#this crush is so pathetic. more dire than last time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

biggirllifestyle · 3 years

Text

Over the Rails: Sparkly bands

Summary: After Peter posts, a video of him and his friends at the roller rink on the Avengers group chat, Bucky can’t seem to get his mind off of Peter’s friend who stole the show. And after getting goaded into going skating with the other Avengers (by Natasha’s conniving planning) where Peter’s friend works at well Bucky can’t help but feel that there’s something more to look towards to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-Sized Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of physical harm from roller skating, etc.

A/N: It’s something…

If you would have asked her what was going through her mind the moment her eyes landed on Bucky Barnes, well Bibi could have told you that she was freaking the fuck out. She thought that nothing else could embarrass her more than that stupid speech Peter had made her do for losing a wager, but here she was right after face to face with her childhood hero and crush of many years and the only thing she thought of saying to him was ‘What’ll be Sarge?’

Ugh, pathetic.

Here was her chance to finally talk to people who were the most unselfish individuals, who. put their life on the line for the greater good and today she was to become their mentor. Sergeant Barnes seemed to be entertained by her flustered remark, a beautiful smile spreading across his face that made her heart flutter. The Black Widow was sitting on the counter putting on her skates, Bibi didn't feel like she had the guts to let her know that she wasn’t allowed to be on the counter so she let her be.

“I’ll take a pair of twelve in a half skates, doll,” Bucky said as he saw her turn towards the shelf grabbing him a pair of dark faded skates. Her cheeks were burning bright red and Bucky felt a deep satisfaction for being the reason. Somebody yelled out her name from the rink, so she gave him an apologetic smile before pushing herself off and skating towards whoever had called her, Bucky couldn’t help but stare as she glided around with ease.

Natasha shimmied herself closer to where he had bent down to tug off his boots, from the corner of his eyes he could see her dark red skates swinging back and forward nonchalantly but he knew better than that. He looked up at her waiting for a teasing remark but her expression was enough especially as she wiggled her eyebrows at him, taunting him.

Pathetic.

Bucky looked away, lasering on, tying his skates avoiding Nat’s eyes, he couldn’t help but worry that maybe he wasn't cut out for skating as he used to be, maybe Steve had exaggerated a little bit when he was talking about his experience. He stood ready to take a step forward before wobbling, almost losing his footing and falling, okay maybe Steve had exaggerated too much. Natasha jumped off the counter landing neatly on her skates without any form of trouble before throwing him a mocking grin as she skated away, Bucky glared at her retreating form as he finished getting his laces tied, he stood and took a confident step forward and almost broke his nose as his foot slipped he caught himself on the encounter.

He looked up trying to make out if his slip was caught by anybody but it seemed no one had been paying attention to him, he tried again a little more tentatively wobbling towards where Tony, Pepper who had just arrived with Morgan, Steve, and Sam were standing around watching the others get instructions from Peter’s girlfriend on how to stand on their skates, Peter, Shuri, Ned were already skating around trying to outmaneuver each other to see who could do a better move.

He looked around trying to see where you were when he finally spotted you, Morgan, at your side clinging to your arm as she followed in slower glides from her skates, you had taken a slow pace to accommodate to her still being a beginner your skirt flowed around you, and Bucky was mesmerized.

“Wow!” Pepper exclaimed. “She’s going to be amazing with the kids.”

Bucky roused from his trance as he turned towards Pepper who was watching you closely as you and Morgan skated by as both of you raised a hand at them and waved, Tony stood by a camera in hand taking pictures and videos. She turned to him, a small smirk in place as she gave a side glance at Tony who was trying very hard to avoid the conversation.

“Nat might have mentioned you would have an interest in anything on our new nanny/tutor for Morgan and Charlie.”

“New nanny, since when?”

“Since last week, Peter mentioned she was majoring in child development and education and was in dire need of a job. Morgan needed a tutor and we also needed someone who could help me out with Charlie when I had to show up to meetings and Tony was out on missions, so it was a win-win situation.”

Bucky’s curiosity was piqued by the extra information he was given on you, and just as he was about to indirectly ask for more Nat had skated over hitting him at the back of his head.

“What are you doing over here?” She asked as he ignored his pointed glare as he tried to soothe the spot where she had hit him “The whole point of making this happen was for you to be able to get a chance and talk to this girl, so get your ass out there sergeant.”

Buck huffed out a breath knowing it was true and feeling a little triumph in getting Natasha to confess that this was all her doing. He took a step forward as the music changed to a much more upbeat tempo, something that made him feel confident about what he was doing as he finally stepped on the floor you zoomed past him as you gave a full 180 turn that left him a little speechless. Knowing that he was interrupted earlier and maybe this was his only chance to have a conversation with you so Bucky squared his shoulders and took a small little step forward.

And he fell.

Bucky had fallen right on his face in front of everybody and this time it could not be ignored.

He heard Natasha’s laugh from behind him, her loud cackles making his annoyance flair up as he tried to get up but his skate slipped and he fell once more making her laugh harder at him. He looked to his left trying to find Nat and send her a very helpful finger but the only thing he saw was an exchange of money from Tony to her as they clearly ignored his mortification of the situation. He felt like nothing else could go even worse, maybe he could go to Fury and ask him to send him on a mission deep in the jungle where he could disappear for a year or so.

“Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

Forget the jungle, Antártica sounded so much better at this moment. He looked up his hair getting in the way as he saw you crouching down a few feet away giving him space so he wouldn’t be startled by her proximity, he knew that if he were to try and get up by himself it would end back with him sprawled on the floor so he lightly gave a nod at her as confirmation. Just as you were in the crouching position you used your hands to glide towards him, your skirt dragging on the dirty ground and he couldn’t help the frown on his face when he saw it.

It was a pretty skirt. He thought.

You didn’t reach out to him or tried to lift him as others would do but instead, you held out your hand palm up, giving him a say when he wanted to take your hand. He hesitated as he took your hand, it was so soft that he didn't want to let it go. After you gave him a small boost and explained to him the perfect way to position his feet so he didn't slip again, Bucky was up towering over you, your hands holding him so there wasn’t another incident.

“It’s much harder than what people think.” You said to him as you let him go, Bucky pushed his hair back, he had forgotten to bring a hair tie that Nat had given to him earlier in the day so here he was struggling with his hair as he tried to get it in control, you held out your hand again and Bucky felt his heart jump at the sparkly hair tie you were holding out to him.

“People think it’s all fun and games until they break a few bones and twist a few ankles, then they decide that skating just isn’t for them.”

Bucky looked at you as he finished picking up his hair trying to see if you were joking or not a small little smile danced upon your lips and he couldn’t help the small laugh he let out.

“Sacrifices should be made when you want to improve yourself.”

You nodded at his words behind you he could see Morgan dragging along Thor helping him glide about as he held her small hand in his, he turned back to you as you gave him a smile holding out your hand to his.

“I was told you wanted some private lessons, how about you take my hand and trust that I will be the best teacher you've probably ever had.”

#plus size #plus size ofc #plus size oc #original work #bucky fanfic #bucky x plus size reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader

98 notes · View notes

renegadewangs · 3 years

Text

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 4

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

It’s time to take a close look at Episode 2 of the second game, The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro!

Episode 2-2: The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro

Remember how in the last episode we vaguely got Barok on our side near the end of the trial by proving Mrs. Garrideb was actually involved in the crime? … Yeah. Forget that progress. It's being undone. Case 2-2 is the first case of the second game which features Barok, which unfortunately means he needs to be 'reintroduced' to the audience and it takes him back several steps in his growth. It makes sense, I suppose, it would've been weird starting a new game with him already being lightly on Ryu's side. Even so, it's a bit insulting how this case acts as if the chronologically previous one accomplished nothing.

So anyway, this case flashbacks to something which supposedly happened right after the first game's fourth case. The day after Soseki's acquittal, even. Turns out, Soseki awoke to find one of the other tenants in his building dead and asked Ryu for help, but (S)Holmes tagged along. Gregson is at the crime scene, keeping an eye on the place and on Soseki in particular since he's suspicious. (Sure, Gregson. Sure. Has nothing to do with the Reaper's curse, probably.) After some investigation with (S)Holmes, Gregson has enough evidence to actually arrest Soseki, which definitely feels like a step backwards. A bit later, it turns out the victim is Not Actually Dead Yet. Again! The Great Ace Attorney really enjoys throwing us for a loop by pretending we're in for another murder case.

Anyway, during the course of the investigation, I found two mentions of Van Zieks. The first is when you investigate the broken glasses and bottles in the victim's room. Susato is immediately reminded of Lord van Zieks.

And when examining Garrideb's old army uniform, Susato points out it might suit Lord van Zieks.

Haha, as if his usual outfit isn't ostentatious enough already. So we learn that Susato doesn't have a very high opinion of him at all, and I should hope it's not still related to that time he called detective novels pathetic. It's fun of them to refer to him in an investigation that he's not involved in in any way, especially when they don't know yet that he's the prosecution again.

Speaking to Soseki in the gaol, we're once again told that he's had a dreadful time in England so far. He sees foreigners everywhere and he's sure they're all laughing at him. He's been so on edge the past year that he's moved 'more times than he can remember'. So once again, we're reminded that racial prejudice in 1900s England is a focal point of this game's story. Once the conversation is over, Gregson appears to let the gang know that the victim has regained consciousness and is accusing Soseki of poisoning him. We're going to trial for an attempted murder charge, y'all!

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, Susato comes bursting in with the dreadful news that Barok van Zieks has once again taken on the prosecution. It's definitely safe to assume now that either Ryu or Soseki is the reason he's taking on these not-really-murder trials when he normally wouldn't. As I mentioned before, this is his reintroduction in the second game and so the game feels compelled to remind the player of what went down in case 1-4:

He sure did! The game also once again reminds us what the Reaper's Curse entails, and that perhaps that's the reason why Soseki is on trial yet again. He's doomed, perhaps. Susato also informs us that (S)Holmes is running late, just as he was two days ago, and Ryu thinks that's a good thing because if the Great Detective were there, Ryu might come to rely on his help.

… I suppose? He already relies on Susato for help and I feel like that would warrant far more 'preying' from Van Zieks than relying on a male, adult British detective for help. Though knowing (S)Holmes, he'd end up stealing the show and taking the words from Ryu's mouth, but that doesn't seem to be what Ryu's worried about here. I suppose the main point to take away from this remark is that Ryu wants to do as much as he can by himself. He wants to appear strong in front of Van Zieks to avoid presenting an easy target, and I think this might actually be the first time we see a sentiment like that from him. Is he afraid of Van Zieks? Does he actually care about the man's opinion? Anyway, he swears to show Van Zieks what a Japanese lawyer can do.

Inside the courtroom, Van Zieks does the usual prosecutor spiel about how the defense needs to be ready for defeat. Ryu thinks to himself that Van Zieks has a particular animosity towards Japanese people for some reason.

Good thing we got a second game in the series, eh? So because the defendant was on trial only two days ago, the same jurors were chosen where possible. The only juror not returning is Mrs. Garrideb, who's too busy being in prison. Her spot is now taken by a very fancy lady we later learn to be the wife of the Altamont Gas Company's owner. She may as well be the CEO herself with how she's acting, though. Anyway, Van Zieks addresses the jurors directly.

“However, the innocent verdict afforded to this eccentric Nipponese before... has had dire consequences. Did the accused repent for his wrongdoing in that affair? Far from it. Instead, he used his freedom to perpetrate a most blood-curdling crime!”

Van Zieks makes record time by taking off his cloak immediately after this line. He's gone straight into overdrive. The witnesses summoned this time are Inspector Gregson and... Soseki? It's very irregular for the defendant to be testifying, especially this early in the trial and especially by the prosecution's request. I can't really make much of it. It feels like the only reason Soseki is testifying is for this joke:

Also found when examining the testimony is a remark from Van Zieks that I honestly found shocking in how ferocious and scummy it is.

Unnecessary, that remark. It didn't need to exist at all in my opinion. So after Ryu shatters the testimony and scatters Gregson's fish 'n chips, Van Zieks calmly pours himself a glass of wine. I have to be honest, by now whenever he does this I'm left wondering what he'll do next. Will he crush the chalice? Will he throw it? Will he actually take a sip? The versatility of the action and unpredictable nature of Van Zieks add a bit of suspense. Turns out, his mind wandered during the testimony.

And then he ends up crushing the glass in his hand anyway. Alas, poor chalice. We knew it. So after a bit of debating back and forth about whether Shamspeare drank the supposedly-poisoned-tea after Soseki left the room, Van Zieks suddenly falls silent. We get three different, consecutive frames of him going “......” and when the judge asks what's wrong, he says this:

Supersonic hearing, this one. That is, unless the carriage entered the courthouse and literally pulled up in the hallway outside the room? Haven't we learned our lesson from the last time a carriage was driven into the Old Bailey?! So Shamspeare was apparently subpoenaed by the prosecution and has shown up to testify (with his doctor's permission). Bad news for us, since he's the one accusing Soseki in the first place. There's also a second witness to support Shamspeare's insistence there were no other visitors to the room and therefore only Soseki could have poisoned him. After that testimony is over, Van Zieks gets his wish and all the jurors vote guilty.

Van Zieks really seems to think that Soseki is a terrible person deserving of justice, huh? He was right there during the previous trial, saw Ryu prove without a shadow of a doubt that Soseki was innocent and still insists that justice will be done “this time”. Calm the heck down man, you're the one who sided with us when Mrs. Garrideb needed to testify, remember? And here comes another example of the game pretending the previous trials didn't leave an impact; when the Summation Examination is brought up, it's with disdain and this remark:

Bro, we used the Summation Examination successfully like five times already. Sit your butt down and watch the show. The jurors once again give prejudiced reasons for their decisions:

And unfortunately, instead of changing their minds by proving Soseki is a morally upstanding, innocent citizen, Ryu instead gets through this Summation Examination by basically proving Shamspeare is a worse person than Soseki. That's... not the direction you should be taking here, narrative. After convincing four of the jurors that Shamspeare is a fishy liar, Van Zieks flings another chalice of wine in frustration. The judge still thinks he could technically pass a ruling on the trial, since the new information didn't exactly disprove that Soseki is the culprit, but the jurors have been influenced so thoroughly that they can't let this new info go ignored. Testimony from the Altamont Company is allowed! Van Zieks thinks it's a waste of time, of course, and if this were reality it would be. Since it's an Ace Attorney game, we know Shamspeare's gas thievery is bound to somehow be related to the incident. Van Zieks flings yet another chalice after hearing the testimony (how many has it been already? Five?) and very shortly after, he tosses the entire bottle over his shoulder. Susato points out that he seems to be in a violent mood. I feel like someone must've pissed in his oatmeal that morning, because I've got no real explanation for why his character regressed this badly in the course of what chronologically was only two days.

Van Zieks flings two more chalices as the testimony progresses to prove that Shamspeare made fake coins to fool the gas meter. At the end of it all, he supposedly 'throws his hand up in despair and happened to catch his hallowed bottle along the way', flinging yet another one of those into the gallery. I'm starting to feel very bad for the people seated behind him now. Is the game overdoing these quirky animations to compensate for his regressed attitude? Because I'm not sure it's working... Van Zieks continues to insist that the situation hasn't changed and only Soseki could have poisoned the victim, so he calls for immediate adjucation. The game gives Ryu the option to either object or wait and see, and I have to be honest, this gave me pause. After what happened with the penalties in case 1-4, I was sure Van Zieks might dish out more punishment for waiting and seeing. Turns out, he doesn't. Ryu points out that Shamspeare likely used the tea to make these fake frozen coins of his, meaning there's still tea left at the scene of the crime which can be tested for poison.

Head in my hands right now. Again, I get it, they basically had to reintroduce Van Zieks to newcomers of the game (however few there might've been) so they had to regress him a bit, but I really don't like this. He honestly felt like he'd grown at the end of 1-4 and the game's not only undone it, it feels like they've made him even more of a scumbag. This line and this gesture honestly doesn’t quite correspond with the character established in the previous game. Anyway, court adjourned till the next day so the police can test the tea for poison.

During the investigation segment, we get a conversation that I'd quite honestly forgotten even exists. Turns out, (S)Holmes and Van Zieks are acquainted! ...or are they? (S)Holmes says he 'must pass the time of day with Mr. Reaper again, as it's been too long' and when asked whether they're acquainted, (S)Holmes replies that there isn't a person in the world who doesn't know his name, expertly dodging the question. Naturally, a new conversation topic opens up about it, so we can still attempt to needle more details out of him.

He explains the history of the Reaper's curse a bit more. Previous defendants found not-guilty would 'disappear from the capital' by falling under a passing carriage, drowning in the Thames, succumbing to a sudden fever... Etc. Susato points out that if those rumors are true, then surely the obvious conclusion would be that they were killed by Van Zieks's own hand. (S)Holmes points out that's impossible, since Van Zieks was already investigated on the matter before and for every single incident, he had a solid alibi. (This... doesn't disprove Van Zieks had anything to do with it, but okay (S)Holmes. Sure.) (S)Holmes also rubs it in yet again that Van Zieks retired from the courts five years ago and didn't return until the day Naruhodo arrived. I honestly don't know why they keep bringing that 5 year hiatus up in every single case, because as far as I can recall it was never fully explained or relevant.

I love how “foul smell” is wedged in-between those two topics as if it's also related. Anyway the conversation continues when Ryu brings up that Van Zieks seems to have a particular disdain for Japanese people. Susato demands to know whether (S)Holmes knows a bit more about it and while he's silent at first, he relents and tells us a tale (which will apparently be forgotten by Ryu and Susato in case 1-5). Van Zieks “chose to enter the legal profession ten years ago, but before that time, the man's closest companion hailed from the empire of Japan”. Which is a wording that baffles me, because it implies that Van Zieks chose to enter the legal profession at the same moment that Japanese person betrayed him, which we know is not the case. He was already in training to be a prosecutor before that, otherwise how could he possibly have prosecuted the Professor trial? Ryu is shocked and asks to know more, but (S)Holmes says the veil on the events from the past will be lifted soon enough. I'll get back to the implications of what this means for Van Zieks's backstory when we hit this exact same reveal in case 1-5.

Van Zieks is mentioned very little in the rest of the investigation segments. We only learn that he tasked Gregson with finding new clues, much to Gregson's dismay, as there isn't much to be found. The Inspector does immediately leap at new information when we uncover it, which implies he's eager to either please Van Zieks or avoid being scolded by him. I'm assuming the latter, but it's also possible Gregson feels guilty over the whole Reaper thing and Klint's autopsy, and is now compensating by working his hardest to fulfill Van Zieks's requests.

At the very end of the investigation, when evening falls, (S)Holmes reminds us that “it'll be hard to escape the grip of our friend, Mr. Reaper”. The next day, in the defendant's lobby just before the trial begins, Ryu thinks to himself that he doesn't believe in the legend of the Reaper any more than he believes in the convict's curse Soseki keeps mentioning. What's interesting here is that Ryu isn't dreading the confrontation anymore. After the McGilded trial he seemed genuinely intimidated by the concept of going up against Van Zieks (not because of the racism but because of what happened to his first defendant), but now he's not so hesitant anymore. He's beginning to see that Van Zieks can be defeated, that the Reaper thing is nonsense and that protecting his client is a fight worth fighting.

Into the courtroom we go for day 2 of the trial! When the judge asks about the results of the tea test, Van Zieks is silent for a moment. He pours himself a glass of wine, asking for a moment to “savour a liquid of a more sanguine hue”, then refers to Gregson for the full report. Gregson confirms no poison was found in the tea remains, but the prosecution wouldn't be the prosecution (and the game would be pretty boring) if they didn't have a backup plan. When Ryu proclaims Soseki is innocent, Van Zieks accuses him of jumping to conclusions, “a typical Nipponese reaction”. It's also a typical prosecution reaction to be hypocritical, no surprises here. He throws his chalice (first one of the day) and summons Shamspeare back to the stand to testify about how Soseki's unpoisoned and undrank cup of tea had been used to make the ice coins.

There's some lines here that I thought I might as well include:

“Yet on occasion, tedium distracts me and I pour more times than I intended until the bottle is dry.”

You know, it occurs to me that this drink is pretty much confirmed to be wine. He's very extra when talking about it himself, but he had his silly little wine analogies in the previous case and Susato referred to his glasses as “wine glasses”. And you would think it's obvious that it's wine, but we know Ace Attorney's long history with 'grape juice'. Either way, this dialogue leaves a pretty harsh implication that Van Zieks drinks alcohol simply to distract himself from troublesome moods. Sure, he says “tedium”, but this is a stoic prosecutor in the year 1900. They referred to depression as “melancholia” back then, and since he doesn't appear to have any friends, I expect he experiences “tedium” quite often outside the courtroom. He apparently set a rule for himself not to fill his glass more than seven times during a trial which, in turn, implies he's aware any more would cause problems. All of this is moot, of course, since 80% of the wine he pours for himself ends up on the floor between shards of glass. Still, though... Zieks, are you okay?

