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yuzukult · 3 years

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from home 01 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 7.1k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class?

a/n: i hate cliches but i also love them so i’m gonna write them lol also i know ‘from home’ is an nct song, don’t come @ me. in addition to that, i’m hoping i can expand my writing and be able to lengthen it as much as possible! (well... this chapter only has 7.1k but baby steps...)

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Jeon Jungkook is a disappointment.

Well, kind of. His four older brothers think so, especially when he comes stumbling at noon on a Thursday, hair disheveled, shirt buttoned all wrong, half tucked into his pants with the zipper down. “He’s already fucking drunk.” His second eldest brother, Jonghyun, hisses, standing up from the dining table of his parents’ home. They’re supposed to have a scheduled lunch together, and although Jungkook is surprisingly on time, he’s still intoxicated. Jungsik and Jongseok, his other big bros respectively, only shake their heads in their seats, finding this situation all too familiar. The baby does it again.

The oldest of them all, Junghwan, does nothing. His eyes say it all—the glimmer that once was evident in them was drowned, full of nothingness when he looks at his youngest sibling.

But their mom didn’t think of it that way. She spoiled Jungkook like crazy, to the point that he’s the way he is today. Mrs. Jeon saw potential in him the moment she birthed him in 1997; full of love, life, and glory, Jeon Jungkook was going to be off doing great things.

Yet, ever since Jungkook ripped into the age of 16, everything changed. He started smoking, cigarettes, weed, name it and Jungkook has done it. By the time he turned 17, he was experimenting with different types of alcohol, far and wide, and eventually moved up into sleeping with multiple women consecutively. Coincidentally, they’re rich from wealthy families with nothing but dollar signs in their eyes when they see Jungkook, his beauty just being a perk of the package. In spite of his women endeavors, he had enough respect for his mother not to bring them home.

“Mother,” Junghwan finally speaks up, voice stern and face hard. She comes peering out from the back, the house servants trailing behind her before they all realize the sight of Jungkook, clumsily tripping on his own feet, quickly running to his aid while his mother only gasps in horror. “Jeon Jungkook does it again. He can’t just come to a family lunch, no, that would be too easy. He has to do it while reeking of alcohol, on a weekday, all in broad daylight. This is what happens when you let your child run wild and do whatever they please with all the money in the world. They turn out like him.”

His words are harsh, but they don’t impact Jungkook like they used to. No, not after he discovered his love for vodka, whiskey... all of the above. He learned that before seeing any of his family members require at least a couple servings. Stepping into the Jeon’s residence means being criticized, words that come shooting at him like bullets and in the beginning, they pierced through his thin skin with ease, heart clenching in pain at the men he idolized and admired. His skin hasn’t thickened since then, but alcohol does a great job of numbing it all.

Mrs. Jeon glares at her eldest son, the next in line to take over the Jeon Corporation when their father retires. She loves all her kids equally, yet gifted Jungkook more attention than the rest. To be fair, she couldn’t help herself when she saw those pools of sweet chocolate called orbs, begging for her love and affection. “Jungkook, why are you drunk already, love? It’s only 12:30. You probably haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“But I’ve already had breakfast,” He slurs, the housemaids attempting to have him seated at one of the chairs at the dining table that extends from one end to the room to the next. Seat big enough for two people, he slides down in it, head falling to the side in drowsiness. “Mimosas. My favorite breakfast drink.”

“What’d you do? Champagne with a sprinkle of orange juice?”

“Mmm, didn’t have champagne. Worked with vodka instead.” The four men grimaced.

Their mother’s face softened at his response. “Jungkookie, baby. You can’t just come marching in here like this. We’re having a lunch, together, as a family. You’re lucky your father is coming here late, or else you would’ve been kicked out in seconds.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out in seconds,” Junghwan chimes in, expression unwavering. “This is ridiculous, Jungkook. You need to stop acting like some bachelor. What are you? Twenty-three? Kim Taehyung was that age when he proposed to his now wife. Yet you’re still fucking around with mom’s friends daughters who innocently are just looking for love. How reckless is that?”

“Junghwan.” Mrs. Jeon says through her gritted teeth, eyes shooting daggers at her son. “Stop it.”

“Hyung has a point, mom,” Jonghyun interjects, making his way toward Jungkook before sitting on the armrest of the chair beside the youngest one. “What has Jungkook even done other than come to every event drunk, spend all our family’s money, and fuck around with women he has no intention of marrying?”

