt confused, too confused, and with the kick of his feet, he placed his feet on your old desk and then tilted his head down.

“Sorry sweetie,” he muttered quietly. “I know you didn’t like it when I put my feet on your desk.”

Satoru laid his head back, staring up at the blank ceiling. He wasn’t sure of why you decided to take on a dangerous mission after you had avoided keeping in contact with the school for so long, and he wasn’t aware that you’d go on such a mission without his assistance or at least, you left without any thought into it. He knew you, he could’ve sworn he did, and Satoru remembered the nights that you’d cry in his chest about the nightmares you’d get or that you were tired of the endless battles and you were tired—just tired—you were so fucking tired and mentally drained of the chaos you had to endure as a jujutsu sorcerer.

Part of Satoru couldn’t blame you for what you did. The life you both shared was exhausting, but he continued to remain by your side no matter what happened. With every curse exorcised and that accomplished grin on your face, he fell in love with your capabilities and your strength as well as who you were as a person; at least, he knew you were someone he wasn’t ever going to lose from his heart.

Satoru wanted to scream again, but instead he didn’t.

He trailed his gaze to his feet that were still on your abandoned desk, still lost in confusion for your actions. But he knew that sitting around and wondering about the ‘what ifs’ wasn’t going to do anything for him. Perhaps you did let yourself get taken away so soon—maybe you did decide to choose suicide, or maybe that special-grade was stronger than you thought—than he thought.

Regardless, sitting around and wondering about what actually happened wasn’t going to bring you back. What happened had happened; you died, and it was that. Though, it was hard to grasp, of course it was, Satoru loved you tremendously and losing his other half had struck his heartstrings to the point where they had snapped.

Satoru sighed, not wanting to get stuck in the lost void any longer.

He looked at the emptiness of your desk, all that laid was the framed wedding photo and a black pen that had its cap off.

Satoru smiled, staring at his shoes as he came to realize that he still had his feet on your desk. Quickly, he kicked them off and then looked back at the wedding photo that was on your desk.

“My feet are off your desk now, honey,” Satoru kept a smile on his lips.

He knew you hated it when he kept his feet on your desk.

#shrimp os #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x you

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