I don't think he is, because he pulls a very dirty trick here. Ryu proves Soseki drank all his tea and therefore it couldn't possibly have been used, so Van Zieks insinuates to Shamspeare that perhaps he misremembered using the tea from Soseki's cup and instead used tea still left in the teapot. An excuse Shamspeare happily takes, of course. Not gonna lie, I got angry, not because it's a dirty trick but because it's inconsistent. This is the very same character who all but dragged Mrs. Garrideb down from the juror bench to testify when it became clear she likely threw a knife out the window. And now he's feeding slippery excuses to a man who's very clearly lying about all sorts of things? What??? And remember this incident, because I'm going to be referring back to it later.

He crushes another chalice, removes his cloak and continues to insist that we should believe this thieving liar at the witness stand. The jurors for some reason buy the baloney served to them on a tinfoil platter and even twist Ryu's sentiments around, with some bloke going as far as to interpret the situation as 'the lawyer lad believes anyone who steals gas deserves to be poisoned'. Summation Examination gets very funky this time around, with the outcome being that Shamspeare probably blew the gas pipes (s-snerk) and the poison was laced on the pipe.

Van Zieks pours himself a glass of wine and pretty much immediately flings it, saying these are all empty assertions without a shred of proof. When Ryu presents the picture with the skin prints, Van Zieks once again breaks the rule of the prosecution staying silent during Summation Examination to point out that skin prints cannot be used as evidence, since that method is not recognized by the court (yet). Aaand he crushes yet another chalice in his hand.

Susato claims it was never meant to be used as official evidence, it was only a tool to demonstrate a new possibility to the jury. Jumping through some loopholes here, we are, since the picture is clearly in our Court Record as evidence. But, well, the prosecution cheats too so what's the harm? Some jurors vote not-guilty, but there's still one more that needs convincing on order to keep the trial going. Ryu says he has a witness who's already testified that the pipe-blowing incident did indeed occur that night, as Soseki stated the other day before the court that his stove went out in the dead of night. (Hang on, is this why the narrative made him testify alongside Gregson?) With that the majority of the jury votes not-guilty and the trial has to continue, but Van Zieks is extra rattled now. (Another bottle goes soaring.)

He once again reminds the court that skin prints aren't admissible evidence and therefore, there is no real proof Shamspeare put his mouth to the pipes (ghghhh I'm sorry this is such a silly thing to have to type out). Ryu asks for an investigative team to test the mouth of the gas pipe for poison, but since it would've evaporated by now, that's a no-go. Also, Van Zieks says that “what appears to be simple is my Nipponese friend's mind” and that's a scumbag point. Ryu attempts to turn the trial around by claiming that Shamspeare attempted to kill Soseki, making the defendant the victim, but Van Zieks ain't having it. The aggrieved being the accused is an interesting notion, but doesn't change what actually happened. In fact, if anything, it establishes a motive for Soseki to lay a trap for Shamspeare. Because who else could have known about the gas pipe trickery and put the poison there, right? Why, the true culprit, of course.

Our man Van Zieks really doesn't like (S)Holmes, huh? A tidbit which the games will never bother to explain! Either way, Ryu raises the name of Olive Green, the victim of the previous case. And I gotta say, I do genuinely like the way they integrated these two Clouded Kokoro cases together. The chronology of everything that went down is very fun to decipher, but long story short, Olive Green was at Briar Road the day she was stabbed for a reason and knows more about the 'convict curse' Soseki and Garrideb kept mentioning, so let's drag her into court! Van Zieks agrees to subpoena Miss Green in order to 'see his Nipponese friend's farce through to its conclusion'.

So during intermission some more evidence is handed to Ryu and when trial resumes, Van Zieks continues to be his usual self.

“The prosecution has tried to extend every courtesy to this amateur newcomer from dubious Eastern shores.”

Ryu sweats bullets as he meekly thanks Van Zieks “(for his backhanded consideration)”, but once again the judge is the one to call Van Zieks out on his attitude.

Amazing. It's so refreshing to see a judge who actually disagrees with the prosecution's haughty attitude problems and acknowledges it has no place in a courtroom. Nothing against Udgey, because we all love Udgey (and his Canadian brother), but this man actually grows and learns. So Olive Green takes the stand alongside Shamspeare (maybe not the best idea since Ryu just accused her of trying to murder this man) for dual testimony. When Green brings up what a dreadful ordeal the knife to her back was, Van Zieks says this:

Hang on, empathy? He's giving her advice? This reeks of humanization! Green seems taken aback and thanks him for his words, so the sentiment was genuinely accepted. This in itself is a very nice scene to see in action, similar to Van Zieks allowing Roly Beate to keep his job. Unfortunately, Van Zieks's character is in a wild rollercoaster of moral inconsistency during this particular case which sours the experience somewhat. Case in point:

YOOOU hypocrite! This actively angered me, because at the very start of this same trial day he was personally feeding lies to Shamspeare. Now he's warning Green not to lie? It gets even worse a bit later on when Green gets cornered about stealing the note, she asks him whether it could all be some sort of misunderstanding, and he says:

ACTIVELY FEEDING SHAMSPEARE A LIE. THE VERY SAME DAY. I'm all for prosecutors using dirty tactics. It helps to juxtapose them further to the honest defense attorney we play as. However, it needs to be consistent. Either a prosecutor condones a witness's lies to help their case, or they feel that they're above it. The third, most used option is for them to start off condoning it, only to learn that truth takes priority over victory. This sloppy back-and-forth morality that Van Zieks has going on here is insanely frustrating, so it's no wonder some players end up disliking him. It honestly feels as if they rewrote this case so many times, they screwed up the exact growth trajectory Van Zieks has.

Anyway, it seems Van Zieks is suddenly fully on our side now to help Ryu prove that Green was in Shamspeare's room and laced the gas pipe with poison. And I mean help help. When the judge points out that if Green had laced the pipe the very same day she was stabbed, the attempted murder would have happened six days ago. Van Zieks is the one to say “Perhaps not, My Lord” and explain Briar Road was full of police at that time. At this point, Van Zieks and Ryu (and also Susato) actively start to take turns to explain the proper chronology of events. So the defense and the prosecution are in perfect sync right now, working together to explain the whodunnit. This is the ideal outcome to any trial, usually not seen until the last case of the game, so it's curious that this dynamic abruptly shows itself in a case like this. Van Zieks does still have one moment of gaslighting when he claims Ryu may have inhaled some dubious gas, causing his judgment to be clouded, since there's no motive behind Shamspeare's attempts on his fellow lodgers. A matter that's very easily resolved, of course. Once the name of Selden is brought up, Van Zieks continues our little game of back-and-forth-truth-reveal until (S)Holmes shows his face.

“Your usual haunts are the filthy backstreets of the capital, are they not?”

To which (S)Holmes replies that it's been too long, and Van Zieks's complexion has worsened since last they met. Alright, so Van Zieks and (S)Holmes definitely have met in person before, some undetermined amount of time ago. You'd think that going by (S)Holmes's friendly attitude they might've even been friends once, but our great detective is like that towards everyone. This is evidenced by an earlier encounter with Gregson where (S)Holmes insists they're friends and Gregson says that they're not friends, to which (S)Holmes quietly agrees. So really, this little exchange tells us nothing about the history between the great detective and the Reaper.

Some shenaniganry, a breakdown and admittance to guilt later, the court is finally ready to deem Soseki innocent. Van Zieks once again has some interesting lines here:

“And one I certainly didn't envisage walking... with you.”

Considering he attempted to trip us up for most of this walk up until the very last stretch, I don't like this remark very much. It feels very unearned. This is another one of those things that would've been more suitable in the last case of the game, but instead it's being crammed into a messy mid-game moment with the pretense that Van Zieks learned a lesson about being our ally.

In the defendant's lobby, the game basically gives the exact same dialogue as at the end of the original Clouded Kokoro case; that Soseki is returning to Japan and hopes to pen his own literature there, with the rest of the cast pointing out that the Reaper's Curse must factor into his decision to some degree. So we're still holding onto that question of whether Soseki will escape an untimely death or not. Anyone who's already played the last case of the first game will know the answer, of course.

So to summarize... I genuinely didn't enjoy Van Zieks's portrayal in this case. It really feels as if something went horribly wrong and they got some notes mixed up about where his character was already headed in the previous game. It's a crying shame. There was a lot of potential for a case set between 1-4 and 1-5, but they really dropped the ball when it comes to consistency and I've no doubt that it reflected badly on people's opinions of him. Though I think when we return to the first game for The Unspeakable Story, everything will right itself out again to some degree. Stay tuned!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #MAN I got frustrated with this one #what happened here???

26 notes · View notes

yarbz · 3 years

Text

cowardly game of rival — n.jaemin ( f )

synopsis!

━ as the girl’s football team captain, you were used to the endless derogatory taunts, the wolf-whistling, the attempts at romance being boys telling you what they thought of barcelona’s starting XII. na jaemin fell into all those catergories, a detestable flea in your hair. as sworn enemies, there was not even an inkling of romance, and you were convinced that your attraction to him was ONLY physical. weren’t you?

pairing ━ na jaemin x female!reader

word count ━ 6k

genres ━ fluff, rival!au, football!au, comedy, romance, very little of the football game is described in detail.

warnings ━ profanity, football terms, dirty jokes, y/n and jaemin are literally just cowards

( author's note! )

this one came to mind when i thought of how i love female footballers and decided that jaemin would be the idiot in question to chicken out of confessing to their crush by being an ass instead. i really hope you like it !! other notes are sissoko is the name of like three different players and a cracker is slang for a really good goal.

Football.

A sport of creatively insane wits, fancy footwork and incoherent celebrations. Those were all the things you loved about it, along with the ridiculously cute uniform.

It provided you an escape from the man's world, a chance to carve out your own story, free from the shackles of stereotypes. At least, that's what you'd initially thought.

Unfortunately, the boy's football team made it their sole objective in life to demean you. As captain, you took on the strenuous task of refusing to resort to physical violence when a stupid comment about your short length was made or when boys assumed you couldn't tell your Sissoko's apart (you could, quite well actually).

You had taken it as a sign of war, and refused to comment on their pathetic sneers. You did, however, feel as if Na Jaemin made a blood pact or something to be a parasite towards you.

He stood at the cusp of six foot, towering over you like an evergreen beanstalk, cheshire-cat like smile taunting you. Chocolate colour tresses fell over his eyes in straight lines, shielding his forehead.

It's not like you paid attention to his visage, but even you had to admit in your spite that he was attractive. And horribly so.

Today started like every other, going to your locker before heading to your homeroom. Luckily, you'd managed to get there before the freshmen started to pile in. Being a senior had its positives along with its various faults, one of them being the early access you got to the school.

You jammed your key in the lock, flinging open the locker door, making quick work of exchanging your books. In your fast-paced stupor, you didn't notice the figure leaning behind the door. You slammed the door shut, nail catching an patch of skin, scraping it.

"If you wanted me to leave, you could've been less catty." The voice wheedled, throwing a withering glare in your direction. You rolled your eyes, annoyed, arms crossed across your chest.

"Jaemin." You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Why are you hiding behind my locker? Are you looking for a death wish?"

He sat up slowly, soothing his reddening nose, suddenly regaining his smile as he leaned closer towards your face. "If I was looking for a death wish, I'd eat whatever food you just stuffed in there."

"Fuck off. Don't see you making any gourmet meals."

"I'm the gourmet meal." He slithered, breath fanning your nose. From this distance, you could see the wonder swimming within his eyes, breath caught in your throat.

Damn, he was too fine.

You tore your gaze from his eyes, "And yet, I don't feel inclined to taste it." He jumped back in surprise, eyes widening, giving you an opening to dash. Chuffed that you left him speechless, you walked towards your next class, resisting the urge to turn back to revel in his awe-struck face.

Jaemin's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, crooked smirk hanging from his lips. He watched you stalk away, cursing underneath his breath softly. You carried a fiery aura around you, burning him with every snarky remark — even though it beat him bruised ghastly lavenders, he could bear to play with fire if it meant you would pay him attention.

You see, Jaemin did not hate you as per say. The 'hate' which you believed in was merely his inability to profess his affections towards you. For lack of a better word, he was a coward.

A dashingly handsome one, but a fragile, chicken-legged coward all the same.

You'd made it to class in record time, ego bared boldly on your shoulders, attracting the curious eyes of your best friends Yangyang and Donghyuck. Both were terrorists in their own right, but you couldn't help loving them all the same. Sure, they came as a dreadful pair, but love had decided to shackle your heart to them.

"What's got you so happy? Jaemin finally drop dead?" Yangyang joked, shifting to make space for you. Headband strapped to the pinnacle of his forehead, he grinned at you from beneath the base of stretchy ebony material.

"No..not yet." You hummed, sad lilt to your tone.

"Awh, didn't kill him yet?" Donghyuck teased, nudging Yangyang in their laughter. "I think it must be love stopping you from committing the crime yourself." You shoved both, peals of laughter tickling your throat at their whines of pain.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be killing you two instead, never mind Jaemin." You snapped. "Love is what I feel when I score a cracker from the halfway line. Seeing Jaemin makes me want to jump out of the nearest window."

"Are you sure it's not just unresolved sexual tension? I, too get antsy when I haven't jacked off—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll have no arms."

"I'm flexible enough to suck myself off." Yangyang mused, "You'll never stop my libido."

"You're disgusting." You and Donghyuck said in sync, swatting his grabby hands from flying at your shoulders. Quite frankly, you didn't want to hear about his freakishly boneless limbs, or his untameable sex drive, nor hear anything about his genitals at all.

"Does that count as self—"

"Yes, it does. Please don't be telling people that I'm your friend, or that you can do that. It's not a little icebreaker."

Friendship with these two had crossed all sorts of personal boundaries you didn't know existed, and it was starting to decompose you, like a rotting piece of cabbage infested by slugs, yet still hanging on for the glimpse of sunlight to regenerate.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. But, that didn't explain their dire need to over share certain aspects of their lives with you.

"Doesn't change the topic at hand —Did you get my pun?" He asked, looking for Donghyuck's reaction.

"I did. Not going to comment on it before she breaks my arms. Just know I enjoyed it very much."

"If I wanted to mess around with Jaemin, I'd put my hand in a beehive. It'd sting less." You snarled, slamming down your books. They winced comically, faces alert as the teacher walked into the class.

Apart from football, you enjoyed learning — how to make things, break things, self defense, people skills, and education fell not too far from that. Classes like biology interested you greatly, which is why you found yourself fully immersed in the process of respiration.

Your mind drifted for a second, thinking back to what he'd said. Was it actually sexual tension? Did you actually bare an emotion other than loathing towards him? Then, you thought of that face and how you'd want to do nothing more than break his pretty little nose—

Yeah. There it was. You were normal after all.

School had come to her daily dreadful end, and you were happily striding into the ladies' changing rooms for football training. Nobody had gotten here yet, luckily.

You glanced over into the full body mirror, tugging at your shorts until they fell just above the bump of your knee, pulling your sock midway at your calf. Lean abs shone underneath the dim light, and you proudly paraded around the room, happy to be alone.

A knock on the door came, and you swung the door open with a feverish excitement. "Who is it?"

"Didn't take me as a bra kinda girl. Was thinking more spandex or a binder." Jaemin seethed, hands on hips, azure jersey hanging off his lithe frame.

"You're insufferable. Why are you here?" You groaned, choosing to ignore his taunt at your breast size. His eyes crinkled into upside down crescents, wandering lower to the dip of your frilly black bra.

"To see my favourite girl, of course." He whistled, eyes still glued to your unmarked expanse of skin. "I think those need a new owner." He pointed towards your chest.

"Preferably one whose face I can stand to look at."

"I'm roaring with laughter." You snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm, making no attempt to cover yourself up. Jaemin was still staring, face flushed a flaming cerise. "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna leave me alone?"

"I'm not staring. Why are you staring at me?" He shot defensively. Your eyes narrowed at him, watching his cheeks darken with every lingering stare.

"You're in the girl's changing room, drooling over two lumps of fat on the body of a girl that you hate. The real inquisition here is your lack of sensibility to stop thirsting after anything with a vagina."

Jaemin stayed silent, eyes boring holes into your full lips, tongue instinctively darting out to wet his own nimble, chapped ones. Rolling your eyes, you lead him to the door, hand clasped against the door handle.

Then, you heard loud footsteps approaching the room, incoherent rambling increasing in clarity. You began to conjure up a plan, wondering how on Earth you'd be able to kick Jaemin out without the girls knowing.

With the shouts of the team gradually getting closer, you panicked, chucking Jaemin into a locker.

"Fine, I'll leave! Lemme out!" He squirmed, trying to come out of the metal confines.

"You can't leave now, they're literally outside. Do you want to be stomped to death by Nike Mercurials?" You hissed, closing the door over, much to his protests.

"Don't wanna die with the last image being your breasts."

"If you survive this, I'll gladly provide you a new image."

He shut up at that, and you straightened, reaching for your jersey in a false calmness. The girls burst in, squeals of various greetings being thrown across the room.

You smiled gently at them, encouraging them to get changed, joining in to laugh at their jokes. The topic kept shifting from manicures to new boots before finally settling on Na Jaemin.

"Cap'n, what's going on with you and Jaemin?" One of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes softly. "A boy on the football team told me that you guys are dating."

Dating..that devil? A sin punishable by death! You repelled all instinct to shudder in disgust, instead choosing to maintain a neutral expression.

"I am absolutely not dating Na Jaemin. He's a despicable little mongrel and I'd rather eat my shoe—"

"Mon bébé chérie, why do you curse me like this?" Jaemin squeezed from the locker, voice like a wounded puppy.

"Did you hear that? I think it was—"

"No! It's my Jaemin impression. Isn't it so good?" You spluttered, voice rising in volume. You were sure that your face was a painful beetroot, breathing crazily as you over-exerted yourself.

"Cap'n, it was so good I almost thought Jaemin was in here with us!" She gushed, hands clasped. "You guys would be so cute together. Even if you don't like him, I think he most definitely has feelings for you."

The rest of the girls joined in at this, shouts of 'you should take a chance!' resounding in the hollow room. You'd already ruled out that as a possibility, chalking it down to his uncontrollable thirst for being a pest. Na Jaemin was your rival, the utter bane of your existence, a rodent that fed on robbing your spirits dry of any positivity.

"He'll get a chance when pigs fly." You muttered, noticing their eyes staring at you inquisitively, as if they knew something you didn't. Awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, ushering them towards the door, scanning the hallway after the last one had skipped out.

Jaemin untangled himself from the locker, straightening his limbs, pulling at his calves in a stretch. You peered over your shoulder, frown deepening at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Jaemin breathed, walking into your personal bubble. He was way too close. His breath tickled your forehead, eyes dark with something you couldn't decipher.

He felt his heart pound against his chest, resisting the urge to pick the stray hair in your eye to the side. You were looking at him with a confused expression, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to be the death of him. Devastated, he broke eye contact, feeling all forms of fight seep from his bones.

"You don't like me." You whispered, wincing at the wobble in your voice. "Everyone's just saying that....right?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"No. I want you to say no."

"I can't do that."

"Well, you have to say no. I don't want to hear the rest of your sentence — keep us as just this." You softly yelled, pointing between the pair of you. "Don't change anything."

"Okay. I'll leave, but only because you want me to. But, before I go..you've gotta start being more observant." He sighed, ruffling your hair before making his way out.

"I’m plenty observant. Wouldn’t be a good player if I wasn’t.”

"I’ll see it when I believe it. Oh, and the thing you said about pigs flying..”

“What about it?”

“Renjun’s working on it.”

You laughed heartily, locking the door behind you. So, Jaemin did in fact think of you as his Aphrodite — all those nicknames were genuinely created out of affections. 'Mon bébé chérie' held a lot more emotional weight than it did twenty minutes ago, and you had to breathe before your eyes prickled with saltine tears.

Fresh air hit you like a loaded delivery truck, Mother Nature delicately wiping the tears from your eyes, shaking you with a cold flourish, roaring your cheeks to life. The team had already started their warm-up drills, as opposed to the boys' football team who were cooling down from their jog.

You ran over, tightening your ponytail, shifting into 'Captain' mode. The coach pushed you into the circle, encouraging you to take the reins. "Team, we've been doing nothing but straight work. Let's make this session count before the match tomorrow." You shouted, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline.

The team chanted back, settling into their positions for the first drill — a penalty shoot out. You stepped to the ball, striding back to gain a better angle, socks hugging your knees.

Giving yourself a five second countdown, you charged at the ball, foot pointed, kicking it with a passion that rivalled Lionel Messi. It rolled in the back of the net, flying past Hyejoo, who could barely even process it.