Mrs. Jeon raises a brow at Jonghyun, sucking in her cheeks in disbelief. “You boys are acting like you guys have never been through this phase.”

“Mom,” Jungsik, the middle child and the most empathetic of all, attempts to console his mother’s anger toward his older siblings, humming soothingly. “We all got over that by the age of 21. Jungkook is twenty-three.”

Despite being completely under the influence, the pain is evidently still there. He regrets not drinking an extra glass or two of that make-shift mimosa. They speak of him as if he’s not even in the room, and it makes him feel sick. He knows this feeling well—and his stomach stirring isn’t from the alcohol. Jungkook can’t even look at his mom at the moment, a bit embarrassed by how all his brothers seemingly gang up on their mom just because she was defending him. He really felt like a baby.

“Well, what do you suggest I do? Tell him to get married? You wouldn’t want that, right, Jungkook?” He gazes at the table. Mostly because he doesn’t know what to say, especially if she’s suddenly taking suggestions. “I take that as a no. So it’s settled, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Why don’t you just like... cut him off?” Jongseok proposes, shrugging at his own idea. “I mean, just until he gets his act together. He’s not getting any younger, and if he actually put his brain to use, he could be part of the company, leading in a division. Jungkook isn’t stupid, he’s just acting it.”

At this point, Jungkook’s consciousness begins to fade, slumber creeping up and drowning him like quicksand. For the first time, he regrets consuming so much alcohol because when he’s awake, he’s sleeping on the couch of one of their family rooms with his mother sitting in an armchair, worry washed over her face.

“Mom?” He jerks up, pushing off the blanket that someone had laid on him while he was asleep. “Everything alright?”

“Jungkook,” She begins, and he can already tell it’s going to be bad news. “I think I’ve spoiled you too much. When I first saw you as a baby, I thought that you needed everything, and I wanted to give you everything. Your brothers just grew up so much more differently than you did, your dad wasn’t so swamped with the company and had an abundance of time with them before you came along.”

His mom doesn’t look over at him. She looks uneasy, something eating her insides, and he feels nothing but remorse for her. Jungkook wants to move closer in attempts to comfort her, but it seems that she purposely sat at that distance. “I thought that giving you everything you needed and more meant that I was giving you the things that your father couldn’t give you and look where you are now... wasted every single time you come home. You haven’t had any real jobs, and when I supported you during your modeling endeavors, you threw all of that away! And for what, Jungkook? I gave you everything... and now I feel like a horrible mother.”

“Mom,” He reiterates, his voice soft and apologetic. “You’re not horrible. You took care of me, defended me against all of my hyungs, and guided me through the hardest times of my life. But maybe you’re right, I can’t do it anymore. I’ll do better, mom—”

She finally turns to see him. Her eyes are bloodshot red from the tears, bags underneath them from years of taking care of her five sons that have increased over time from Jungkook’s shenanigans. “No. Jungkook, I’m cutting you off.”

He nearly chokes on his spit. “What?”

“I’ll give you an allowance every month. It’s not a lot, but it’ll be enough to get you by. You can stay in my studio apartment downtown; I haven’t been there in a while so it’ll require some sprucing up.” She places a manila envelope on the table with Jungkook’s name written across it, wiping the tear that streams down her cheek. “You need to learn to fend for yourself, Kook.”

The next morning, Jungkook finds himself lying flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his legs tangled in his satin sheets. Just like that, in an instant, he lost everything. He should’ve stayed sober before coming, or at the very least, took one shot of vodka rather than... well, a couple cups worth. Sleep didn’t come easy that night but the guilt crept in like a tsunami. All that went through his mind was how he let his mom down, her favorite son, and that she had to come to terms with this new arrangement. Disappointing his brothers was something he’d done continuously over the years anyway, so the chance of finally making them proud has gone out the window but with his mom, there was a little bit of opportunity left to show her that he wasn’t completely a fuck up.

“Thanks, Hyungjin.” Jungkook is grateful that his mom let Hyungjin drive him downtown, and to come up to help drop off his belongings. The older male nods, tipping his hat at him. Hyungjin had been Jungkook’s driver for as long as he could remember; from piano lessons, early and late school drives, to even his one-night stands, where Jungkook would panic call Hyungjin and he’d come almost immediately after. Although he’d hope to see him again, he knows that this may be the last time Hyungjin drives him. “I hope I get to see you again.”