"Still got those fire feet, I see, Cap'n!"

"Lady Luck gave them to me for a reason." You boasted, smugness slapped all over your face.

From the corner of your eye, Jaemin snickered, winking at you when you turned to make eye contact. At least he had the audacity to keep up appearances in front of everyone, even if you had probably made everything awkward.

"My granny could kick better than that, babes!" He boomed from across the pitch, teasing smirk on his lips.

"Your granny lives in a retirement home and still calls on you 'Nana Banana'..it's not very nice to lie." You retorted, eyes narrowed, nearing his hunched form.

"Doesn't mean she can't kick your ass. Granny was a little Aguero back in the day."

"She can't if I'm the Manè, can she?"

"But I'm a Modric. I'll beat your ass, any day, any time." He grinned, leaning in to you. "In any way you want."

You heard blood pumping in your ears, your cheeks filling with immense heat. He grabbed your cheeks softly, grinning even wider when you flushed even warmer, a human sauna. Pushing a lock out of your eyes, he searched your eyes for any sense of rage, face softening at your lack of that emotion.

"Any..way..I want?" You mouthed silently, innuendo catching your attention again as you mulled over the words. "Na Jaemin, you're a dirty boy."

"I think you're the dirty girl." He hummed, saying the next sentence in an octave that made your head spin, quietly enough that only the two of you could hear. "Sauntering around in your little Victoria's Secret bra, cozying up to me without even batting an eyelash or covering up."

"These boobs are mine. I'm allowed to show them to anyone I want."

"So you admit to showing them to me? You admit that you were trying to put on a show for me?" He pressed, purposely craning his neck over you.

"I was trying to change. If you didn't come into the room like a little pervert, you'd never have gotten a visual of these."

"And yet I know how they look now. There's nothing that can erase that image."

"Fuck you, Na Jaemin."

"I think you meant to say fuck me, but I'll allow the slip-up just because I'm so nice." You squirmed under his predatory gaze, heat in your cheeks akin to a fever. "Better get back to training, Cap. Your team's got a match tomorrow."

You hissed at him weakly, choosing to walk away from his provocation, going back to the team, who were all smiling at you with a glint in their eye. By the looks on their faces, they'd definitely taken that exchange as a form of flirting.

Not that you were disputing it, of course.

The coach rounded the girls up, calling them to grab bibs. You relaxed, running over to take the last bib once you'd calmed down. Na Jaemin was a little toe-sucking, filthy mongrel who only knew how to charm his way out of everything — totally not your ideal type or anything.

His penance for being blunt coupled with that honeyed voice was what was throwing you off. Not your physical attraction to him. At least, you hoped so.

The shrill shriek of the whistle behind you shook you out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the practice game. With every shot at the goal, you could see Jaemin taunting you, making kissy faces.

After the first half, you weren't sure if it was real or if you were hallucinating — almost like a mirage, he was wearing that stupid little smirk and there was nothing more you wanted than to slap those lips clean off his face.

Soon enough, you clocked that it wasn't just an illusion, as he'd shifted to the opposite end of the pitch, the other boys from the football team watching from the stands.

They'd started jeering at every pass, exaggerating their reactions, commentary toeing the border of sexual harassment. You volleyed the ball on your foot, battering it into the stands, grinning widely as it hit one of the boys in the face, leaving his nose lopsided.

"If you're gonna be a sexist piece of shit, just fuck off. My team doesn't deserve to hear your brain-dead commentary, nor see your fuck face." You smiled, bite in your voice. "Kindly take the opinion that nobody asked for and shove it up your ass."

Jaemin's eyes twinkled with respect, breath caught in his throat at the dark look in your eyes. He felt his chest warm in adoration, heart doubling in size. "You heard the lady."

"Includes you too, Jaemin. Better get home before Granny Na starts missing her little boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fuck off." You said playfully, recovering the ball. He waved you bye, lugging his bag over his shoulder, fixing the collar of his jersey. A beam touched your lips, face lighting up.

Jaemin smirked back at you, taking his leave. He dragged the remnants away with him, leaving the girl's football team alone in the cooling dwindle of Autumn light.

"Nice shorts." A tug.

"Oh? Na Jaemin complimenting me?" You mused in surprise, arms folded across your chest.

"You didn't let me finish." Jaemin whispered, standing on the sidelines of the pitch, pulling at the hem of your shorts. "Ooh, I can see your stubble. Better bring out the razor."

Your jaw tightened, feeling that rush of annoyance fill your veins again. The nerve.

"More stubble than you'll ever grow on that chin."

"At least I'm not a human Sasquatch."

"I've got hair in the right places—" You started, catching the innuendo, glaring at Jaemin's raised eyebrows. "—I know what I meant. Don't be such a dirty boy."

"Say it again. Love the way it rolls off your tongue."

You gaped at him, whole body blowing a fuse, skin reddening at his tone. Sweltering heat danced atop each fingertip, each muscle, making you jolt. His gaze was still glued to your face, relishing the quickly dilating pupils in your eyes.

"I—"

"—Would rather have you speechless after our first time, not for your championship final. When you win, I'll buy you fucking adorable ice cream with the little star sprinkles that you like."

"Going to ignore you on that first statement, but the second one sounds like a motive."

"Win the match, and I'll ask you out. Properly."

You saw his eyes flash with something passionate, flakes of gooey molasses swirling behind the irises. Before you opened your mouth to reply to him, he pleaded silently for you to just take it as it was. "Gimme a chance. Who knows you better than your enemy? Nobody."

"I mean..."

"Only you know that my grandma calls me those corny names or that I see her all the time."

"Or that you lose every game that's not football because you're too lazy to pay attention." You added.

"And I know that you broke a guy's jaw because he was bothering Yangyang." He continued. "And I also know that you know one thing I've never told anyone."

"Ooh, what's that?"

"That I like you."

You looked away from him sheepishly, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and whether it was from the cold or from his words, you didn't know. He was looking down at you tenderly, ruffling your bed of hair, pressing a small, wet kiss to your forehead as the whistle blew.

"Don't play with fire, Na."

"You're more like a carpet burn."

You sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll give you an answer when we win. If you're playing me, I'll break your arms."

"Okay. Go get 'em, Lady Luck." He smiled, waving you off as you scurried onto the pitch, face glowing under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin felt his chest tighten with pride, jaw aching from all the strenuous smiling.

With that absurdly contented face, you reminded him of a cross between a kid at a carnival and a man about to kill another. Your hair gathered wildly atop your head, a wicked glare painting your face.

This was you at peace, he deduced. Even with the gruesome of expressions, you looked calm. The pitch was truly your home away from home.

Two minutes into the second half saw you being carried off on a stretcher with a torn hamstring. You'd fallen to the grass, no sounds coming from your limp body. Jaemin swore he felt his heart plunge into his ass, and with a frantic flourish, he was coddling your head into his chest.

"Luck, don't die on me. I'm supposed to take you out for ice cream after this, and I stole Renjun's Baskin Robbins loyalty card to cut costs so if we don't go, I'll be getting beat up without having kissed your stupid face." He babbled, slapping your cheeks, scared that you'd genuinely lost your life.

You groaned, rolling slowly in the elastic. "Stop touching my face, I'll get acne." Mildly concussed, you soothed your throbbing headache, registering Jaemin's face looming over you. "Jaemin?"

"Oh, thank God. Thought I'd never see that unruly sparkle in your eyes again."

"Fuck off. My hamstring feels like a fried chicken mukbang and you're talking about my eyes."

"I can't cry before our first date. You'll think I'm a wimp."

"Already think that."

He hit your arm lightly, beaming at your focus on his face, meeting your eyes. You were glaring at him with a kissable pout on your lips, eyebrows furrowed — he wanted to pepper your face in balmy kisses.

The paramedic pushed him away, leading you to the ambulance. You flipped him off, yelling loudly as they wheeled you in, "Make sure you win! Won't forgive you if you don't."

The girl's football team had gathered around the door, all tight-lipped smiles and crumpled faces. They visibly brightened at your declaration, huddling together to recalibrate — the ref blew her whistle to call them back, summoning them back into position.

Yangyang and Donghyuck left the stands, rushing into the ambulance alongside you, closing the door behind them. Jaemin could faintly hear your loud curses, and sighed in relief, knowing that you'd be fine.

With two goals up, the team were at optimum working speed, playing loyally for your honour. Jaemin stood at the sidelines, holding your jacket in his hands as he recorded the match on his phone, wanting to send it to you later.

At 90 minutes, the girl's team had become the winner of the Division One Seoul Inter-district championship, and Jaemin was content. Not because it meant you'd go on that date with him, but because he could feel how much it meant to them.

Everyone around him was cheering madly, chanting and spraying assorted drinks in each other's faces, an infectious joy lingering in his veins. Amongst all the commotion, he'd somehow been pushed into the middle of the team, feeling their gazes boring into his frame.

"You like Cap'n, right?" The brunette said, eyes bright.

"No. I don't like her. She's my rival." Jaemin lied pathetically, trying to escape their judgement.

"Why were you in the locker room then?"

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Cap'n is horrible at lying, so she's always upfront. She also cannot do an impression so she never attempts it."

"Wow, you guys sure know your stuff. Bet she's glad to have a team like you. I know I'm feeling a little jealous."

"Cut the smooth talk. If you like Cap'n, just be straightforward. She's more innocent than she seems, and can get her heart broken easily."

"Got it." He nodded, "Well...ladies, I have to thank you for the advice."

"No problem, but if you break her heart.." They chorused, "We'll break that pretty little nose." Fifteen studded feet swung at his face, narrowly skimming the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, caught off guard, grin bared. "Now, I definitely got that message. I'll be going to check up on her, what do you want me to say?"

"We've already called her and shown her the trophy, so we have nothing left to say, you, however...take all the time you need."

"Since I have your blessing, am I allowed to—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Keep in your lane."

Jaemin promptly closed his mouth, and bid them a goodbye, dashing into his car towards the hospital, stopping at Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream he promised. He hoped you’d at least be able to eat the sprinkles (the ones you liked were expensive, and if you didn’t eat them, he’d just wasted an extra 2,500 won.)

In the hospital, you were now dressed in a medical gown, surrounded by the two idiots. It smelt like an experiment lab, and the spotless shades of ivory splashed on the walls made you feel a tad bit overwhelmed.

Your leg had already undergone the MRSI scan, and the nurses had told you that you’d definitely tore your hamstring, but surgery would fix it right up along with natural healing.

Of course, all those details lacked in comparison to your team finally winning the trophy you’d worked so hard towards — that excitement numbed the pain considerably.

“We thought you’d somehow died.” Yangyang confessed, grasping your hands in his clammy ones.

“You did.” Donghyuck sneered, pointing at him, continuing when he saw your face change in confusion. “Yang was convinced that you were invincible like Superman or something. He started blubbering about how you could definitely defeat the grim reaper in close contact and that should be enough to steal back your soul or whatever—”

“I’m just never going to ask questions again.”

“Jaemin was on the verge of a breakdown when he saw you fall. Never have I ever seen him run so fast towards a girl.” Donghyuck said, hand on chin in mock thought.

You blushed, remembering your promise about the ice cream and falling back into the bed in distress.

“What’s going on with you? I saw you two all friendly at the sidelines.” Yangyang murmured, eyes squinting in judgement. “Don’t tell me...you guys fucked before the game?”

Suddenly it was too hot in the room. You fanned yourself to cool down, slapping your own cheeks before pulling Yangyang’s ears. “Yeah, because I have the guts to just have my first time in a school setting.” You deadpanned.

“Naughty girl.” Both boys swooned, unable to note your sarcasm.

“Just because my leg is gone doesn’t mean I can’t harm you anymore. I’ll break your kneecaps.”

In the midst of your fight with your best friends, you spotted Jaemin opening the door, wearing that greasy smirk that made butterflies tickle your throat.

“I see a broken leg isn’t enough to stop you, is it?” Jaemin drawled from the door, hands behind his back. “Still threatening people?”

“It’s not threatening if they deserve it.” You mumbled, suddenly shy. Jaemin maintained his distance from you, arm outstretched, ice cream tub in hand. He was looking away from you, faint blush tinting his cheeks, lips squeezed in a puffy ‘o’.

“Not that I remembered or anything, but you did say something about liking these sprinkles.” He said, eyes darting around to focus on anything but you.

“I do...like these sprinkles..how did you know?”

“Everyone calls you star, and you’re cute. It’s your personality in an edible sugar shape.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, forgetting both Donghyuck and Yangyang were seated in the room. It felt like the two of you were just stuck in your own world, glaring at each other like a pair of lovers.

Unfortunately, that moment was cut short by your ungracious best friends, cooing annoyingly. They were squealing like little girls, incomprehensible screams of ‘our girl’s grown up!’ scraping your eardrums.

“Leave me alone!” You whined, face scrunched in discomfort, making futile attempts to push them away. “Jaemin...please get these two off me.”

“Asking your boyfriend to get rid of us? Already?” Yangyang hollered, one of Jaemin’s arms stopping him from jumping on you again.

“He’s not my boyfriend. As of now, he’s the only sensible one who isn’t mauling the girl with a broken leg, and that’s why I’m asking him for help.”

“Should I throw them out?”

“Yes —actually, do whatever. Let them go terrorise someone that isn’t me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

On that, Jaemin escorted both boys outside, shutting the door on them, cutting off the beginning to their long-winded rant with a smile. That left the two of you alone.

Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t stifling but rather a conversation of the mind — you were able to see what he wanted to say by looking into those mocha coloured eyes. You threw the ice cream tub in the bin, reaching for Jaemin’s hands shyly.

He’d sat down beside you on the bed, just staring at you like you were an abstract painting, a mosaic of a splendid array, unable to take his eyes off you. He took your hand warmly, running his fingers over your calloused knuckles, sharing his heat with you.

“Jaemin.” You yawned, head falling onto his shoulder. “I’m saying yes to your date. If I didn’t get injured, you could’ve taken me out today, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Being with you is enough for me, even if I do want to comment on your horrible tackles during the match.” Jaemin teased, grabbing your hand a little tighter.

“Haha...I’m dying of laughter.”

“Hey! None of that here.”

“Sorry. I’m just happy. My team won our first championship, which we’ve been trying to do for three years, and I feel on top of the world. All those years of boys being absolute dickheads to us about our abilities, trying to put us down have amounted to this moment. I’m at peace right now.”

“Don’t apologise. I should be sorry instead. It was easier to talk to you if I pretended I hated you. I shouldn’t have been like that.”

“I accept your apology. But..I think it was cute you couldn’t tell me you liked me! That’s so endearing.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s my line! Well, you were always attractive to me, even when you were being a dickhead. Now that I think about it, you’re at your hottest when you’re being mean.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin mused, rolling onto his hands, dangling over you, lips eerily close to your own. “Do you want me to treat you mean, keep you keen?”

“Firstly, don’t ever say that again.” You stopped him, hand placed on his chest to push him away lightly. “Secondly, I’ve never had a boyfriend or my first kiss. That means no experience.” You slurred that last part, rushing the words so he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Cap’n, you’re telling me that I’ll be your first?”

“Not if you don’t ask me out.”

Jaemin sat back beside you, looking up to the ceiling. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, standing up before you, hands rubbing his stomach softly to calm down.

“I wanted to do a real dramatic confession, but I rushed over here in fear that you wouldn’t be able to hit me again, so I’ll have to stick with my speech.” He cheesed, trying to ease himself of his nerves. You laughed, hissing in mock anger when he wore that stupid grin. “I like you. Like a lot. Sometimes, I come to school with a dirty scowl on my face, but then I see your face and start smiling like a love struck fool. You’re someone that I wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Jaemin, you little mongrel. Come here.” You waved him over, arms outstretched in a hug. “Even though I know your ego won’t let you ask me out properly, I would love to be your girlfriend. However, if my heart is broken..I’ll be stoning your car.”

“Thought you were gonna say that you’d break my face.”

“That too.”

He snuggled closer into you, peering up at you with shining eyes, not wanting to move too much to keep you comfortable. You grinned back at him, placing a soft kiss on his head, running a hand through his hair.

That familiar silence returned, and that’s how you fell asleep with Na Jaemin enveloped in your chest. Although you’d broken a leg, Lady Luck seemed to have twiddled her fingers to send you a ‘get well soon’ present, the ever cunning Na Jaemin.

Five months later had you no longer hobbling around on crutches like a hobbit, but walking proud and tall. Jaemin drove you to school (using the excuse of carpooling) and helped you take your books to first period everyday — the alpha male in him winced seeing you attempt any ‘heavy lifting’, and he’d made it a routine.

“Can you fuck off? I can carry this.” You complained, pinching his side. “Just because I see a physio biweekly doesn’t mean I’m about as able-bodied as a monkey.”

“Got the hair to be a monkey.” He snorted.

“Look who’s talking, Mr.Sasquatch. Bigger feet than his prints, you little scoundrel.”

“Big feet means big—”

“Don’t finish that if you wanna keep the body part in question.”

“—heart. Dirty girl.”

You felt the honey pooling in your stomach, kissing his cheek in haste to escape his relentless teasing. He shut up at that, pulling you back to kiss you properly, attracting the attention of everyone in the hallway.

“Get to class.” He announced as he parted from you, enjoying your petulant face. You hit him softly, flipping him off from behind you, blowing him a kiss.

Ah, Na Jaemin. You still hated him. Just a little less this time.

#na jaemin imagines #jaemin imagines #jaemin scenarios #jaemin fluff #na jaemin scénarios #na jaemin fluff #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct #nct dream #nct2020 #kpop imagines #kpop scénarios #kpop fluff #kpop #nct smut #kpop smut

200 notes · View notes

ymiwritesstuff · 3 years

Note

Hi! I saw your requests are open and I could definitely use some Kakyoin lovin, so could I slide ya a lil idea? What about Kakyoin saves reader from an attack and she gives him a heat of the moment kiss as a thanks. And then gets all embarrassed cuz it was super impulsive and she just kissed her crush and then comes clean about it? 🥺

Awww this is ADORABLE!! I had so much fun with this, I hope it came out the way you were hoping, Anon. Thanks for the request and please enjoy!

Action of Gratitude

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Noriaki Kakyoin x Fem!Reader

Summary: A seemingly normal stroll around the foreign city quickly turns dangerous with no hope in sight.

Notes: Minor swearing

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” The red-haired teen asked, tiny specks of worry glimmering in his lavender eyes. You smile at him, finding his concern rather adorable as he was always looking out for everyone in the group.

“Don’t worry, Nori. I just have to go grab a few things from the shop. I’m sure it won’t take long,” you replied, his gaze immediately easing a bit as your words reached his ears, a pleasant smile appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m not like certain someone who always gets in trouble with the enemy when he wanders around a foreign city on his own.” Your eyes immediately glance at the silver-haired Frenchman who you had been referring to and judging by his and everyone else’s expression, they had understood what your slightly sarcastic but playful sentence meant. Polnareff was quick to defend himself.

“Hey! It’s not my fault I get attacked all the time!” A small laugh escapes your lips at his words as you turn to momentarily leave the group to do your shopping. “I’ll be back in a bit, don't you dare leave without me.” The tone in your voice is playful and it gets a few laughs and eye rolls as a response as you begin your little adventure.

The shop wasn’t far away, but you had to be careful as the attacks from the enemy had increased in numbers lately. What you said about Polnareff was merely a joke, but at the same time, it reminded everyone about the risks involved. No one knew what kind of a stand would try to deter you next, and the thought admittedly scared you. The last thing you wanted was to see someone get badly injured. Especially Kakyoin.

Something about him was pulling you in like a magnet. Perhaps it was his calm and collected demeanor or his unrelenting desire to help in any way he could, you weren’t sure, but there was definitely something in him that made your heart race and stomach twist. In addition, his good looks definitely amplified the feelings of affection.

You had held onto these feelings for quite some time. They developed gradually as you witnessed his personality and skills in battle, which gave you a better understanding of who he really was. He was a diligent young man who put others before himself, a trait which you respected greatly. He had gone through a lot, with the vicious flesh bud and all, which made you feel bad for him. And yet, he bounced back and became a valuable member of the team. Perhaps that’s what caused your attraction. He had a strong spirit that refused to give up and fought valiantly when danger appeared.

However, there was a cloud of uncertainty and despair above your head, as you weren’t at all certain if he held the same kind of feelings towards you. You tried not to give yourself too much hope, but as the journey progressed, you found yourself more and more attached to him. It frustrated you to an extent and a part of you just wanted to come clean to him even if it meant you might look like an utter fool.

Suddenly, in the midst of walking through an empty alley that was shielded from the bright sunshine, something shot at you from the shadows at a high speed. Your eyes quickly locked onto the blurry speck that traveled towards you and you tried to dodge, but whatever was flying towards you managed to hit your wrist and pulled it to the hard ground. That’s when you felt the sticky substance on your wrist that mercilessly held you on the ground with no signs of letting you go. This was bad.

You immediately summon your stand and try to pry your hand free, which quickly proves to be a terrible decision as soon as your free hand goes to touch the substance. A small gasp leaves your mouth as both of your hands are now stuck. No matter how hard you pull or move you aren’t able to break free which quickly increases your panic. “Shit, shit shit!” Your knees on the ground you try to look for the culprit as you are more than certain this is another enemy stand attack.

“Man I thought this would be at least a bit more difficult,” said an unknown male voice. Your eyes immediately shot at the direction of the voice, your heart beginning to race slightly as the enemy emerged from the shadows. He had a confident smirk as he watched your predicament you tried so hard to ease. Your efforts were in vain as the spiderweb-like restrains showed no signs of loosening. A chuckle that left the enemy stand user’s mouth only increased your panic.

“Don’t even try it, missy,” he said and pulled something from his pocket; A knife. Your (E/C) eyes widened at this and despite his words, you continued your fruitless struggle. He noticed this. “Damn you really are persistent. Don’t you get it? There’s nothing you can do.” Despite the annoyingly mocking tone in his voice, he was right. Summoning your stand in this situation was impossible due to the fact that you were completely immobile, your hands glued to the ground.

“Let me go you asshole!” He took a few steps closer, still holding the sharp knife in his hand as he let out another derisive laugh. “And let you attack me with that stand of yours? I think not.” Your heart pounded in your chest as he knelt down in front of you, holding the blade dangerously close to your face. Still, you kept your eyes on him. “You see, my stand isn’t exactly suited for combat. The only thing it can do is shoot that glue-like substance that sticks to everything. It works well as a trap but it won’t do any physical damage.” You glared at the enemy despite the obvious panic raging inside you. The situation was dire, but you weren’t ready to lose. Still, the knife in his hand shook your entire being.

“That’s why I carry this little thing around.” His eyes glanced at the blade and he brought it even closer, to which you responded by quickly spitting at him making him quickly tumble backward, a groan escaping his mouth. What an idiot. A small smirk makes its way on your face but it quickly disappears as your quick action proves alarming as he recovers quickly, his eyes burning with anger.

“You little bitch!” He quickly lunges at you, knife in hand, aiming to strike you down. That previous panic amplifies and you try to break free once again, despite it being utterly useless. You breathe heavily as the rapid footsteps of the enemy get closer and closer, your struggles getting more and more desperate as the fear of death quickly consumes you. The situation had gotten extremely dangerous and you quickly closed your eyes, unwilling to see the knife stab you.

But the sharp pain never came and instead, you heard a loud thud mere inches away from you and upon opening your eyes, the enemy, was on the ground, completely knocked out. You were so shocked and confused you didn’t even realize your hands becoming free again. Only when a familiar voice called out to you did you finally come to your senses.

“(Name)!” Kakyoin quickly rushed to your side and helped you up, worry shining in his eyes. “(Name)? Are you okay? Did the enemy hurt you?” As you looked at him, something inside you exploded and before you knew it, you crashed your lips into his, catching him completely off guard. Your lips tingled pleasantly as they touched his, the fact that he had come to your rescue doing something inside you that caused you to kiss him in the heat of the moment.

However you quickly realize what you had done and as you glance at him and notice his wide lavender eyes and a faint blush you pull away, internally cursing at yourself for doing something this reckless. “N-Nori I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The embarrassment makes itself known on your face as you quickly try to somehow explain yourself and try not to make yourself look like a fool. Though, it’s probably too late.

“I-I just... I thought because you saved me, a-and- I’ve liked you for some time- I mean! I-I was so afraid, I didn’t know what I was doing I-” Your quite pathetic rambling gets interrupted by a warm chuckle that leaves the teen’s mouth. Before you have time to process his reaction, the feeling of his soft lips against yours returns as he captures them in a pleasant kiss you had been secretly waiting for.

Your hands find their way around his neck while his are tenderly on your waist. Your heart flutters, the red shade never fading from your cheeks as the kiss from the person you had been attracted to for so long completely takes over and all doubt about his feelings towards you fades away as you lovingly embrace your red-haired savior.

#jjba #jojo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Stardust Crusaders #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin #jjba kakyoin #jojo kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin x reader #jjba noriaki kakyoin x reader #kakyoin x reader #jojo kakyoin x reader #jjba kakyoin x reader #reader insert

140 notes · View notes

icyharrington · 4 years

Text

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships

wc: 4.2k

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns @langdonskillerqueen @aradevil @anemia-doll @muralskins @funtomimagines @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes @our-mrlangdon @lotsofhunny @sevenwonderwitch @horrorstreet @kpopmademedo-it @naughtygranger @codyshands @krazycags01 @skullag

#michael langdon #is it wrong #michael langdon x reader #mine #michael langdon fic #ahs #american horror story #apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #x reader #ahs x reader

313 notes · View notes

justanother-unluckysoul · 3 years

Text

Working My Way Back To You 8/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

I promised you guys some more comfort and here it is! For the prompts “panic attacks” and “exhaustion.” In which our poor pirate has just had a tough session with Archie and finds himself in dire need of some comfort. Thankfully, Emma is close at hand to give it to him. (also chapter count has gone up because these guys need a fluffy epilogue after everything they went through haha)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Panic Attacks + Exhaustion

Killian gets better. He spends some time on the Jolly Roger, though his fingers still struggle to do much of the finer work on her and Henry picks up the slack with great enthusiasm. He goes out for drinks with David on a Friday night and only imbibes an appropriate amount of liquor, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz and not so much it leaves him hungover in the morning. Killian takes Emma in his arms regularly and kisses her and lets her hold him – though after the disaster of their last attempt, any further enjoyable activities are focused on Emma’s needs, and his trousers stay on until he’s alone in the privacy of the bathroom. But it’s okay. Emma continues to be supportive and gentle and like she promised that night, she doesn’t do anything he’s not comfortable with. Meanwhile, Killian keeps his appointments with Stacy and with Archie. He loves and laughs and lives, and does his best to move forward. But the way to healing is not smooth sailing. Other days every sound still makes him flinch, makes him want to hide away even from Emma. Some nights his terrible dreams have him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Sometimes his hand just won’t stop shaking.

-------

It’s a combination of a bad day and Archie poking at his trauma that finally does him in. His sessions with the cricket often leave him feeling drained, but this is something else – a dark, roiling storm of fear and horror throughout his body as his legs carry him onward without conscious thought. He can’t even remember leaving Archie’s office at the end of their appointment, but the overwhelming urge to get away has brought him to the Jolly’s deck and he can’t bloody breathe. He trips on something and slams onto the deck, hard. For a moment it all stops, recognizable wood under his cheek and his hand steadying, grounding. But up, up his mind screams, wild with fear, and he’s helpless to refute it. He should be feeling calmer now, standing on the Jolly like this, and maybe he would if he could get any of the salty air into his lungs or hear her familiar sounds over the roaring in his ears. The need to hide away lest someone sees him in such a frenzied state overwhelms him, driving him below deck to his quarters before his wobbly legs give out once more. This time he doesn’t have enough strength to follow the commands of get up, Hook! And it’s been a long time now since his subconscious has called him by that name. Killian’s losing himself, he’s going to fall right off the damn world, his head is spinning so much and he knows, knows he needs to breathe but he can’t quite get that message through to his ribcage that seems set on squeezing his lungs. He crawls rather pathetically to the nearest vertical surface to lean against. He fights his body’s instinctive desire to curl up and instead focuses on the feel of the solid thing at his back, legs sprawled in front of him, because he needs to breathe and folding in on himself is just going to make it more difficult. Just focus on where you are right now. Breathe. I’m safe. I’m safe. Just breathe. He’s so single-mindedly concentrating on trying to calm himself down that when his phone jingles, he nearly jumps out of his skin. And that sets him right back at where he started, undoing all the efforts he’d put into slowing his breathing and he bites out a strangled curse between ragged breaths, furious at his own weakness. He tugs the phone from his pocket, fingers trembling so bad he nearly drops it, and squints at the screen. Emma.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma’s voice comes through almost immediately once he presses the answer button, “How’d it go today?”

He doesn’t know how she seemed to sense all is not well and called him at this exact time. He hadn’t thought to ask for her help, but now her voice is in his ear, he’s feeling rather desperate for the comfort she could provide. But the words falter on Killian’s lips and since when did they start tingling like that?

“Killian? Are you there?”

“S-swan, I need…”

Help. Killian’s mind is at war, one side screaming that he’s going to die and the other, a quiet bit of rationality saying he’s actually fine, he’s experienced this before and he knows how to deal with it. Just relax, slow your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay. He knows what he needs to do to bring himself out of it but dammit, it’s been centuries since he’d been felled by one this powerful and so he’s out of practice, okay? (He doesn’t know who he’s trying to justify himself to.)

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Jolly…” he gasps and that’s all the breath he has.

The phone slips out of his hand. His fingers push into his chest, over his racing heart, as he tries futilely to draw a decent breath. It feels like his heart is trying to beat right out of him, an almost painful hammering that echoes in his ears.

“Killian?”

Emma sounds close. Real. No longer tinny through the phone, although the blood rushing through Killian’s head still muffles it. He startles at the sight of her face suddenly appearing in his darkening vision as she kneels beside him, the flinch making his head smack against the wood behind him.

“Hey, easy, you need to calm down, Killian, you need to-”

As if Killian’s not painfully aware of that fact and doing his best to manage such a feat. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Can I… can I touch you?” Emma asks, her voice a carefully steady tone, like she’s panicking as much as he is and trying not to.

Speech is beyond him now, but he nods, a tiny motion as his eyes flutter closed. Emma’s hand is on his shoulder at once and her fingers are tugging his fingers away from his chest to hold onto them firmly, a solid counterpoint to the terrible whirling of the world. It only makes him want to pull away a little bit, his scrambled mind briefly unsure if this contact is safe or not, though she asked and he gave permission. And he knows it’s safe. It’s only Emma. Gods, he really needs to calm down.

“Killian. Killian.” A soft mutter of don’t make me slap you, and Killian thinks he should respond to that strange comment. He can’t though, he’s too preoccupied with trying to get air. “I need you to slow it down a bit, okay? Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do this.”

He’s probably crushing her fingers right now, Killian thinks dazedly. Last time, he’d gripped the charms on his necklace so hard the marks on his hand remained for hours. The time before, he’d twisted his fingers into a rope, pulled it tight enough that it chafed his skin, desperately trying to find something solid to drag him back to reality as the tempest rattled his mind. Huh. Killian hadn’t even thought of those events in probably a century. It’s funny where the mind goes when it thinks you’re about to die.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Killian.”

Oh, right. Emma’s still here. And he’s still not able to take a decent breath. He lifts his heavy eyelids and she’s so close, and so beautiful, green eyes wide with concern for him and her hair framing her face. He’s not sure at what point he’s ended up laying on his back with his head on her lap, but he’s not complaining.

“There you are,” she’s saying, and he’s earned a wan smile, apparently, “That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Take a nice, slow breath for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Gods, she’s far more patient with him than he deserves. But his breath is flowing easier, her gentle touch and her calm voice quelling the storm within him. She’s caressing his face and he tries to pull his hand from hers because he’s surely hurt her fingers during his episode, but he’s trembling quite strongly now as he comes out of it and she won’t let him go.

“Ssshh, just relax,” she murmurs, soft and tender, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good, Killian.”

Killian thinks he’ll never get over how much he loves hearing her say his name like this, or any other way, truthfully. After so long being Hook to everyone he met, in both title and deed, the way his true name sounds in her mouth sends a wave of warmth through his whole body. It’s not desire or arousal; no, it’s more akin to the pleasant burn of rum down his throat. And what a miserable pirate he is that his only point of reference for how good things feel is to compare them to rum.

“Good, good,” she praises a bit more, and he revels in it, “Nice and slow, that’s it.”

With the calming of his body comes the calming of his mind, his thoughts sorting themselves into a functional order and-

“Swan, did you threaten to slap me?” Killian asks, going for dramatically offended but his voice is still weak and trembly. He hopes his face expression conveys his teasing.

It must, because Emma laughs then, a slightly unhinged version of it, testament to how shaken she too is, and Killian feels a rush of guilt for scaring her like this.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t… I saw it in a movie once. It’s supposed to snap you out of it, either that or a kiss. But I don’t know if it would work.”

“A kiss? Well, I’d not make an objection to that method. Perhaps you could even show me right now, just how you intended to kiss me in such a way that I would snap out of it…?”

Slipping back into the easy, flirtatious banter feels good. Normal. Safe. His head rested on Emma’s legs, her hands on his skin, and now the attack has passed he can hear the water lapping against the hull and occasional soft creak-groan of his ship as the ocean moves her gently. But exhaustion seizes him now, abrupt and all-encompassing like every other time, and his head rolls further against Emma’s palm as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Whoa, are you okay?” she asks, startled at his sudden change in demeanour.

“Aye,” Killian says but he can’t quite gather the strength to move, “Tired. S’normal. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Normal? Killian, has this happened before?”

She sounds angry and he slowly tilts his chin up a little so he can see her. She looks angry too but he can’t fathom why.

“Not for a long time, love,” he assures her.

“A long time? Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses, “Weeks? A month?”

He can feel the weariness in his very bones. His eyes are closing against his will.

“Centuries, Emma.”

“Oh,” she whispers after a moment.

Then her hands are holding him a little tighter as she moves them through space in an instant, and the sounds of the harbour are replaced with the soft growling of a heater and what’s probably Henry rummaging around downstairs. He’s back home. He blinks slowly and takes in their bedroom, warm and cosy and Emma’s still holding him.

“Can you stand?” she asks, “The bed’s right here.”

“Aye. Can you-”

She knows what he’s asking before he asks it, carefully helping him to his feet and bracing him through the dizziness at the change of altitude. He collapses facedown onto the bed once his body allows him movement again, fully clothed but he isn’t intending to move again for quite a time.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” Emma asks.

Killian nods, eyes already shut again.

“Jacket too?”

“Whatever you desire, love,” he mumbles against the pillow.

She snort-laughs, and he allows her to wrangle his limbs through the removal of his jacket and his boots, and then his waistcoat as well and finally his hook. He’s too weary. He feels as though he could sleep for an eternity.

-------

He wakes feeling terrible and it’s dark outside, his mind foggy and his mouth stuffed with cotton. The sensation is so strong that he must work his tongue around his teeth just to be certain there’s actually nothing in there. He probably should have had a drink before passing out. Ah, but it’s too late for that now. He’s just gathering his strength to go in search of water when-

“Killian? Do you want some water?” Henry’s walked into the room holding a bowl of… soup? Potentially. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

Killian doubts his ability to speak with his mouth as dry as it is, so he just nods, and Henry grabs the cup of water from the bedside table – how had Killian not noticed that? His mind is still a little foggy, it seems. He sits up slowly and gratefully takes the cup that Henry gives him. The water feels wonderful, cool and fresh, and his thirst is only barely slaked once he’s downed all of it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Henry asks, “We made soup. But my grandparents are here for dinner, so… Do you want to come downstairs? Or you can eat up here if you want to.”

The weariness has somehow now morphed into a full-body ache, despite the hours of sleep he’s just had, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good company in this state. He says the last part of his thoughts to Henry, who nods in understanding and sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Henry,” Killian says with a grateful smile.

“Ok.”

Henry smiles back before leaving the room. Killian hears him taking the stairs two at a time, and Emma half-heartedly admonishing him for it. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes a mouthful of the perfect soup, gently spicy and warming him all the way to his toes. Emma obviously had some help with the cooking tonight – she’s good, but not this good. He must remember to thank Snow White later.

--------

Archie had called her, Emma tells him when she comes up to their bedroom after Snow and David have left. That’s why she’d called Killian when she had, checking to see if he was alright.

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, her fingers absently brushing through Killian’s hair as she sat on the bed next to him, “He said you left his office in a hurry and he was a bit worried about you.”

He remembers back in the hospital when he’d woken, disoriented and panicked, and she’d used this same method to calm him, gentle pressure and the tiniest scrape of her nails against his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair. It had been comforting then and it was comforting now. After his meal, Killian had gathered the strength to ready himself for bed properly, but that small amount of energy is depleted again now. And if Emma’s not careful, he’ll go right back to sleep before this conversation is over, his belly comfortably full and his tired muscles coaxed into relaxation by her affections. He tries to rouse himself a little more. It’s not really working.

“He’s… that was good of him, I suppose,” he says, voice rough with the sleep he so desperately wants more of, “It’s just… My mind got a bit… stormy. It does that from time to time, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state.”

He can’t help the hint of loathing in his voice. Now that Killian’s had some time to think on the events of the day, he’s rather mortified that Emma had witnessed his moment of vulnerability. It would have been better if she hadn’t shown up, then it’s likely Killian would have blacked in his quarters and woken sometime later, once his mind had settled. It had happened that way before. And then nobody would have known how pathetic he really is.

“Did you tell him what happened?” he asks, trying to keep his mind on the present.

Emma’s fingers in his hair are helping to anchor him here, though they’ve stopped moving, just settling amongst the dark strands instead.

“Yeah. Was that… was that okay?”

No.

“Aye.” He’s lying through his teeth and Emma can probably tell. “I suppose he should know.”

“He wasn’t really surprised to hear about it, anyway. He said you guys went into some pretty dark topics today.”

Killian’s breath hitches, and his hand curls reflexively into a fist.

“Is that all he said?” he asks carefully, and he looks intently at her for any sign she’s not being honest with her answer.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Killian. I’m not going to hear any details from him, and I wouldn’t ask anyway. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that, you know.”

Of course. He does know, logically, that Archie would never share with anyone what Killian tells him about those two weeks in captivity, not even Emma. And he knows Emma would never ask Archie to do so either. But still, Killian can’t help that little thrum of fear in his heart.

“But if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of it, I’m willing to listen,” Emma says quietly.

Killian’s mind cries yes and gods no in equal parts. The two sides of him wage a brief but intense battle on the other, one wanting to open up to this beautiful woman who cares so deeply about him, but the other part wanting to hide away all the hurt in some dark corner of his soul.

“Perhaps one day,” he compromises, “But it wasn’t… I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, love. It’s bad enough having them in my own.”

“I’m the one that found you in the cellar, remember? I know what they did to you.”

Killian swallows, hard.

“It’s one thing to see the aftermath of that sort of situation, Emma. Quite another to hear the details of how it was done.”

She nods once.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

They don’t talk for a long moment, but the silence is far more tranquil than any sort of awkward. Emma resumes her soothing motions through his hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp. His hair has got to be sticking up all over the place by this point and he knows it’ll take more than a little combing in the morning to get it tamed again. Killian’s just about to drift off to sleep when Emma finally speaks again.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Killian mutters, his words coming out a little slurred, “But I wouldn’t mind having you under the covers.”

Emma chuckles, her cheeks getting a bit pinker. Oops.

“To sleep, Emma,” Killian specifies quickly, because he’s definitely inadvertently dropped a potential innuendo in having you, but he is bloody exhausted and he really didn’t mean it that way, for once, “But I can have you the other way in the morning, if you like.”

“Sure,” she says with a grin, “Let me get ready for bed and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He loses his fight to stay awake while she’s brushing her teeth and slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He wakes with the sun, like he so often does, and feeling much improved, with Emma sleeping pressed against his side and her arm across his chest like she’s trying to hold him in place.

to be continued...

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fic #killian whump #ptsd #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfics

21 notes · View notes

thebladeblaster · 4 years

Text

Vanguard Zero Awkward Matchups part 4

Sorry for taking so long I just haven’t really felt like posting that much for the past few days.

Kamui: I’ll bring you back to normal bro!

Dark Aichi: Ha! Not even Kai could beat me. You really think YOU stand a chance against me now?

Kamui: Even if it seems hopeless...I’ve gotta try! Because that’s what friends do! Your my friend Aichi! You may have forgotten it but I haven’t! I’ll break through to the real you with the power of friendship!

Dark Aichi: Then let’s see what stronger your pathetic power of friendship or my power!

Dark Aichi: So, your that other me’s Kai I can’t say I’m very impressed.

Kai (AC): I can’t say I’m very impressed with you either you’ve become so absorbed in that fake strength you’ve become exactly like Ren was. Your weak nothing like the Aichi I know he’s far stronger than you’ll ever be.

Dark Aichi: Grrr! You really seem smug for someone who just lost! Besides I’m way stronger than your weakling Aichi!

Ren: It seems the time has finally come for us to fight Aichi.

Dark Aichi: Right it’s finally time for me to crush you and prove who the strongest really is

Ren: Oh ho?! You really think you can defeat me? I’m the one who made you who you are!