“Of course you will, Mr. Jeon. If you prove yourself to your brothers, I’m sure that they’ll be more than willing to accept you back into the family with open arms.”

Jungkook scoffs, shoving the key to the apartment into the slot of the knob. “I wish. I’m sure they’ll find a way to still keep me out. They hate me, Hyungjin, and I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

“No, no, Jungkook. They’re your brothers. They have nothing but love for you. Tough love, maybe, but love nonetheless.” Hyungjin carries a portion of the suitcases and bags when Jungkook opens the door to the apartment; the both of them sneezing and coughing abruptly once they step inside. The entire apartment was dusty, dark, and gloomy. The windows had these black long and heavy curtains that blocked any sunlight from seeping through, and the remains of his mother’s paintings and canvases sprawled all across the floor with splatters that coat the wooden floors and brick walls that all were collecting dust.

“Uh... I guess Mrs. Jeon isn’t tidy when her artistic side comes out.” Hyungjin jokes, eyes skimming around the apartment. He walks over to sink, turning the knob of the faucet on, and Jungkook doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath until he releases it when the water flows out of the spout. “Least there’s still water? I think your parents are still paying for this place.”

After shoving as much of Jungkook’s personal items into the apartment, Hyungjin brushes his hands off on his slacks, straightening his back afterwards. “Well, Mr. Jeon, congrats on the start of your new future. I know that technically I’m not supposed to drive you anymore, but... if you are in dire need of help, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

Placing a hand on Hyungjin’s shoulder, Jungkook sighs. “Thanks, Hyungjin, really. It means a lot.”

After sending Hyungjin off, Jungkook does some scavenging. For one, there’s some plates in the cabinets that he could use for the time being. No shampoo, no loofah and... when he opens the fridge in the kitchen, his face scrunches up from a whiff of the odor. Milk. Of course, his mother left half a carton of milk in there and hasn’t been back for months. “Guess... I already need to go shopping.”

“Your total is going to be ₩62,636.00.” Packing the groceries that had been scanned into the brown paper bags that were stuffed into another plastic one, you push it down the line for the customer as she’s shuffling through her purse for her wallet.

“You know, I am the bag boy, right? I can do it.” Hoseok, a fellow co-worker of yours, comments at your actions, hooded eyes darting in your direction in annoyance. “I know you’re trying to be nice to me because Hyeri broke up with me last night, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of working.”

“Hush,” You demand, yet face blooming with smiles for the customer who replicates the expression, sliding the credit card into the payment terminal. “Have a good day!” You’d cry out with every receipt you handed to a customer as they’d walk out the store, slouching immediately afterwards from the exhaustion that washes over you. “I’m just trying to make today a bit easier for you, Hobi. I know how much she means to you.”

“You’re kidding right? I’m rich, I’m only working here because I’m trying to save some money up to leave that household but I haven’t left yet. I’m thinking of doing some type of yacht party tonight; drinks, girls, all my homies getting drunk, it’s a great way to truly mend my heart.”

You roll your eyes at the male, leaning back against the register. “If you keep spending your parents’ money like that, you don’t have to leave. They’ll just kick you out.”

He gasps. “I sure as hell hope not, not ‘til I’m ready.” Shaking his head at the thought, he freezes as his mouth gapes open. “Ah, speaking of. Mrs. Jeon actually cut off one of her children. Mostly because he’s a brat and needs to be taught how to be humble... and grateful... and maybe not to be such a dick.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow questioningly. “Which one? Is it the one you’re friends with?”

Hoseok wags his finger in disagreement. “Not friend, acquaintance. We’re party buddies, but he and I don’t talk deep things like you and me. But yes, it’s the baby of them, Jeon Jungkook.”

The name is familiar. His face is plastered on almost all of the billboards that you’d pass by on your route to work. Jeon Jungkook was one of the heirs of the Jeon Corporation, and his mother being the CEO of the supermarket and café chain you had been employed at. Despite all of that, he chose to go the path of modeling (from what you know, it’s just for fun and games), and did nothing to help his family out in their business. Although you never found yourself involved with the media, Jungkook was an image hard to get rid of. His news was everywhere, especially since you had no idea how to remove the Apple News notifications from your phone. Tech wasn’t exactly your strongest suit.

“Interesting. Well, that sucks for him. Can’t have it all.”

“You say that because you’re not rich,” He frowns, crossing his arms. “You’d be living a different life if you had some more money.”