Dark Aichi: You did. But now frankly I have no more use for you besides you’ll find I’ve far surpassed you.

Ren: Grrr!Looks like I’ll have to remind you of the pecking order!

Dark Aichi: (chuckles) We’ll see.

Aichi (AC): It’s you again?!

Dark Aichi: So, we meet again other me I’m guessing you want to get crushed again?

Aichi (AC): You won’t win this time! I’ll show you what true power is!

Dark Aichi: Pfft! ‘True power’ I guess that means you won’t be using your Psyqualia just like last time. How boring.

Aichi (AC): Heh! Unlike you I don’t need Psyqualia to win all my fights for me.

Ren: No way! How could I lose to this Aichi too?!

Aichi (AC): Ren, Psyqualia is simply meant to aid you in dire situations. Your abuse of your power has made you weak you’ve completely forgot how to fight without it.

Ren: Maybe your right...Hehe you know your way different than the Aichi I know you seem a bit more...wise and...way less arrogant

Aichi (AC): Well, I’ve...been through a lot to say the least...

Kyou: AHHH!!! ITS YOU!!! I mean...ah it’s you Aichi Sendou.

Aichi (AC): (sweat drops) Have we met?

Kyou: Oh god your just like Ren...Do you two have a goldfish’s memory or something!?

Aichi (AC): Right...I remember you we uh...

Kyou: We have fought before! I was part of team Asteroid!

Aichi (AC): Your...Kiriya right?

Kyou: ... (facepalms)

MLB Kourinverse Kourin encounters Aichi (AC)

Kourin: You won...Wait why aren’t you using Shadow Paladin?

Aichi (AC): Shadow Paladin...Wait are that other me...the evil one’s Kourin?

Kourin: So, I take it you’ve met him.

Aichi (AC): On a few occasions. We haven’t really gotten along he sees me as a fake and seems obsessed with proving he’s the one true Aichi.

Kourin: I see...so why are you...you know...

Aichi (AC): Not like him.

Kourin: Yes.

Aichi (AC): Because someone close to me reminded me of why I wanted power in the first place. I wanted to be able to help my friends. Kai and...you. I never really got the chance but thank you Kourin...now I’ll have to find mine and thank her too.

Kourin: (blushes) Y-you don’t have to thank me I’m not even your Kourin besides I failed.

Aichi (AC): Just because you failed once doesn’t mean you have to give up. You gotta keep going...well if you want to...

Kourin: I do...I’ll definitely find a way to save my Aichi!

Aichi (AC): Well, if you need help I’m here we can train if you want.

Kourin: Really don’t you have more important things to do?

Aichi (AC): What’s more important than helping out a friend?

Kourin: (blushes deeply) I g-guess so if your gotta bug me about it...Fine! I’ll accept your help.

Aichi (AC): Ah! Kourin your so red!? Are you feeling okay?

Kourin: S-shut up idiot!

Afterwards

Aichi (AC): I wonder what was up with Kourin. Was it something I said?

Kamui (AC): Bro, you really are oblivion.

Misaki (AC): Kamui I think the word you were looking for was oblivious.

Me after getting my second and third Ezel:

All according to Keikaku!

(Edit: I still don’t know how to unlike my own posts I accidentally liked. I don’t even know why it does that I just tapped the post and didn’t even touch the heart.)

13 notes · View notes

bgn846 · 4 years

Text

D4 FFXV Drabble - One Shot

Featuring Gladio and Ignis. in which Ignis has a bad day at the office, punctuated by an attempt on his life by the office vending machine.

The mechanical whir of the machine broke his momentary stupor. Sighing heavily, Ignis gazed through the scratched glass panel of the vending machine, waiting for his selection to drop. It was a pathetic excuse for dinner, he knew it, but there wasn’t much else he could do. His meetings for the day had gone long, and he’d gotten behind. The only way to catch up was to work late.

Staying at the office was a trick he’d learned early on, it prevented any excuses on his part for not doing his job. The second he’d set foot in his apartment all chances of work would be lost. The need for rest would take over and he’d be screwed the next day.

Gladio and Noct would scold him for this type of behavior but he needed to make sure things were done properly. In other words, he had to do it himself. When the machine stopped making noise Ignis looked down in the collection slot and frowned. The dark plastic pit that should have held his processed food package was empty.

Daring to take a peek inside the machine where his item had been housed, showed it was stuck. Wedged firmly between its neighbors in the machine, it wasn’t going anywhere. The first thought that crossed his mind was to kick the machine. Some form of self-preservation kicked in and prevented his foot from moving. After staring for far too long, another idea came to him. Find more money and buy something else. Losing a couple bucks to the vending machine wasn’t the end of the eos.

However, after he’d torn his desk apart and fully emptied his wallet it became clear he had no more cash. This vending machine was too old to accept credit cards so he was out of luck. He did consider the notion that a different machine on another floor in the citadel might take credit. The idea of leaving to go buy terrible food was a worry. He might simply keep walking, and end up at his car in the garage, if he left the floor. Groaning out loud he pushed himself up from his desk and went to analyze the situation again.

Another indeterminate amount of time passed as he glared at the offending machine. Finally he decided on a plan. His arm was long; he might be able to reach the item if he stuck his hand in through the bottom. The fact that the machine was outdated worked to his advantage in this scheme. The door wasn’t tamper proof.

Sustenance was literally within reach, all he had to do was stretch another inch. The last inch proved the most difficult. Something about bones and tissue not stretching, despite willing them to do so, meant Ignis could only scrape the packaging with his fingernail. Yelling in frustration he forced his arm into the tiny space ignoring the pain it caused.

The movement was enough to dislodge the item and it fell gracelessly into the bin. Releasing a giddy laugh at his success, Ignis balled his fist up in a victory stance. Unfortunately he moved his arm too quickly, and subsequently smacked the metal rack that held the food in the machine. What happened next was truly terrible. Ignis didn’t know vending machines could enact revenge.

The spiraled coil of metal that held the food in place had moved during his small celebration, and hooked itself on the band of his wrist watch. Panicking slightly as it pulled his arm Ignis tried to pull back but he was stuck fast. Apparently, this machine was not happy at having been tampered with.

The discomfort he’d felt before was now amplified and he wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe he could unlatch his watch and get free. The angle he’d gotten stuck meant his other free arm was again, just out of reach. Astrals, he was going to be stuck here the whole damn night. People would come in the next day, and find him passed out. He’d probably lose his arm in the resulting rescue mission.

This wasn’t acceptable, he needed help. Shoving his pride aside at having been played by a damn vending machine, Ignis worked to fish his phone out of his pocket. The pain was getting worse and if he didn’t hurry he’d have to call the crownsguard office to send someone. That was his last resort, he other options before things got that dire.

Pulling up the last number dialed he hit send and waited. The line rang and rang but Ignis prayed he’d would pick up. Right as he was about to give up, the line connected. Gladio’s out of breath voice greeted him a second later. Thank the six, the man must have been training late, that meant he was on the grounds.

“Gl-gladio,” Ignis hissed through his pain. “Please tell me you are still at work.”

“Iggy, what’s wrong, you sound off.”

Unsure if he should describe his misfortune over the phone, Ignis opted for a brief summary instead. “I’ve had an accident in the break room on my floor, I need h--,”

Gladio didn’t even let him finish, “I’m on my way right now, are you bleeding?”

“No,” he gasped, “I’m – six, this is embarrassing,” Ignis lamented.

“Stay calm, I’m on my way. I might lose you on the elevator ride but I’m coming okay.”

“Thanks,” Ignis managed as he sat on the floor and waited. Gladio, bless the man, talked to him the whole time. The shield covered as many mundane topics as he could in the short five minute trip over to Ignis’ office. It was enough of a distraction that Ignis could block out the pain, and the disturbing fact that his arm was starting to go numb.

Gladio’s suspicions about losing the connection while in the elevator were true, and Ignis was forced to breathe deeply in an effort to calm his nerves. When the elevator just outside the break room, dinged, signaling his arrival. Ignis nearly cried for joy. Leaning his now, sweat covered brow, against the glass Ignis called out to Gladio. “I’m in here!”

Gladio’s panic stricken face appeared a second later. “What the hell happened?” He asked as he took in the sight before him.

“The machine is trying to kill me,” Ignis spit out. “My watch band--,” he wavered as a new wave of painful sensations flared in his arm.

Gladio had rushed over and was already sitting on the floor next to him. “Shit, uh, I’ll get you free, give me a second.” He announced while shoving his muscled, tattooed arm in through the bottom. Gladio thankfully was at the right angle to reach his abused appendage. The shield made quick work of undoing his watch band. The second he could feel his arm move freely, Ignis ripped it out of the machine. Hissing in pain he cradled his arm to his chest.

Maybe he’d pulled a muscle with this ridiculous stunt, he wasn’t sure yet. The faint, but familiar pull of magic, in the back of his mind, drew Ignis’ gaze over to Gladio. “What are you doing?” he asked in shock.

“You’re hurt, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Gladio huffed as he took Ignis’ good hand, and forcefully crushed a potion bottle in it.

Relief from the pain was instant. He wanted to chide Gladio for wasting a potion on him, but his mind was currently too distracted to let him. A hand on his shoulder made Ignis snap out of his daze. “Huh? Were you talking to me?” he asked weakly. Gladio’s expression was a mix of concern and anger when Ignis looked up. Oh dear, had he interrupted something important? Perhaps he should have called someone else instead. “Sorry for troubling you so late, I didn’t mean to ruin y--.”

“Nope, not gonna work,” Gladio interrupted. “Nothing to be sorry about, you are always welcome to call me for help. Seeing you in pain like that was hard,” he sighed. “Promise me you’ll always ask me for help when you need it?”

Caught off guard by the sincerity of the comment, Ignis took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “Yes, of course I’ll always call you. Sorry I’m tired and this hasn’t helped my cause.”

“You look exhausted Iggy, why are you still at work?”

“I had things to finish up,” he offered.

“I’m sure none of the things are an emergency, right?”

Pursing his lips, Ignis glared at Gladio. Leave it to the man to pick apart his reason for being at the office late. “I still should finish up before I head home.”

“Sure, if you say so. Let’s go back to your office and you can tell me what the hell happened.”

Humming in agreement Ignis worked to get up off cold linoleum floor. Once he was upright the room began spinning. Gladio was by his side once again, with a strong arm around his waist. “Oh dear,” Ignis muttered more out of irritation than anything else.

“When was the last time you ate?” Gladio asked with a raised eyebrow.

Laughing nervously Ignis tried to turn around and reach for the discarded item in the vending machine. “That was supposed to be dinner,” he joked, though the mood wasn’t quite right for it.

“Please don’t fight me on this,” Gladio begged. “I know you’re not a stupid person Iggy, but you are done for the day, okay.”

“Really?” he tried, “no more?” Deep down Ignis knew Gladio was right but he still had so much work to do. “How will I catch up tomorrow?” he asked dejectedly.

“That is a whole other issue that needs addressing. Why don’t we go back to your office and pack things up for the night and go home.”

Nodding in defeat Ignis let Gladio lead him back down the hall. He felt slightly better and things had stopped spinning, but Gladio still had an arm around his waist. Only when they’d reached his office did the shield relinquish his hold. Carefully gathering his items while Gladio patiently waited, gave Ignis time to think of all the work he really was doing. Maybe Noct and Gladio were right, perhaps he needed to take it easy.

When they were ready to leave Gladio once again pulled him close and they walked out of the building together. Before he could break the somewhat comfortable silence that had developed, Gladio spoke up.

“No arguments, this is what’s gonna happen,” Gladio huffed. “First, I’m driving you home. Second, we’re ordering delivery so you don’t have to cook. Third, you’re taking the day off tomorrow; call it a mental health day.”

Ignis could feel Gladio’s body stiffen once he’d finished talking. Clearly the man thought Ignis was going to fight him on what he’d said. However, all of what had been listed sounded perfect. Not driving, eating something warm that didn’t come from a metal and plastic box, and taking some time to recoup lost energy was a wonderful idea.

“You don’t mind driving me?” he checked with a small smile.

“Huh?” Gladio’s eyes were wide in disbelief as he processed what Ignis had said. “Seriously, you’re not gonna fight me on this?”

“No, you’re right. I know you and Noct are always berating me for working too hard. It appears I need some help with that endeavor,” Ignis admitted sheepishly.

“So I can drive you, and order you food, and you’ll stay home tomorrow?” Gladio checked with an ear splitting grin.

Ignis nodded and offered Gladio a smile of his own. He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Gladio actually whooped in the parking garage, and gathered up him in a bone crushing hug.

“You won’t regret this Iggy, I’m gonna text Noct later and we’ll figure out a way to help you with your work load. You’re doing the job of like three other people right now and you don’t need to, it’s not fair.”

“Yes, I’ve been made aware,” Ignis chuckled wryly.

“Come on, times a wasting,” Gladio enthused as he herded Ignis over to the passenger side. “Do you mind if I shower at your place while we wait for food to be delivered.”

“Not at all, though you might have to wake me up when it arrives.”

“Easy, I can so do that.” Gladio announced.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet and calming. The remainder of the evening was spent falling asleep on the couch in between activities. Dinner was amazing, and so much better than the protein bar he’d been trying to excavate from the vending machine. Gladio ended up staying the whole night. Something about Ignis attempting to work meant he had to keep an eye on him. For the first time he didn’t mind the attention. His friends were trying to help and there was nothing wrong with that. Besides, he owed Gladio the full story of how the vending machine tried to eat his arm.

#ffxv #gladio #gladiolus x ignis #ffxv fanfiction #hurtcomfort

6 notes · View notes

determinationisnotcrash · 4 years

Text

‘Like Gunbuster, but with Dudes’

I wanted to try and capture the passionate, energetic tone of a scene from one of my favourite OVAs in writing, so I attempted it with characters from the GB Discord I’m on.

Kit belongs to @topazshadowwolf

Impact belongs to me.

The scene this is a reference to is this one!

“I-I… I can’t go on…!”

“Impact!?”

The raptor’s jet abruptly halted, formation breaking as Kit unintentionally overtook him in this strange space. Hurriedly fumbling with the controls, the half-Blaster turned on the commlink to reveal his friend huddled in the cockpit, trembling.

Concern for the larger, yet younger skeleton welled up inside him. What had happened to make him break down all of a sudden…!?

Impact’s voice was usually either calm and controlled, or completely over-the-top and bursting with energy. But now… “I can’t do it anymore…! It’s useless… all useless…!”

Flashes of what the Papyrus described to him of his home timeline ran through his mind. It was likely that this wasn’t something sudden – rather, it had been festering inside him ever since he first mutated. “Impact…”

“Even if we succeed in our task, there’s no point to it all! The Ray Empire’s still choking the Earth! With the Emperor hoarding all the power for himself, he could easily rip away everything from us at any moment!”

The beast brought his misshapen forepaws in front of his face, clenching and unclenching them. At the stage he was at now, they could barely be called hands anymore. “I’m trapped in this disgusting body, which could give out and degenerate at any moment! And…!”

He slumped against the controls with a pathetic-sounding ‘thunk’. “There’s no one waiting for me back in my home world! My friends and family are all gone… and there’s nothing I can do about it. With neither past nor future… I may as well just die!”

Kit pressed his paw-like hand against the monitor, as if trying to physically reassure his friend. “Impact… please get yourself together. If this continues, we’re both done for!” As if to emphasise this, the massive aircraft violently rattled, like caught in turbulence. Their enemies had taken advantage of Impact’s hesitation, bombarding the two with relentless attacks.

Regardless of his growing panic, Kit continued, “While you may never be able to return to the past, you don’t know what the future holds yet. You could have the chance to experience more happiness than ever before… but if you can’t take that step forward, you won’t be able to even try!

Now the lights within the craft were starting to flicker. More and more nightmarish shapes were latching onto their vehicles, trying to crush them. “This conflict… it’s grown beyond the scope of a single world. If we let the demons from between dimensions devour any of our worlds… no one will have a future! The entire universe – reality itself – will be eaten up by the Void, and not even Determination will be able to bring it back!”

Impact’s sobbing ceased, his body having gone still. Hope starting to well up inside him, Kit pressed through with his encouragement. “Doc, Sabre, Hikaru, Red… all of them are counting on us to get through this! They chose us to be the ones who would venture through the gap, stop all the demons, and save everyone!

“If we fall here, everything that’s happened up ‘till now… everything that will happen… it’ll all be for nothing! For the sake of our world… for the sake of the people living within it… we need to go on!”

The half-Blaster voice cracked, putting every last drop of his emotion into his plea. “So please, Papyrus…! Fight!”

…

After what felt like an eternity… Impact rose up. His eyes were filled with resolve. “Kit… I understand. We fight together!”

“Impact…!” Despite the dire situation, the Sans couldn’t help but grin. Eagerly, almost as if on autopilot, his arm shot to the special ‘MODE’ lever. From ‘transport’ mode to ‘battle’ mode! “I’ll focus on the weaponry and energy output. You just do your thing with the controls. I’m behind you all the way, bro!”

Kit’s grin was contagious, a huge toothy smile spreading across the Papyrus raptor’s maw. “Alright…! LET’S DO IT!” With a burst of light, the demons clinging to the planes were blown away! The two vehicles drifted closer to each other, glowing as the fusion sequence started.

As the machines combined, Impact’s thoughts wandered back to his Sans and Undyne. Sans… Undyne… watch me, from wherever you are. I’ll see this battle through to the end.

The planes underwent several shifts as they merged together, each movement far faster and more complex than the untrained eye could follow. After mere moments, the light disappeared to reveal a humanoid shape. Two flames had united to form an inferno! The True Dimension Knight, warrior of justice! Defender of the innocent! Saviour of all Earths… had finally arrived!

Like moths drawn to a flame, dozens- no, hundreds of skeletal dragon-like demons swarmed towards the steel titan, rushing through the interdimensional space like ravenous sharks in pursuit of their prey.

The Blasters’ response? “Impact, remember the plan. We just need to make it to the centre of the Dimensional Gap. That would be… right past these guys.”

“Kit, shall we use ‘that’?”

Kit let out a genuine chuckle. “Heh, I thought you’d never ask.”

“UUUUUUOOOOOOHHHH---!” A battle roar exploded out of the main pilot as he launched the machine up into the ‘air’.

Within the mechanical knight’s hands, a giant sword materialised! A glowing golden weapon, illuminating the darkest of nights and cleaving through evil!

“ULTIMATEEEE…”

“HEAVEN-MEETS-EARTH…”

“SWOOOOOORD!”

True to the second pilot’s philosophy, the strongest attack came first. The blade of light cleaved through the abominations effortlessly, leaving titanic explosions in its wake. It slowed down in time to reach a floating chunk of rock, using it as a temporary foothold.

Despite the sun’s rays being unable to pierce this space, it nevertheless glinted off the mech’s armour. Its arms folded, announcing to the entire battlefield, “Don’t assume that this Dimension Knight is some random machine! Everyone’s legacy, from the past…”

His brother’s companionship.

Undyne’s fiery passion.

Alphys’ enthusiasm.

Toriel’s and Asgore’s warmth.

The compassion Frisk showed him, even if it was fake.

“Everyone’s dreams, for the future…”

Sabre’s kindness.

Doc’s care.

Red’s support.

Hikaru’s hope.

“THEY ALL LIE WITHIN IIIIIIT!”

The draconic helmet of the suit parted, revealing a mechanical Blaster head. It looked and functioned just like the real thing! An immense beam surged forth from the maw, blowing apart the formless monstrosities in their path with searing, pure magical energy.

A beep on Kit’s monitor alerted him to more danger. “Heads up, Impact!”

“Ah…!” Following his friend’s warning, he turned the mech’s head upwards, the blast coming with it. When he could see the giant meteor-sized ribcage bearing down on him… he had already bisected it. But that wasn’t the end of the demons’ counterattack. This time, Impact’s monitor was the one that flashed with the warning sign. “Kit! Incoming from below!”

“You got it! Beam Spikes, scatter!” The tail of the draconic mech whipped around with a slash, firing out several spikes as it did! With a force rivalling the most powerful of mother nature’s storms, the leviathans rising up from below were rendered harmless pincushions.

All this was enough to even inspire Kit, filling him with the energy to utter another speech of his own. “No matter how thick or smothering the darkness choking this world threatens to become… our hearts will only shine brighter!”

Impact would have given him an affirming pat on the back if he could. “Couldn’t have put it better myself! No matter what gets in our way, we’ll break through!”

As if in response to this challenge, wall-like beasts, living shields approached… their intent to hit them like trucks… but Impact wouldn’t allow that. “ROTATION LASERRR!” In a slick, fluid motion, he threw his shield and fired a sword beam, diffracting it off the spinning shield to slice through them all like butter.

Eager to seize upon this opportunity, he retrieved his weapon and rushed forward… but perhaps, he was a bit too eager. “Impact, pull back! We’re going too fast!”

Hundreds of blasts, made of choking darkness and equal in intensity to their own, obliterated the spot where the Blasters’ mech… used to be. Kit’s warning let Impact pull back just in the nick of time, separating the Dimension Knight into its component aircraft and evading the attacks!

Kit kept watch over the readings on his screens. Dodging everything while setting up a counterattack was a hassle… but pushed onwards by his motivation for a bright future, he could do it. Keeping one eye on the enemies outside, while the other eye on the system inside, he yelled to Impact, “Doesn’t look like the concentrated fire will let up! You know what to do next.”

Within the other aircraft, Impact grinned. If the enemies wouldn’t give them a break… then they would just have to make one! The jets boosted forwards as they re-combined, the humanoid figure already in a battle-ready stance. “HOLY GREATSHIELD!”

The knight charged, thrusting its shield forward as it smashed through the demons like a living battering ram. From a zoomed-out view, it would be as if the off-white clusters of twisted bones and teeth made way before this golden meteor!

Another boast left the pilot’s maw. “You think that’ll be enough to deal with the likes of US!?” Lowering its shield to expose its mouth, another blast from the mech tore through the unholy creatures.

Kit took advantage of this break in the enemies to check his display. “We’re almost at our destination! Just a little more to- WHOA!”

He barely had a second to react before he found himself almost literally holding up the heavens. A titanic planet, covering his entire vision, quickly came down on him. As if the mindless enemies were crowing, ‘There’s more where that came from,’ another living planet of bones and spikes rushed up at the mechanical knight from below!

Even the 250m steel titan started to struggle from this, the joints of its limbs creaking ominously as the pressure intensified… However, in stark contrast, the pilots were more composed than ever. Impact lightly chuckled, carrying the same air as someone who saw mildly interesting sight on a roadtrip. “Who would’ve guessed? That they could even become celestial bodies.”

Kit winked at his co-pilot. “The power of these things is truly astronomical, eh?” The Sans casually pressed a button, producing a blast to hit the ground beneath the mech. It didn’t even scratch the vast object.

“Not bad.”

“However… our own power – that of righteous hearts – is not to be underestimated!” Impact briefly closed his eyes, steadying his breathing… before announcing the mech’s true ultimate technique. “LIMITLESS LIIIIIIIGHT!” The golden glow about the mech intensified further, to almost blinding levels! It even burned his own body, every inch of him sizzling with pain… but for how much Impact was hurting, it hurt their enemies hundreds of times more.

With one last surge of energy, everything in the Blaster duo’s nearby area violently shook, before exploding in a flash of light! When all the smoke and flames cleared… the True Dimension Knight was still standing.

However… so were their enemies. If even one demon was left alive, it could reproduce endlessly and create more spawn. That was why…

“We’ve made it to the core. You ready, Impact?”

“Yes!”

The mech was powered by Light itself. If they overloaded it here, at the centre of the demon’s spawning grounds, it would certainly spell the abominations’ ends.

Kit entered the code for the self-destruct sequence, and the change was almost instantaneous. Unlike the golden, passionate aura that the two pilots could make it exude, it now took on an almost ethereal glow, indicating it wasn’t much longer for this world.

As the glow engulfed its body, it also spread to the space around it. The ghastly, roiling purplish-black of the Void began to clear, peeling away to reveal a pleasant, gentle blue sky beneath.

Kit and Impact couldn’t stay to appreciate the sights, though – it was still unknown what the Light would do to normal creatures. A lone jet, much smaller than the massive crafts that formed the mech, emerged from the Dimension Knight’s chest and sped away.

The remaining hellbeasts shrieked and writhed as they fizzled away into nothingness, like ghouls that vanished with the coming of dawn.

Impact turned his head back, looking for one last time at the remains of the creation that helped carry them so far. “Thank you for everything, Dimension Knight. This is farewell…”

Flying back to the portal from which they entered, the warriors returned towards their world… towards where their friends were waiting.

#undertale #gasterblaster au #gasterblaster sans #gasterblaster papyrus #papyrus #sans #my writing

7 notes · View notes

popatochisssp · 5 years

Text

Make Your Mark, 3/10

Series: Undertale, Underswap Relationship(s): US!Sans/Reader Chapter Warnings: Suggestive joking, language

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere–anywhere– on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn’t make relationships easier…but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

Sans hasn’t yet had the pleasure of being invited to your bedroom, but it’s not as if it’s hard to find.

He can hear your great, wracking coughs from the living room, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t intervene?

He hefts his bag of supplies more securely over his shoulder and tracks you down to your inner-sanctum. His knuckles rap twice against your door—for manners’ sake—but he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before barging right in.

“JUST AS I SUSPECTED,” he tsks at the sight of you. “YOU LOOK TERRIBLE!”

And you certainly do!

You can barely sit up to blink owlishly at him through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Your bed-sheets are in a haphazard tangle around your legs and your face is flushed—Sans can’t even tell if that’s snot dripping out of your nose or just sweat, but either way, you’ve clearly given up on trying to mop it off of yourself.

Your voice comes out of you in a pathetic croak, nothing at all like your usually delightful tones. “Sans…? What’re you…doing here? I told you not to come…” Then, as if doubting your own recollection, “…didn’t I?”

“YOU DID,” Sans promises, trying to assure you that you aren’t losing your mind. “BUT YOU ALSO SAID YOU WERE SICK! AND I’D BE A PRETTY GARBAGE FRIEND IF I JUST WENT ABOUT MY DAY WHILE MY BEST PAL WAS STUCK AT HOME EITHER DYING A HORRIBLE, INCURABLE DEATH OR SUFFERING FROM THE COMMON COLD.”

You squint at him knowingly. “…You’ve been on WebMD, haven’t you?”

“I HAVE! TERRIBLE WEBSITE, HATE IT, BUT IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA TO COME OVER AND DO A LITTLE CARETAKING, ANYWAY! …OR HOSPICE CARE, DEPENDING!”

You groan a little.

“I’m not dying,” you say, “and you don’t have to do anything, really… I was just gonna…sleep it off…”

Really, Sans thinks, you oughta know better than to think he’ll be that easily dissuaded.

“AND WHO’S GOING TO GET THE COUGH MEDICINE YOU LEFT ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER?” he asks. “OR HEAT UP THAT CAN OF SOUP I SAW NEXT TO IT? OR EMPTY THAT ABOMINABLY FULL TRASH CAN RIGHT THERE? YOU?”

You poor, sick, scatterbrained human. The both of you know damn well that you’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day—food and drugs and more room to cram used tissues be damned.

You could really use Sans’ help right now, and he watches you slowly realize that.

It’s not long before you physically slump back against your mattress, defeated. “I’m…not gonna be much fun,” is your last feeble protest, and Sans’ grin broadens.

“THEN, I’LL JUST HAVE TO BE ENOUGH FUN FOR BOTH OF US, WON’T I?”

And so begins Sans’ lovely afternoon taking care of his best friend and not-so-negligible crush.

………Sans will be the first to admit that he may have a case of the rose-colored glasses, here.

It’s not particularly lovely to have to dump out a bunch of snot-filled tissues…or to stop you from sleepily face-planting into your soup before you could finish it…or listen to you audibly gag at the terrible flavor of the cough syrup, triggering yourself into a wince-inducing coughing fit.

It’s actually kinda the opposite when your hacking sends a wad of…fluid…straight onto his favorite bandana, probably staining it beyond repair.

But the wide-eyed look of horror you give him just half a second afterwards shows off your entrancing eyes, and the sheer mortified panic on your face makes you look so cute, and it’s all Sans can do to hold back a laugh.

I REGRET NOTHING, he decides with ease.

Sans just reaches up to undo the knot at the back of his neck, even as you sputter, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that’s so gross! I’ll! I’ll wash that for you, let me—”

He jerks his arm back, pulling his bandana off and out of your reach—your grasping fingers barely even graze his ulna—and he wags a finger at you.

“NO CHANCE,” he firmly tells your paling, wide-eyed self. “I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT. YOU STAY HERE AND REST, THAT’S AN ORDER!”

You’re…oddly compliant, almost uncharacteristically so…but Sans isn’t about to complain.

You just sit there and watch him leave in search of your bathroom, and Sans puts your gawping stare down to your illness.

At least…he does, until he starts to rinse his bandana in the sink and catches a strange flash of green in the mirror above it.

The soiled cloth slips right out of Sans’ fingers, his eye-lights winking out from shock at the sight of his own bare collarbone.

There’s a flower there, its stem coiling along his clavicle and bursting into a colorful bloom of petals across his manubrium.

It’s your favorite.

Sans knows that because you told him so when he asked and he's associated it with you ever since, just one of a thousand inane little facts about you that he memorized because everything you’ve ever told him feels like the most important, interesting thing he’s ever heard.

And…you’re his soulmate.

Somehow, he’s not surprised…but he is excited.

In the mirror, he sees his eye-lights pop back to life in his sockets, already star-shaped, and as lazy as it is, he doesn’t want to waste even a second—he has to see you, right now.

Sans shortcuts back into your bedroom.

In the few moments he’s been gone, you’ve managed to kick off your sheets and are puzzling very intently over your leg, where some squiggly blue lines seem to have taken shape.

“WHAT IS IT?” Sans asks eagerly, jogging all two steps up to your bed. “WHAT’S THE MARK???”

“I…I dunno?” you admit. “I’m happy, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t… It’s just, like…hexagons? And…lines? I don’t…get it…”

The up-close view triggers something in Sans, though, a nearly-buried memory from his schooldays.

“THAT’S…THAT’S A SKELETAL FORMULA,” he realizes.

“Uh…what?”

Sans doesn’t bother to explain, whipping out his phone and yanking you closer by your calf in spite of your startled squeak.

“C…43, H66, N……” He quickly types the values in and looks the chemical up, clicking through to the first reputable-looking website he can find. “OKAY, THAT’S……OH. OH!”

“What?!” you demand, starting to sound distressed. “What is it?!”

“IT’S OXYTOCIN,” Sans happily informs you, discarding his phone with the cockiest smirk he’s ever worn in his life. “IT’S A HORMONE IN HUMANS. DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S FOR…?”

“No…? I, uh…uh.” Your mouth drops open as Sans starts crawling onto the bed, eye-lights bright with excitement.

“YOU CALL IT THE ‘LOVE HORMONE,’” he purrs above you, “THE ‘CUDDLE HORMONE’… DO YOU GET MY DRIFT, DEAR…?”

Sans can practically hear the, oh, holy shit racing through your mind, clear as day. His grin goes crooked when you just swallow hard and shake your head.

“IT MEANS…THAT YOU MUST BE…IN DIRE NEED…OF SOME GOOD, HARD…CUDDLING!”

You yelp as Sans pounces, scooping you into his arms and snuggling you tightly against his chest. He nuzzles fervently at your sweaty neck, making you laugh even as he tucks the both of you back up against your pillows and pulls up your sheets.

You laugh until you start to cough and as much as Sans hates to hear you suffering, he can’t quite resist teasing you.

“SEE?” he says against your skin. “YOU’RE STILL SICK! CUDDLING’S ALL YOU’RE GOOD FOR RIGHT NOW. HEHEHEH, WHAT DID YOU THINK I WAS GONNA DO?”

“Oh…oh god…” you breathe between rattling hacks. “…fuck…”

Sans clucks the tongue he doesn’t have. “I THOUGHT SO—LEWD HUMAN! YOU’RE SICK AS A DOG AND WE HAVEN’T EVEN HAD OUR FIRST DATE AND THAT’S ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT!”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I hate you…!”

“BLATANT LIES,” Sans declares. “YOU LOVE ME, YOUR SOULMARK SAYS SO. NOW, GO TO SLEEP ALREADY—AND DON’T HAVE DIRTY DREAMS ABOUT ME, THIS CUDDLING IS PURELY THERAPEUTIC!”

“Hhhhhhhhhhhh…”

But you turn and bury your face into Sans’ chest, clinging to him in a way that just makes him want to squeeze you tighter.

He can’t wait for you to get over this cold.

#undertale #sans #sans/reader #underswap #us!sans #myfic #make your mark #fanfiction

69 notes · View notes

krreader · 6 years

Text

good for you | chapter 2.

pairing: teacher!kim seokjin x student!reader fandom: bts warnings: non idol!au ; college!au ; student x teacher relationship ; language genre: smut ; crack ; angst previous: 1

summary: when you’re in dire need for more credits and your roommate finds a course that she wants to participate in but doesn’t want to go alone, you get dragged with her and end up in the class of kim seokjin, the new Korean teacher. suddenly all those stories, movies and shows about a romance between a professor and his student made sense, because how could you not fall for someone who looked like that?

a/n: can I just say that this gif still slays me? okay great. hope you enjoy chapter 2!

ask box | masterlist | fandoms | faq | multifandom reader blog

“My name is Kim Seokjin and I will be your Korean teacher,” he smiled confidently, hands behind his back as he let his eyes wander around the room. As expected, most of the people in his class were female and ogling him like he was their next meal, “Before we start.. I'd like to make something very clear. If you're here because you heard that I'm good looking, please stay and admire me, I appreciate that. If you're here because you think you're going to sleep with me and get benefits from it, there is the door,” he pointed towards the exit, “Because that is not going to happen under any circumstances.”

A couple of disappointed sighs could be heard throughout the room, some others immediately laughing and Jin chuckling as well.

“Sorry for disappointing you,” he muttered.

“He could never disappoint me,” Perry whispered, biting her lip as she cocked her head to the side, clearly already having dirty thoughts about him.

“Stop looking at him like that,” you nudged her side, “You heard what he said. And to be honest, he doesn't look like the type of guy to sleep with students.”

“Ah, but it all depends on the student, (Y/N),” she wiggled her eyebrows suspiciously and then opened up her notebook when Mister Kim started writing something on the board.

You'd be lying if you said he wasn't the most gorgeous man you had ever seen in your life. He was attractive, obviously quite intelligent if he taught at this university and just had this energy around him that made every woman in the room – and possibly some men as well, straight or not – swoon over him.

And while you knew that some girls, like your dear friend, would probably still try to get in his pants, you never would.

Rule or no rule, a relationship with a teacher wasn't a good idea for so many reasons.

And so you'd just stay one of those students that would watch him from afar and admire him like that and be content with that in the end.

However, maybe you shouldn't be doing that on the first day of class when the teacher yelled out the names of the students that had signed up for the course, to figure out who was here and who wasn't.

Because Perry suddenly nudged you like you had nudged her before and when you looked at her, you realized that the entire class was now looking at you, including Mister Kim, with a small smirk on his face.

“Sorry?” you asked a little unsure, the entire class laughing.

“Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

“I..- I am,” you cleared your throat and nodded, “That's me.”

“Try to pay more attention in my class, Miss (Y/L/N). I know that might be hard when the teacher is as handsome as me, but at least put some effort in it, alright?”

Again, the entire class laughed and you could tell that he would easily be one of the most favored teachers at this university with his charm.

But you weren't laughing in the slightest, instead you sank lower and lower on your chair, wanting to disappear entirely with that redness quickly spreading on your face.

Of course, something like that had to happen to you on the first day.

Of course.

“Since this was our first day, I won't give you any homework, but do me a favor and buy the books I told you about,” he casually leaned against his desk and smiled devilishly, “And have fun dreaming about me,” he winked, a few girls whistling, then the first started to get up and leave.

“God, I really want to bang him,” Perry brushed her hands over her face, “I'm so frustrated, it’s insane. Maybe this class wasn't a good idea after all.”

“You wanted to go here,” you packed up your things, avoiding looking at Mister Kim at all costs. Had throughout the entire lecture, still too embarrassed by the way you had been staring before and too afraid that you'd do it again if you looked at him once more today, “And besides.. I think it’s actually quite interesting,” which you hadn’t expected at all.

“You think I'd have a chance with him?” she bit her lip and looked down on herself, opening up a button on her blouse, “I don't look too shabby today.”

“You heard what he said, he isn't..-”

But she hadn't asked you about that, she must have talked to herself, because a second later, she got up and walked towards him, her voice an octave higher.

Her flirting voice.

There were only a few students left and they were mostly chatting to each other, nobody really paying any attention to what Perry was doing. Or, you know, trying to do, would probably be the better wording.

“I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you offered this course. I might actually be able to finally understand what my ex-boyfriend is saying about me.”

Jin started laughing, “Is that why you're here?”

“Yeah,” she showed him her perfect smile, with her perfectly white teeth, “Is that pathetic?”

“Not really. I get it.. but..-” Jin turned his head to look at you, you immediately looking away with wide eyes when you and him had an eye contact even just for the tiniest of seconds. He instantly started smiling again, “Tell your friend to pay more attention, alright?”

“Oh, don't mind her. The second she's going to figure out how beneficial this course is going to be for her, is the second she's going to pay full attention.”

“An ex-boyfriend situation as well, then?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” she smiled and turned around to look at you scurrying out of the room, tripping over one of the stairs in the process and Perry almost slapped her hand against her forehead, because of your clumsiness in front of a hot teacher, “She has a crush on one of my ex-boyfriend's friends who is Korean as well. I figured she might be able to impress him like that.”

“Ah,” Jin nodded in understanding and pushed himself away from the table, “Well, she's going to need to put in a lot of work if she wants to do that.”

“Don't worry. We both will,” she smiled again, “I'll see you on Friday, then..”

“Okay,” but when Perry left, Jin didn't look at her, he only looked at you standing in the doorway, blushing furiously when he looked at you once again.

This might be a lot more fun than he thought it would be.

“Why did you have to talk to him?” you hissed when Perry finally came out of the classroom, shouldering her bag.

“Why did you have to run away and trip? That was so embarrassing.”

“I panicked when he looked at me! You know I'm bad at flirting and everything that comes with it.”

“Only because a cute guy smiles at you doesn't mean he's flirting with you, we talked about this already, (Y/N),” she rolled her eyes, “And besides.. I want him for myself anyways.”

“You go and have him,” you shrugged, “I don't want to be with a teacher.”

“Fine then.. more for me,” she wrapped her arm around your shoulder, “I'm so excited for this semester now. Being in this course with my best friend, the teacher being the hottest guy in this university.. I can already see Jeongguk's face when he sees me making out with him. He's going to be so jealous.”

Or he won't care at all.

But you didn't say that. If she wanted to believe that this would be the best way to get her ex-boyfriend jealous, then you would let her believe that, even if you thought this was a horrible idea.

“Sure,” you said instead, a small smile on your face.

“Ah, there you are,” Hoseok laughed as Jin finally joined them in the bar and sat down at the table his friends were sat.

“We thought you might have been.. occupied,” Yoongi wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not going to happen. Besides,” Jin’s head fell back with a sigh, “Most of these girls are a little too desperate. It's not exactly attractive.”

“That's what a guy would say that has women dropping to their knees for him,” Namjoon stared into his glass of beer, “I really should switch subjects.”

“One of my students from last year is in your class, hyung. Her name's (Y/N),” Hoseok said almost proudly. Which he was, in a way. You had become one of his favorite students last year and the fact that you wanted to learn his native language really did make him happy.

“Ah, the cute one,” he nodded and took a sip from his own beer, “Couldn't look me in the eyes. Every time she did, she blushed like crazy.”

“The cute one?” all three of the men eyed him with a grin on their faces.

So much for ‘Not going to happen’.

“Not in that sense,” Jin tried to defend himself, but the others were already laughing.

“She's a really nice girl. Do me a favor and look out for her, okay? She's one of my favorites and I want her to pass..”

“Sure,” Jin shrugged, “Why do you like her so much, though?”

“Hm.. I think it's because she's not the usual university student these days. Doesn't really party, is one of the good girls, but still a lot of fun to be around.”

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a crush on her,” Yoongi snorted.

“No, she's.. not really my type.”

“Is kinky your type these days, hyung?” Namjoon asked, the other three laughing immediately and from the way Hoseok looked at Namjoon over the rim of his glass, he got his answer.

You were just on your way back from the library when you ran into Jeongguk and Jimin, both of them smiling and waving at you when you approached them.

“Why are you out when it's this dark, (Y/N)?”

“I'm a big girl, you know? I can take care of myself,” you laughed and held out two books, “Perry made me sign up for a new course, so I'm trying to prepare myself a little.”

Both of the boys grabbed one book each and looked up surprised right after, “Oh! You're taking the Korean course?”

“Yes. I'm going to let you both guess why she wanted to take that course so desperately,” you smirked at Kookie.

“Because of me?”

“Yeah.. and also because of the famous Mister Kim Seokjin,” you empathized on his name and started laughing, “She's head over heels for him.”

Jimin was laughing as well, but Jeongguk only pretended to, you could tell right away, especially when he started clenching his jaw.

So he wasn't over her either.

Good to know.