Leaning over the counter, you tap Hoseok’s nose with your pointer finger. “And I’m okay with where I am. Working two jobs, saving up money for my dreams while paying off my student loans... I’m okay with that. Yes, I’m tired, and who wouldn’t kill to be rich, but let’s be honest here. Coming from money, and money that’s not yours, sound horrible.”

“And it is,” Someone sighs, dropping their groceries onto the conveyor belt. “Money that’s actually yours being spent doesn’t feel as fulfilling as when you’re spending someone else’s, but having them control how you spend it... well, it’s not the best.”

“I mean, I feel great knowing that I earned my own money and—“ As you turn to meet with this customer, you’re speaking to the devil himself. Jeon Jungkook. “—oh, uh, Hello.” Magazines, pictures on the internet, billboards... all of them do not do Jungkook any justice because he’s not just gorgeous in person, but he looks like perfection on legs. The way he pushes his long locks back when they begin to irritate his eyes, his skin is milky smooth, supple and soft, and when he shoves his hands into his pockets afterwards, all you can think about is how his arms flex in the sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Kook,” Hoseok greets, forehead crinkled in confusion as he extends his hand for a shake. “What... why are you here? I’ve never seen you at a supermarket before. Doesn’t your personal chef take care of those things for you?” He’s feigning ignorance, afraid that his assumptions of Jungkook’s withdrawal from wealth is only gossip spread by the middle aged women. Jungkook lets out another heavy sigh, shoulders dipping in disappointment. “Well, you probably heard from your mom... who heard from my mom. She kicked me out. Cut me off. So... I’m trying to fend for myself now and get some groceries for dinner tonight.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh, my mom used to have an art studio downtown. She’s too busy to go there anymore, so she paints at home now. So the studio is pretty much abandoned... therefore I’m residing there now. I’m also getting an allowance every month to live off of.”

You snort. It was truly an accident, but the words coming out of Jungkook’s mouth were unbelievable. His mom made him leave the house yet gifted him an apartment and an allowance? Does anyone even consider this as being kicked out? “I’m sorry,” He turns to look at you. “Is something funny?”

“I... thought you said she cut you off?”

Without saying it, his face contorts to a visual version of an, And?

“Well, if your mother really cut you off, you wouldn’t even have an apartment. You’d be living on the streets or sleeping on your friends’ couches in rotation. Trust me, I know, I’ve been there. And you’re still receiving an allowance from them?”

Jungkook thinks he doesn’t realize that you’re from a wealthy family as well. “You... have been cut off of your family money and kicked out?”

Hoseok bursts in a laugh, hand in front of him in an attempt to stop himself before apologizing. “Ehem, sorry. She’s never been cut out, her family isn’t well-off in the first place. She’s trying to say she did the latter, sleeping on her friends’ couches on rotation. Me being one of them.” As you’re scanning his groceries one by one, sliding them down to Hoseok, he bags them quickly and efficiently as Jungkook’s eyes dazes off in amazement at his skill. “You... said you’re still getting an allowance from her?”

Jungkook nods but he’s completely immersed by yours and Hoseok’s quick movements, shuffling through the bags and scanning the items. When his toothpaste doesn’t beep, he watches as you start typing in some group of numbers into the register. The system recognizes it immediately before you turn back, resuming into your previous actions. He admits that this isn’t the first time he’s been in a supermarket, but the last time he remembered stepping foot in any of his mom’s businesses was probably before he hit puberty.

“So that’s going to be... ₩113,552.00.” Hoseok looks up when he realizes that Jungkook hasn’t moved from his position. “Jungkook?”

Jungkook shakes his head from his daze, quickly rummaging through his pockets for his wallet. “Sorry, I was just... you guys are really good at that.”

“At what?” You ask, confused with your brows furrowed.

He gestures the register and bags with his chin as he pulls out his wallet. “The whole... register thing. You guys move fast and... expertly. Where’d you learn to do that?”

You and Hoseok freeze. It’s weird to hear, exclusively forthcoming from someone who’s known to be arrogant, and yet the expression on his face is genuinely impressed by the show the two of you had just put on for him. “Uh... basic training? They just give you some tips and you just do it.”

“That’s it? It’s that easy?” He says, eyes bulging from his head at the simple response.

“Well, I wouldn’t say easy,” Hoseok rephrases as Jungkook inserts his credit card into the system. “It gets tiring when your shift gets long. But the task itself isn’t difficult, just becomes brutal.” You shake your head in affirmation, wiping the counter down with a rag. “Don’t look down on your local grocery store employees! Where else would you get your groceries without them to help you?”