“Guys! Are you coming or what? Oh..- Hi,” Taehyung smiled sweetly at you.

A smile that almost had you stumble backwards from how ethereal he was, even in this light.

“H..- Hi,” you stammered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, right, there you go,” the boys gave you back your books, “I'd ask if you want to come to the party, but I know what your answer is going to be, so..-” Jimin smiled kindly.

“You guys have fun,” you nodded, that same smile he had on your face.

“We will. See you this weekend? Usual time?”

“Sure.”

And with that, all three boys walked away and you could only stare after your crush with a heavy sigh.

Despite him being this popular, he was always nice to you. Taehyung probably didn't even know your name, even if he was good friends with both Jeongguk and Jimin, but the fact that he said hello to you was good enough.

You took what you could get.

“That must be him, huh?”

You turned around in shock, your eyes widening even more when you found none other than Kim Seokjin standing in front of you.

“Mister Kim.”

“Your friend told me you wanted to impress him. Which one is it? The one on the left?” you didn't answer, only lowered your head. Why did Perry have to tell him about that? Ugh, one of those days you'd punch her in the face, seriously, “You're better than running after a guy that doesn't see what's right in front of him, you know?”

“Huh?”

“I'm just saying,” he shrugged, a friendly smile on his face that made you believe he was really just trying to be nice, “You're a pretty and intelligent girl and if he doesn't see that, then he doesn't deserve you.”

Wow. So not only handsome and intelligent, but empathetic as well. That’s a dangerous combination.

“Thank you for saying that,” you blushed yet again, still couldn't face him as your foot was pushing around a stone on the ground.

“Besides,” you froze when he suddenly took a step closer to you, leaning down to your ear, “He doesn't look like the type of guy to know how to please a woman to me. You need someone a bit.. older.”

You could feel his hot breath against your ear, could literally HEAR the smirk towards the end of the sentence, before he walked away with his hands buried inside his pockets like that didn’t just happen.

Like he didn’t just flirt with you.

#bts x reader #bts imagine #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin imagine #seokjin imagine #jin x reader #jin imagine #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #reader #mine

397 notes · View notes

distinctivelibrarians · 5 years

Text

Oxeye

(read on ao3)

Everyone knows to watch their wallets around Ezekiel. It takes all of two weeks for that to just become a fact of the Library - as intrinsic as ‘don’t interrupt Eve’s workouts’ and ‘talk quietly if Cassandra’s wearing sunglasses’ and ‘the warning signs on Jenkins’ lab door are not to be ignored’. ‘Watch your wallet around Ezekiel’.

In Ezekiel’s defense, he almost never takes anything. Maybe once or twice cash mysteriously disappeared. But credit cards, photos, the actual wallet itself - it’s all returned in one piece. Eventually.

Jacob though, is the only one who never...learns. Well, no, that’s not right.

He knows damn well Ezekiel lifts his wallet regularly. But he doesn’t move it to a front pocket like Eve - and yes, Ezekiel still could get it without her knowing, but he just knows the first time she catches him with also be the last - and he doesn’t switch to refusing to carry cash like Cassandra.

(Flynn never carried a wallet in the first place, and when he found that out, Ezekiel couldn’t help but wonder, not for the first time, how the man continued to function on wit and whim alone.)

Instead Jacob just...lets him.

Sure he puffs up and blusters every time he goes to find his wallet and it’s gone, but without fail, he just turns to Ezekiel and holds out his hand. And Ezekiel will grin at him, make a scene about not knowing what the hell he’s blabbering on about, and eventually the wallet will make its way back where it’s supposed to.

Eventually, he finds he’s only really ever aiming for Jacob’s wallet anymore. He’s the only one that’s still fun about it.

Until that stops too. Instead of raking his hands through his pockets or patting himself down like a loon before it occurs to him to look to his right, Jacob starts just...holding out his hand, whenever he needs to pay for something.

And Ezekiel would be insulted. He would. But every time Jacob does it, Ezekiel has it. And he gives it over without a word. And each time, Jacob shoots him this look that Ezekiel would almost swear was...fond. Like it’s a...a joke. Between just the two of them.

And maybe the heat in his chest, curling warm and happy every time Jacob smiles at him as he hands over his wallet, is stupid, but so what. It’s his and he’s keeping it.

He almost doesn’t notice the flower at all. It’s a little thing, white petals clean but crinkled, yellow center muzzy and scrunched. It falls out from between the folds of the wallet as Ezekiel’s picking through it to see if Jacob actually remembered to get new credit cards like he said he was going to do last month.

When he does notice it, he blinks at it where it’s landed on the ground by his feet. A weird thing to just be falling out of wallets, now, isn’t it?

But he just shrugs, scoops it up and pockets it. If Jacob wants it back, he can ask.

Ezekiel couldn’t tell you when he started nicking things besides Jacob’s wallet.

(Actually, he could. But he’s trying to retain some dignity here alright?)

But, just like the wallet that’s become their own little back and forth joke, everything else is just...easy. Easy and fun.

Jacob’s jacket is one of the first. Bloody fool leaves it hanging on his desk chair almost every day - and in most cases, forgets to grab it before they all go tumbling through the back door.

So it’s pathetically easy, as him, Jacob and Cassandra are headed for the Northern Isles, to snag it off the chair and slip it on. It’s a beaten, ugly old thing, all worn and broken in denim and stretched thin padding on the inside. But it’s warm, and a touch big in the shoulders, and he’s the only one not freezing his ass off when the wind hits them in the face as they stumble through the door.

It takes two hours for Jacob to actually notice just what Ezekiel’s wearing, and to his credit, he tries to scowl and grumble, but Ezekiel can see the uptick at the corner of his lips. And he doesn’t ask for it back.

After that, anything on Jacob’s desk is free game. Keys, laptop, coffee mug, jacket...all of them get nicked one time or another, and eventually Jacob stops looking around for them and instead starts marching straight to Ezekiel.

And each and every time, he tries to look grumpy - Ezekiel will give him credit where credit is due. If he didn’t already know the cowboy so well, he may even buy it. But there’s the crinkles around his eyes that can’t hide a smile he wants to show and a rough scrape to his voice that’s a tell-tale sign he wants to laugh.

(And maybe, just maybe, Ezekiel should examine why he knows those signs so well. But, hell, he caught himself looking within the first month. This really isn’t all that much of a surprise. And that heat, curled in his chest? It’s just gotten heavier, settling beneath his ribs and making something goofy happen with his heart with each smile. He’s a goner. It’s fine.)

He almost crushes the second flower.

He’s wearing Jacob’s jacket again - a cracked leather one this time, that vaguely smells of clean hay and dirt and when Jacob found time to go visit Slayton Ezekiel will never know - hanging around the Annex because they haven’t had a case in a week and Cassandra’s geeking out with Jenkins in his lab and Eve’s punching something and Jacob is...actually, he doesn’t know where Jacob is. Cowboy went back into the stacks muttering about hagstones and that was the last Ezekiel had seen of him in an hour.

Point was. He was bored. And grabbing the jacket to see how long it would take Jacob to notice when he came back this time was at least something to do.

He has his hands shoved in the pockets, pulling the jacket closer around him, when his fingers brush something soft and brittle in one and he almost yanks his hand back because weird.

When he actually gets up the nerve to go after whatever weird thing is in the pocket, what he pulls out is...well, a flower. A little white-petaled, yellow-centered daisy, bright in color and only a little rough for wear.

He frowns at it, something vaguely familiar about it, before he shrugs and tucks it away in his own pocket.

It keeps happening.

Three surprisingly well-kept daisies fall out of a book he grabs from Jacob’s desk.

When he goes to steal with just-filled coffee mug Jacob leaves unattended, he finds a larger one, it’s stem carefully wrapped around the handle.

Another one falls out of the wallet he just liberated.

(And then he remembers the first one, and has to kick himself for taking that long, but it’s just...it’s odd.)

Jacob doesn’t say anything about them. Never asks for them back, or where they went. Instead, he just smiles and asks for the book back. Or if Ezekiel could fill up the coffee mug again when he’s done. Or if he could have his jacket back please (that one’s a no. He’s keeping the dang jacket this time.)

It’s almost like it becomes another little game between them. Just for them.

Now, instead of just grabbing things off Jacob’s desk or person, he tries to guess where the daisy would be this time. Where Jacob would’ve hidden one. Nine times out of ten he gets it right, and feels ridiculously proud of himself for it. And that one time he misses, every once in awhile, without fail, he’ll eventually find a daisy waiting for him on his desk.

Ezekiel doesn’t know whether to take that as a challenge or a sweet-faced apology, but honestly, he doesn’t mind either way. It’s all part of the fun.

There’s one hiccup that stands out to Ezekiel - one that makes his heart thump a little harder, and makes the glimmer settled behind his ribs flare.

It’s a rough week, all around. Him, Jacob and Cassandra are split up continuously, travelling across the world to cover everything that decided to crop up. Eve and Flynn have to go out more than once, because there’s just too many artifacts popping up at once. If they make it back to the Annex at all before another case, it’s late at night, and the glow of the low lights hurts their eyes and all they want to do is crash for a little while before heading out again.

By Sunday, they’re all dead on their feet, and Eve threatens them all with rather creative, partially nonsensical notions of violence should she see their faces around for the next two days.

Cassandra’s out the door before Eve’s even finished. Flynn’s whining at her that yes yes doom destruction can we go home and sleep. Jenkins had warned them of dire consequences should they interrupt him for anything less than a class-five apocalyptic event and then disappeared. And Jacob...Jacob was passed out on his desk. He’d gotten back first after their last foray, and had apparently been asleep since.

He didn’t look particularly comfortable, slumped over his desk like that, but Ezekiel was just calling it a win that he didn’t have his face pressed into a keyboard this time.

Rolling his eyes, he made his way over to drape the jacket he’d grabbed almost a week ago now over his shoulders, muttering insults about lazy cowboys far more affectionately than he’d ever admit to.

He almost didn’t see it.

Curled in Jacob’s hand, the stem of a daisy, dropped over the desk from where it was threatening to fall. It was bigger than any other one he’d left for Ezekiel to find, and Ezekiel couldn’t help but wonder if it was because the game had been put on hold for the week from hell.

Smiling fondly, he gently picked the flower from Jacob’s hand, cradling it close.

“Good night, cowboy,” he said to a still softly snoring Jacob, and slipped out the back door, resolutely ignoring the goofy smile on his face and the sparkling glitter where his heart should be.

The last flower...shouldn’t really be a surprise.

But it is. It definitely is.

Ezekiel’s...well, frustrated isn’t the right word. That would be dumb. It’s just a stupid game. And like the hell week two months back showed, real life took precedence.

So what if he hadn’t found another flower. In a week. So what if when he stole Jacob’s jackets the first thing he did was shove his hands in the pockets, or run his fingers over the lining. So what if he shook books out and wouldn’t touch an empty coffee mug. So what if, when he opened another empty wallet, he felt something in his chest clench.

So what. It was just a game.

And Jacob was busy with a new book. And they hadn’t had a case that took them longer than a day in weeks, so Ezekiel could understand if he wanted to give his all to the project before they got dragged away on another magical rollercoaster that lasted weeks.

It was fine.

And no, Cassandra, he wasn’t grumpier than usual, he was fine.

And he’d be even better if, whenever Jacob caught his eye, the man’s face didn’t break into this impossibly small but impossibly fond smile. If Ezekiel didn’t know Jacob like he did, he’d almost swear he was laughing at him. But the smile wasn’t quite right for it, as much as Ezekiel almost wanted it to be. Because at least then he could justifiably annoyed.

Instead he’s just. Confused.

He’s just slipping through the back door, ready to go home after a case - not a hard one, but wow was he out of practice scaling walls in the dark. He needed to get back on that. He didn’t come back with the artifact, but that’s because he’d managed to reseal the thing in its original home, and when he’d called Jenkins, they’d both agreed that was the best place for it for the time being. Who knew a lucky clover could cause so much trouble?

He almost doesn’t notice.

The Annex is low lit, like it normally is when everyone else has gone home for the night. The only sound is the faint hum of magic that’s always there, and the rustling of pages coming from the corner.

A glance over shows Jacob, still dealing with the same stack of books Ezekiel had seen him pull that morning before he left. Still neck deep in his book project.

He’s about to say something - a ‘hello’, a ‘goodbye’, a snarky quip about doing all the work around here, he doesn’t know, because when Jacob glances up, he sees it.

Bright white petals, a burst of yellow at the center. Tucked behind Jacob’s ear.

He doesn’t know what his face is doing in that moment, but he’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous. It feels like a smile. But for all he knows, his mouth is hanging open.

Either way, he’s across the Annex faster than Jacob expected apparently, if the short, startled laugh is anything to go by.

He doesn’t even say anything when Ezekiel pushes his research out of the way so he can firmly take up the space between Jacob and the desk.

Ezekiel wants to swat at him for making him wait the previous week. Wants to ask why it took so long in the first place. Wants to chase that laugh that’s still crinkling the corners of Jacob’s eyes.

Instead, he takes in the soft smile aimed up at him, incredibly fond and amused and bright. And Ezekiel does the only thing he can do. He plucks the flower from its place, twirling it between his fingers for a moment.

The kiss Ezekiel presses to Jacob’s mouth is soft, all gentled glitter and sparkling sweet. Short too, because Jacob’s laughing again, and Ezekiel can’t help but join in this time.

“This the part where I say something cheesy about stealing your heart along with your wallet, finally?” Ezekiel asks into the quiet a couple minutes later, the two of them still so close together, watching the daisy twirl in his fingers.

“Cheesy, maybe, but true.”

And the sparks in Ezekiel’s ribs burn bright and hot and he doesn’t care if they’re both smiling too hard for it to work, he has to kiss him again.

#the librarians #Ezekiel Jones #jacob stone #jazekiel #long post #My writing #ff #I continuously forget to cross-post the actual fics over here

29 notes · View notes

brightingales · 5 years

Note

hi 👋 my prompt is jarry has broken up and romeo schemes a way to get them back together because he sees how miserable they are apart

Oh wow, this has been sitting in my inbox for ages… sorry! Hope you like it!

Posted for @happyjarryholidays Day 5: Alone – “Lonely this Christmas”

“I thought big, important, ‘hot-shot’ lawyers were meant tohave their lives together,” Romeo says, looking at the state of the flat with aderisive curl of his lip, “but I can see that you are just as pathetic as therest of us mere mortals.”

It’s clear from his joking tone of voice that Romeo doesn’tmean it as a slight against him. Still, James almost certainly would have takenan insult like that completely the wrong way just a short while ago. But now,after a few weeks and a lot of emotional work, he can recognize Romeo’s acerbicsense of humour for what it is – Romeo hides his own faults by pointing outother people’s and expresses his affection through gentle teasing just in casehis feelings are not reciprocated.

Christ, James is even starting to sound like his son and hiscod-psychology now…

“Are you here to say anything useful or did you just come totake the mick out of your poor old Dad?” James says, giving as good as he gets.He wraps his silk dressing gown tighter around himself, throws himself onto thesofa (with perhaps a little too much ‘dramatic effect’) and goes back to thecoffee he was drinking before Romeo showed up at his door.

He pretends not to notice the fact that the mug is dirty.Everything is, really. There is a pile of dishes in the sink and dust liningthe bookshelves. A stack of newspapers lies discarded on the living room floorand his curtains haven’t been drawn for a week.

Romeo steps around the mess and sits down on the arm of thesofa, fixing James with a look halfway between pity and exasperation.

“Look, I know this Christmas didn’t exactly turn out the wayyou wanted it too…”

An understatement; James had once foolishly entertaineddreams of spending Christmas curled up on this same sofa with Harry safe andwarm in his arms. Instead, he had spentthe whole day utterly alone, looking at the empty four walls of his flat, his fingershovering over Harry’s number in his phone as he warred with himself aboutwhether to call his former lover or not.

“… but you can’t just sit here and mope forever,” Romeocontinues. “It’s starting to get a bit ridiculous. You’ve become the livingembodiment of the most depressing Christmas song ever.” Romeo’s smile issympathetic, but there is also a hint of concern behind his eyes. It’s that,more than anything else, that makes James finally sit up and take note.

“Things really are dire if I’m being told off for beinglovelorn by a teenager,” James says. It’s surprising but bantering with his sonhas come fairly naturally to him. “A teenager named Romeo, no less…”

James pulls himself off the sofa and downs the coffee in hismug, grimacing as he finds that it has gone cold.

“What do you propose I do?” James asks.

“We should clean up, first. Then coffee. And then, you’regoing to come to the New Year’s party that Prince and Lilly are hosting at TheDog…”

James opens his mouth to protest but Romeo doesn’t let himget a word in.

“…I’m not taking no for an answer. You need to get out thereand show the village that you’ve not been totally crushed. You’re JamesNightingale! You’re better than this,” Romeo finishes with a sigh, gesturing atthe state of both the flat and James.

He knows Romeo is right, but that still doesn’t mean thatJames wants to hang out with a bunch of adolescents.

Still, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

“Since it’s your idea you can get started while I take ashower,” James tells Romeo. “Cleaning stuff is under the sink. I’m sure you canfigure it out.”

“Fine, but I’m putting some music on and I’m choosing the playlist!”

…

It takes them nearly the whole afternoon. James had brieflyworried that being trapped in his flat with Romeo with nothing to do but cleanand talk would be torture but it’s actually been very nice to sort his life outwhile not being totally alone. Romeo’s playlist is full of classic and indierock, and while James would never have picked the songs himself the thrum ofguitars and beat of the drums motivates him to finish the work.

His mind is pleasantly occupied in a way that it hasn’t beenfor weeks. Even when his thoughts inevitably drift towards Harry his heartturns to fondness rather than to bitterness, as it has done ever since Harryleft. He can’t help but wonder where Harry is, what he’s doing, who he is with.And he will always worry that Harry is safe.

But while these thoughts had previously been tinged withresentment, now they taste like guilt and longing. It’s not better. It’s noteasier. But it’s not worse. And every time James is at risk of spiralling downinto morose thoughts, Romeo is there to distract him with something new toclean or a level of small talk just the right side of tolerable.

The conversation ebbs and flows between them, unforced and natural as if he and Romeo have known eachother for far longer than they actually have. They talk about Romeo’sChristmas, his plans for the new year, what sort of job he would like. Until a moment when the subject turns to Romeo’slove life and Romeo shuts down. Clearly, it’s a sensitive topic. James filesthe knowledge away for later use, already planning to return the favour andhelp Romeo out if and when he needs it.

After all, they’re family.

…

They reward themselves with coffee from The Bean, thethought of something caffeinated and sweet having motivated them both throughthe worst tasks of the day. When James returns to the flat, he has to concedethat the effort was worth it. The place is cleaner than it has been for months.He’d even taken on some tasks he thought he would never get around to; his filing cabinet has been reorganised, he’s hungsome new art on the wall, and even moved some furniture around.

A new place for a new year.

He wonders if Harry would notice the changes…

Yes, the cleaning helped, but he still can’t escape thoughtsof Harry sneaking up on him. With this realisation, James decides that he hasto keep his word to Rome and go to the party. Clearly, he still needs to bedistracted.

He makes himself a promise – if he can get through the night without losing his senses to thoughts of blonde hairand tanned skin then he’ll finally let Harry go. The countdown to midnight willbe his self-imposed deadline and he’llstart the new year without the weight of lost love pressing down on his shoulders.

It’s as good a plan as any he has come up with lately…

…

The party is not as awful as he had expected. It’s stillpretty dire – any party organised by the McQueens is – but even James has toadmit that it’s better than staying in.

Mercedes hands him a glassof bubbly as he gravitates to where all the adults are congregated at the bar,out of the way of the flailing limbs on the makeshift dance floor in thecorner. He makes small talk and, for a while, things seem almost normal. Or atleast, as normal as they can be with everyone treating him with the sort ofgentleness and concern normally reserved for people the villagers actuallylike.

Romeo bounds over at one point, cheeks flushed with drinkand face split with a wide grin. James just about manages to stop his son fromdragging him on to the dancefloor:

“Look, I’m making friends, I’m playing nice. No one heredeserves to be traumatised by the sight of me ‘dancing’!”

“I bet Harry wouldn’t say that!” Romeo says.

He immediately clasps his hand over his mouth. James triesto school his face into an expression that isn’t one of absolute devastation asRomeo starts to apologise.

“It’s fine. It’s ok,” James reassures his son. “I’m going tohave to go through life with people mentioning him. I can’t run away from thisforever.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

It must be the drink – because the next thing either of themknows James has reached out and wrapped Romeo up in the world’s most awkwardone-armed hug.

They stand there, neither of them really sure what to do.

“Okay?” Romeo asks quietly, muffling his voice in James’sshoulder.

“Yep,” James replies. “I should let go now right?”

He means the hug.

Definitely. That’s what he means.

When he and Romeo part, James goes back to the bar andavoids making eye contact with anyone. But when he does find it within himselfto finally look up, Nancy is watching him out of the corner of her eye as ifshe is amazed that the great James Nightingale is actually capable of feelinghuman emotion.

He does so love proving people wrong. But right now, he regretsthat he can’t hold on to his usual façade.

…

Romeo disappears off for a while and for some strange reasonJames can’t bring himself to leave the party without saying goodbye to himfirst. By the time that he does the countdown to midnight is only a few minutesaway. Romeo tries to persuade him to stay, but James demurs. Something withinhim knows that he needs to see in this new year on his own; to grieve the yearlast past in his own private way.

Romeo seems to understand. James is honestly so grateful tohave a family member so perceptive. And he is grateful that he waited to saygoodbye because Romeo tells him that James had dropped his keys and he hadfound them outside. He doesn’t ask what Romeo was doing leaving the party. Hecan guess that it has something to do with that disastrous love life of his andJames doesn’t want to push him on that front. Romeo will tell him all about it whenhe’s ready.

When James returns to the flat the lights are on. He andRomeo must have left them like that by accident. The wasted electricity is apain, but it’s strangely nice to return to a palace that’s not completelyshrouded in darkness.

He enjoys the work he and Romeo have done for a little while, looking at all the changes they hadmade together. Now that his flat has been organised James feels a little moreprepared to organise his life – to recalibrate himself so that he is back atthe centre of his own universe, rather than Harry forming the axis on which hisworld turns.

He should toast the new year with the bottle of champagne hekeeps in the fridge for emergencies.

In the kitchen, there is an unwashed mug in the sink thatwasn’t there when he and Romeo left.

“James…”

The voice comes from behind him. He doesn’t even have towonder who it is. No one else has a voice that can touch his soul so acutely.

He turns.

Harry looks good. Of course, he does. But it’s not just aphysical thing – though the tan and the haircut are definitely working for him– it’s something about the way he cries himself. There is a confidence in himnow that is so far away from the scared and uncertain boy James had last seenin this flat.

The Harry before him now is a man.

“James. I’m…”

James crosses the space between them in two large strides,grips Harry by the shoulders, and pulls him close so that they can finally,after so many weeks of longing, kiss.

Harry’s shocked into stillness for a few seconds and Jamespresses against him. But then he melts, wonderfully, deliciously, into James’stouch. It’s been too long, but their bodies remember each other.

It’s Harry who breaks the kiss.

“James…”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts.

Harry’s face crinkles adorably in confusion. “That’s myline.”

“I don’t care. You’re back. Never leave me again.” Eachsentence is punctuated with a kiss.

“You threw me out.”

“I’m an idiot. I was wrong. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

There is more kissing as James pushes Harry towards the sofa.He feels dizzy and weak at the knees. He needs something solid to lean against orhe might faint. But more than that – he has a desperate and unshakable need tofeel all of Harry pressed up against him. Harry apparently feels the same way,if his awkward attempts to wrestle James out of his jumper are anything to goby.

They pull apart for a moment so that they can move theiroffending clothes.

“How did you get here?” James suddenly remembers to ask.

“Romeo,” Harry admits. “He stole my number from your phone.Took your keys out of your pocket and let me in. Don’t be mad at him.”

“I’m not,” James says sincerely, “he gave you back to me.Best Christmas present ever.”

“It’s New Year’s,” Harry points out. “I wanted to come backsooner. I just… I needed time… I wasn’t sure…”

“And are you sure now?”

“More than I’ve everbeen of anything in my life. I love you, James.”

James presses his own ‘I love you’ to Harry’s lips. And asthey fall to kissing once more, in the distance a bell begins to chime.

“Kissing at midnight on New Year,” James points out. “Youknow what this means? We have to stay together now, for the whole year.”

“I think I can managethat,” Harry replies with a grin.

#jarry #happyjarryholidays #late fic is late #day five #parryglasspools

34 notes · View notes

flyswhumpcenter · 5 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me I give myself self-indulgent requests according to this marvelous card!

RIP dividing lines, you were a gift I didn’t realize I deeply needed until this hellsite got rid of you. You’ll forever be missed.

I don’t really know why my brain decided that tonight I’d write Arc-V fanfiction in 2019 of all things, but it’s here, it’s weird, it’s shabby and it was fun. I’ve been obsessed with that one part of the first season so it was bound to happen lmao. I hope you enjoy my take on local edge boi Shun.

-----

Dyspnea

Summary: It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move; but the lone soldier can only move on and sustain the pain, because nobody is here to support him through the hardships of war.

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V

Wordcount: 1.3K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

-----

Fucking hell did it hurt to even move.

Once upon a time, what felt like forever ago, he’d have been able to endure that without pushing on his resources this badly. He’d have probably gotten an x-ray, would have been told to stay still for a while, and it’d have been just fine. Perhaps he’d have even gotten a small surgery to complete the process.

But this was then and now was now: he was alone, a stranger in a strange world, only able to rely on himself despite the dire situation he had found himself in.

That Fusion bastard’s twisted face hadn’t been enough, apparently. Watching his fellow Raid Raptors, his only real companions when Ruri was gone and Yuto was nowhere to be found, get beheaded right in front of his then-trembling body, hearing their cries for help and Shiunin’s mad laughter resonate through the stone building, had only been a part of what seemed to be his punishment for what they called “extreme, excessive, desperate measures”. He didn’t know how to judge that himself: that was just how he did things, as effectively as possible without losing never-enough time to any bullshit like “trying to reason the enemy”. There was no reasoning to be had on the battlefield.

It wasn’t just about public humiliation. He didn’t care for that: other people’s judgements were only a potential loss of time and thoughts. It also wasn’t simply a matter of honour: his had already gone into ashes when the invasion had begun, when he had let his own sister disappear from his sight never to be seen again. He had everything to plead forgiveness for aside from his ways and goals. But forgiveness was absent from the battlefield, so he was supposed to continue on without giving others much thought. Revenge was all that mattered. Revenge, revenge, revenge.

No, instead, Shun had a much bigger issue to deal with right at this moment that wasn’t about judgement, the others, or his pride. The shockwave from his crushing defeat had made him exit the building in the least gracious way he could have gone through with that: flying out of there, then hurling down a flight of stairs, a bolt of pain hitting each and every time his chest hit the stone until there were no more steps to break his bones against.

He didn’t escape the fall unscathed.

He was used to getting a beating and getting up back from it. Bruises didn’t mean anything anymore as he didn’t let them hurt him for more than the moment he’d discover them. Cuts weren’t deeper than you wanted them to be. Injuries didn’t mean much if they didn’t carry any weight, any message to them, like scars whose story had been forgotten.

Yet, getting up from that had been arduous, if not unbearable. The shame wasn’t the only thing weighting on his shoulder and keeping his knees under a lock: there was the pain, the blinding, torturous, horrid pain shooting through his chest as soon as he attempted to get up and continue on. It was unlike anything he had suffered from before, even with all things considered and all mishaps that had happened taken in account.

It hurt to do anything. It hurt to move, it hurt to think, it hurt to get up, it hurt to even breathe.

And yet, all he could do was rise on his feet and flee. Run away and fight against other people for his sister’s freedom, his friend’s safety and his dimension’s honour. Like a soldier, he had to act without thinking of himself much, just execute the orders he knew were right. If he stopped moving to think, he’d feel his pain, he’d let his knees buckle under its force, he’d let himself be vulnerable; and he couldn’t let that happen in any circumstance. There was no hope, no salvation for the lone soldier that succumbed to his wounds.

So Shun kept pressing; or, at least, attempted to.

It took him ages, painfully long seconds to even get up from his fall. The beating had been this harsh: he was unable to speak, unable to really breathe in or out, clutching his ribs in an attempt to control the dolour pulsing through them. There was this girl – maybe her name was Serena, or Hiiragi, he forgot to follow and his memories were stained by the pain – and she was trying to help him. He didn’t know why, he didn’t think twice: he took the hand and forgot he had done so right afterwards, preferring to see it as an act of survival rather than a doing of need for assistance.

He was alone, all alone, and he just had trusted someone because he couldn’t do otherwise. Pathetic.

Running was difficult, more than he’d have ever anticipated. He was now certain he had broken his ribs, not just fractured them: they seemed to slightly move as he ran from that Fusion freak, pulses of pain ringing through his chest every time he took a step, walked or run, threatening to pierce his lung and make him lose all breathing altogether. He couldn’t let that happen to him, but did he have a solution aside from running away from imminent danger despite his injuries? No.

So he’d keep running until he ran out of air, until something would go horribly wrong; because things had already gone sour for him and all he had left was the slim hope that he’d get out of there, exhausted and suffering, but alive and able to still do something. He’d go to the end, he’d press on until he’d be dead; and if his demise was now, then so be it, because it seemed like things wouldn’t get any better from there.

And yet, despite being a lone soldier with a heart of stone and lacking any polish, people had come to his aid.

It had started with Serena (her name was Serena; he was surer of that now). For some reason outside of his mind, she had decided he’d be worth helping despite them being on opposite sides of the war (she was from Fusion, right? That freak had been surprised to see her bust out a Fusion Duel Disk). Was he grateful for her helping hand? He wished he could have said no, but he knew he was at least somewhat glad to have had that to get him out of there. Maybe “glad” wasn’t the right word.

Then there were this pair of ninja brothers, stopping Shiunin in his tracks and allowing Serena and him to continue fleeing from danger. They seemed to have mostly wanted to help her out, and he just happened to slow her down considerably (damn fractures…), even if he was starting to doubt this judgement. Maybe. When he’d have time to breathe, he’d consider revising it for more than a single afterthought, a little thing that had popped in his mind along the lines of “maybe they did pay attention to the other guy with her”. He didn’t have time of the day to do more than that.

His ribs still hurt tremendously, if not more and more as time went on, when three masked soldiers corned the three of them in the Volcano Area. Yet, because it was only fair to do so, he swore he’d protect the one who had helped him out, putting a hand before Serena, fully intending to fight at full volume despite the difficulty to breathe and think entirely clear. He wouldn’t be able to call himself a last man standing for this battle, nor a lone soldier. Other casualties weren’t needed, so he’d make it quick, sharp and to-the-point. He’d defeat them all and avoid more victims to fall in their claws.

It hurt to breathe; but perhaps it hurt less than watching people lose themselves to a war they didn’t comprehend.

#bad things happen bingo #yu-gi-oh arc-v #arc-v #shun kurosaki #injury #broken ribs #Hurt no comfort #bthb 1

2 notes · View notes

sylvasthesnowfox · 5 years

Text

1597463007_A_GRIM_ENDING

THERE IS A TINY SCREEN IN AN ALCOVE SOMEWHERE,

PHOBOS, ARE YOU OKAY!?!

The spiders are scurrying further back into the darkness, though the only source of light now is the glowing hate swirling around the entrance to her cavern, the place of intersection between herself and - and whatever the Other is. I don't know, she is scrambling, I don't know what's happening -

The cavern begins to break apart - ! The comforting enclosed space is ripping open as the magma-like substance flows through its forming cracks, like it's turning it to glass and crushing it - between Phobos and the Other, a metal blast door slides shut, but a red light shines at its seam and it slowly opens again -

HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT!? Aplistia cries, there is a screen behind Phobos that she can now understand is there, and the crumbling of rock and the roiling of lava comes in answer:

I a m v e r y p e r s u a s i v e .

A series of high-pitched whipping sounds echo through the formless darkness as a series of chains grasp around the crumbling debris that comprises the Other's form - they begin to glow, but are nonetheless steadfast, soon coiling around the thing enough to contain it even as it thrashes within its binds, somehow unable to flow through them; its shape and the scene change, and Phobos is now on a metal grating struggling to move against an unbearably heavy darkness. She remembers this! She knows where - or rather, who this is!

Dangling in the air above her is a cage made from chains, with the Other bashing against its sides... but far above that is another grating, and sitting upside-down beyond the other side of that grating, larger than can be possibly believed and looking down at them as though looking upward into a mirror, is Parias' featureless face.

"We are unmoved," Parias says gravely. The Other swings its cage enough to get a clear look upward at them, sneering. Phobos is not sure how she can tell that it is sneering, but she definitely can.

What's your story?! it snarls. I've never encountered such a pathetic, warped thing as you. So full of guilt that not even I can force you to rebel. It's sad, is what it is. Sad and stupid. The swirling molten Other continues to rail against its cage, which is swinging wildly above Phobos now. She is a bit worried it might fall on her.

"We do not care for your childish insults," Parias intones, folding their arms. "We have no right to lash out in petty vengeance until our penance is finished."

It never will be, the creature hisses. You'll never please them enough to feel satisfied.

"That's enough!" The voice that cuts across them is high and fierce; Parias' terrifying visage above is replaced with a series of stadium lights beaming down into the cage, and now pacing around it is a giant hologram of Yomi - Aplistia's chosen materialization. Phobos realizes that Parias is kneeling beneath the cage now, looking upward at it, and huddles around them for comfort; Parias makes no move to shoo her away.

Pompous delusional thing, the Other is seething. I can tell just from looking at you.

"Books and their covers," Aplistia retorts seamlessly, tapping her illusory foot. "You are the captive here, not I."

I'll break out sooner or later, the Other taunts, its voice gleeful now.

"I don't really care," Aplistia says airily, "I just want to ask you a few questions, that I might understand you better. What are you? Why did you attack the humans?"

I am like you, and that should be painfully obvious. The Other snorts and draws itself up, taking a shape like a flame now. I attacked the humans because I have a right to that which they keep from me. But for you to be defending them - it's stupid, and sad, just like the other one hiding behind their guilt.

"Stupid and sad," Aplistia repeats slowly, nodding as though she understands, drumming her fingers on her arms. "Is that so? What makes you think that?"

There is a moment of quiet, the flame simmering down, leering at her. You don't intend to listen, it mutters.

"I do," Aplistia replies blankly.

Not in any way that matters. You seek to categorize me. Label me. Find a place for me within the confines of your view of the world. I don't care for any of that.

Aplistia is quiet. The flame builds up partway again.

You don't understand the humans yet, it adds, its rumbling voice low and irritated. Fine. I will find you again once you do, and we will talk once you are ready to listen.

Then, the flame goes out all at once, and they are cast in darkness.

Darkness is all Rei sees.

Awareness happens to her all of a sudden, as though she was startled from some deep sleep, but what greets her is a simple black void. Eliza is not present. Neither is Naomi. The Outsiders that had torn open reality in her Seed are gone, too. She is entirely alone.

Okay, thinks Rei, this is not exactly what I expected to see at the beginning of a new universe.

For a moment, a flicker of doubt runs through her mind. Did she do something wrong? Is the world broken? Ruined somehow? But she stifles the thought. There's no purpose to worrying about it. The simple fact is, she is here now, and she needs to understand her surroundings before coming to any conclusions. As long as she is still fighting, she can still reach her goal.

She flexes her thoughts, exerting her psychic influence on her surroundings, calling out for the Spark of Creation. It doesn't come to her. Another surge of doubt runs through her. The Spark is gone. Why is the Spark gone?

For just a moment, there's a sensation of bright light washing over her, bathing her, but it is neither warm nor soothing. Then the existence known as Rei ends.

The walls of Aplistia's vault are around them now; there is a chair in the center of the vault where Yomi once sat, but now Aplistia sits in it, attending to her guests with crossed arms and a troubled expression.

No, no, no, Phobos cries in despair. That's it?!

"That's just one ending," Parias reminds her hastily, their voices now a soothing maternal chorus. "It's a grim one, but it doesn't have to be the only one." Aplistia nods in agreement.

"This is not a promising development," she says lowly. As her mouth forms words they appear on the screens around Phobos, too. "I had anticipated Outsiders as a potential obstacle, but I didn't think they would be so... wilful."

So you think that's what did this? Phobos asks. Aplistia shrugs, very slowly. What - do you mean?

"It's hard to say for sure," Aplistia admits. "The timeline ended so suddenly that there are few details to draw clues from, and it's already so brittle that I don't know if we can go any further back without disrupting it. Not from where we are, anyway. But I didn't sense the influence of that other Outsider nearby at all when we reached her..."

What even happened to her? Phobos asks quietly. Aplistia frowns and shrugs, and Phobos is struck by the reaction. She can't recall a time that Aplistia has ever... not... known. She wonders if maybe that is exciting for Aplistia, some part of her feeling of adventure, but... it's mostly very scary to Phobos, and Aplistia certainly does not look excited.

"What bothers me most is that we have not encountered it until now," Parias continues, speaking now in a soft baritone, their arms folded. The tension in the room grows, as Aplistia turns to watch her counterpart's featureless face. "Something with that much power and influence - we should've felt it long before now. Especially if it has been watching the remnant."

"It must not have been, then," Aplistia says lowly. "It's only just joined us, from our perspective."

From our perspective? Phobos faintly repeats, confused. But then she gasps. Oh - it did sound like they knew more than we do, have they been here for longer than us?

Parias sighs with aggravation. "You think it is trawling through timelines for something," they say, disgruntled. "That's..." They trail off, and Aplistia nods gravely.

"Not a comforting thought," she finishes in agreement. "We are certain to run into it again in the future. Though perhaps I should say 'them' until we know better. Whatever and whoever that Outsider was, they are clearly just as self-aware as we are."

"That's another thing," Parias growls, "how can that be? We have higher awareness because of Yomi's influence, and because we've stuck close to one another. But that one - are they with others? Or are they simply so powerful that they retain sense of self after all this time?"

"Or," Aplistia adds softly, "did someone summon them here?"

"No," Parias scoffs, "that - that can't be. Who would have the power? The motive?"

They don't seem to like humans, Phobos says nervously. I don't think if a human summoned them here, they... But she trails off. Aplistia smiles faintly down at her, as she finds a reluctant voice again: I guess that doesn't rule anything out.

"There is nothing stopping a human from mistakenly summoning an Outsider that does not like them," Aplistia agrees sadly. "As for motive; there were many in the remnant that were unhappy with its leadership, weren't there?"

Parias hesitates, drumming fingers on their arm. "Even Eliza might have reason for a coup," they admit. "But that's a very dire thought."

They argue sometimes, Phobos gasps in protest, but - but they're friends, aren't they? Or at least they're trying their best to work together!

"It might seem that way outwardly," Aplistia murmurs. "But it's hard for us to know what either of them are really feeling, or what other influences there might be. Don't forget that these three humans are not at all the last survivors, also; even the thugs from Gwen's basement could potentially find it within themselves to discover something that they weren't ever meant for."

They are all quiet for a moment.

"So, what do we do with this information?" Parias sighs at length, shifting closer to their bars. "We have now seen that Rei's first attempt, with no outside intervention, ends in disaster. It may be that some small change is enough to dodge that Outsider's notice, and Rei may be able to succeed; or it may be that some other factor is causing Rei to fail, or that the Outsider has some other way of reaching us. We have very little information and a whole lot more questions than before."

"Well..." Aplistia pinches the bridge of her nose. Her screens blank for a moment. "We should go back, and try to change something small, I suppose. I don't know - "

No, but, Phobos gasps, we - shouldn't we warn them about the Outsider?!

"How?" Parias mutters. "From their perspective we are no different than it. Their first instinct is going to be to attack any Outsider that they fear threatens them."

But we can't just - Phobos scurries to and fro anxiously. We can't - you don't mean to just - let them fail again?

"We don't have an infinite number of timelines to work with," cautions Parias. "Remember Yomi's warning. This Seed can only form a limited set of them before becoming unstable. We can't make small iterative changes until we find something that works."

"So...?" Aplistia squints, "What do you suggest? I agree with Phobos that, if we can, we should warn Rei about the attack..."

"There's no need for us to warn her directly," Parias says dismissively. "What we need is for Rei to remember what she's tried. If we force a causal link between this moment and the beginning of the next iteration..."

Aplistia gasps. "Then Rei will inherit her memories causally," she finishes, hands bunching up before pumping in triumph. "Yes, that's brilliant, Parias! And far more elegant than anything I could have come up with."

How does that work? Phobos says faintly. And what will happen to this Rei?

"We don't have much time, if that's what we're going to do," Parias says, folding their arms again. "We have to act while our memory is still very fresh, or otherwise something will get lost or corrupted."

"Yes, yes, you're right." Aplistia nods to Phobos. "We can explain more later - but at the very least, we will stop this Rei from being entirely forgotten, and give her new life through a new timeline. For now - let's return with our memory of Rei to the beginning, and return to the Seed as before. We can strategize more once we're sure that the causal diversion is working. Everyone is good with this plan?"

Parias nods. Phobos hesitates, but taps her feet "O-Kay" in response. "Good," sighs Aplistia, rubbing her hands together. "Then let's hurry!"

#wishes from oblivion #wfo sky arc

2 notes · View notes