He laughs, and he’s so pretty when he laughs, but what subsequents after his laugh isn’t so... pretty. “I won’t, but I don’t think I’d ever work in a supermarket either. Not really for me. I think I have more potential than... everyone here.”

Hoseok eyes his friend quizzically. “Uh... I didn’t think I would be either. I didn’t choose to work here, you know. I want to move out eventually, so I’m saving money. Do you think she chooses to work here too? No. This is temporary for us, Kook. But even so, there’s people who have to work here because it’s how they put food on the table.”

He only shrugs. “I guess. I just think I can do better than this. Thanks for the family discount though! Even though the allowance my mom gave me paid for it.”

And with that, he leaves.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” You jeer, completely appalled by Jungkook’s comment. “Is it because he’s the boss’ son? Is that why? That’s so ridiculous, why didn’t I say something—“ Hoseok interrupts your rant with the sound of your name soothingly coming out of mouth. “Let him be. I believe in karma and it’s going to bite him in the ass later.” You let out a dejected sigh, caving into his words. “On another note... you’re coming to my yacht party right?”

You hate Hoseok for luring you here.

He’s got chicks in bikinis, dancing away with their drinks swaying in their glasses, waists so thin you could wrap your hands around them. Guys are lounging, admiring the view of both the sea and the women, alcohol also accompanying their hands, whispering things here and there when they catch a sight of you— jeans and a crop top. You were not going to let Hoseok see you in a bikini, no matter how nice he is to you. He’s still a slob at heart.

When Hoseok spots you through the crowd, he hollers your name. “Oh my gosh! You actually came! I’m so stoked! Which text convinced you to come? I did all those things, just in case any of them are actually the reason why you came.”

hoseokie [1:03PM]: pls come to my party hoseokie [1:03PM]: we’ve got tacos hoseokie [1:04PM]: we’ve got white claw hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got pigs in a blanket hoseokie [1:05PM]: we’ve got some weird hors d'oeuvres hoseokie [1:06PM]: we’ve got fresh fish hoseokie [1:07PM]: we’ve got... mini sandwiches?? idk i’m running out of nice things to mention hoseokie [1:09PM]: what about.... chick-fil-a? i know chicks dig that hoseokie [1:09PM]: i take that back, i know you’re into the feminist thing and don’t like it when i say collectively chicks like something

You frown. He’s so annoying.

hoseokie [1:12PM]: attachment 1 image

Ah. There it was. The true reason why you’ve decided to come.

The picture mostly shows the food that sits at the table, but the angle that Hoseok takes it from gives you a glimpse of the kitchen, a delicious glance because right there is a take for inspiration for your own that you’d like to see for yourself. With that, you figure you’d hit two birds with one stone; getting to steal an idea for a small kitchen and celebrate Hoseok’s... breakup? You’re not even sure what this is for.

“Uh, where’s the kitchen? I want to wash my hands.”

He’s kind of drunk, so you’re thankful he doesn’t probe for more information, like why the kitchen and not the bathroom. “Downstairs. Do you need me to take you?”

“Nah, I’m good.” You grin, walking in the direction he points afterwards. On route to the kitchen, you spot the catering of Chick-Fil-A. Guess he kept to his word after all.

That’s when you spot him.

Jungkook is sitting on one of the white leather couches that Hoseok’s yacht is built with, arms resting on the top of the seat while surrounded by women who giggle with their hands on his chest with hearts coming from their eyes in admiration. “Kook-ie, you’re so funny! Who knew someone like you would have such a beautiful personality!”

You have to swallow the vomit that’s begging to leave your body.

Finally downstairs, you get to see it yourself with your own eyes. It’s beautiful. So beautiful that you can’t believe that a room can look this beautiful, and on top of that, it looks untouched. Reaching the stove, you almost hold in your breath from all the excitement forming in you, pulling the handle out to peek inside. “Jesus, stainless steel, great for cleaning, so much space, enough for inventory, and so much wattage—”

“Are you getting turned on by a stove?”

Fuck. Slamming it the oven shut, you abruptly straighten yourself. “Uh, no.” Turning to see the owner of the voice, you frown at the sight. Of course, with your luck, it’s Jungkook. “I’m just really curious on how people do their kitchens. I wanna open a bakery and want some ideas on how to work with a limited amount of space.”

Your breath hitches at the view; the shirt he has on is barely even buttoned, exposing his toned chest, and his hair is slicked back with a comma curl that hangs over his forehead. His lips are pink and plump, arms are tight in their sleeves, and when he leans over on the counter across from where you stand, the smile that tugs on the edges of his mouth is so pretty. “Hire an interior designer. Why do you need to do it yourself?” His breath already reeks of alcohol, and the drink in his hand almost screams that it’s not going to be his last either. “I don’t have the money for it.”

“Sure you do, you have two jobs. Why do things yourself when other people can do it for you?” You roll your eyes at him. “Because, unlike you, I have student debt. I need to pay for that and start a business. It’s not easy. I need to make a profit somewhere.”

He shrugs before saying nonchalantly, “I’ll pay for you.”

“With what money?” It comes out faster than you expected, but it’s too late to back down now. “With the money my mom gave me,” He responds calmly, tapping his fingers against the counter. “It’s more than enough to start a business.”

You nearly piss your pants. His mother’s allowance was enough to fucking start a business. Jungkook was indeed not in lack of resources and with the way his mom was taking care of this meant he will never truly learn responsibility.

“Are you kidding me?” You’re almost gasping for air. “Your mom gives you that much money for an allowance? What are you? I thought she was cutting you off. At this rate, you’re never going to actually be an adult. How are you even going to prove to her that you’re capable?”

He gets up from the counter, startled by your sudden outburst. “What makes you think I’m incapable?”

“You were just about to give me money to start a business. This is the second time you’ve met me, Jungkook. You don’t even know me. You don’t even know what the business is for, what my plans are, and where it’s going to be. You were just going to throw away good money without even having any knowledge of what it’s going to be used for!”

Unsure what to say, he speaks the only thing that comes to mind. “I trust you because you’re friends with Hoseok, and well, I trust Hoseok.” How could a guy with five older siblings who all went to prestigious ivy league universities, including attending one of them himself, be so gullible and naïve?

“That means nothing, Jungkook. All it means is that we have a mutual friend. I can’t stand kids like you, strutting around with all the money in the world without knowing what to do with it. You have no real responsibilities, no real life plan, no dreams— nothing! All you do is fuck around and get drunk. What a fucking waste of space.” You shake your head before climbing up the stairs out of the lower level of the yacht, heated from Jungkook. He hasn’t actually said or done anything actually wrong yet you can’t help but hate him. Jungkook was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and all you can think about is how you were born with a plastic one instead.

You’re not actually anyone to Jungkook. No, not really, especially since yes, like you mentioned before, it’s only the second time he has met you. Whether or not if the proposal for paying for those things were serious, he wasn’t sure why he made you upset so easily.

But it hurt. Those things you said really hurt— more than when he speaks to his brothers.

So he drinks. He drinks the pain away or just enough that it fades to the point he doesn’t notice it as much anymore.

When you catch him slouched on the couch alone, cheeks flush pink from what you assume is from the beer sitting in his hands loosely, guilt washes over you. Without much thought, you’re already making your way to the innocent looking boy, buttoning his shirt up and tearing the can from his grip. You figured you’d take him home, it’s the least you can do after flipping him off earlier.

With Jungkook’s arm draping over your shoulder, you wince when the button on his sleeve tugs on your necklace. “Jungkook, could you at least try lifting yourself up so I’m not doing all the heavy lifting here?” He doesn’t say much but mumbles with drool coming out from the side of his mouth, emitting a whine from you.

“Oh my god, is that Jungkook?” Mrs. Jeon drops the book she reads in what seems like a living room, rushing toward your side before Jungkook vomits again on the marble floor. “Hana! Nayeon! Please come clean this up— quickly, quickly, please.” She pulls his other arm over her shoulder, tugging him along with you before reaching the couch, letting him settle down easy. If she wasn’t here, you would’ve thrown him on it. “Sorry CEO Jeon, I wanted to take him back to his place but... I didn’t know where he lived and I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving him by himself like this. So... I googled your estate and here we are.”

She gives you a pained smile, clenching your heart at the same time before she’s draping a blanket onto Jungkook’s sleeping body. “Would you like some tea?”

It feels weird sitting on a tall stool chair at a marble countertop island in such a huge kitchen. There was more than enough space to hire a staff sized for a large wedding venue, and truth to be told, you were jealous of the appliances that were stocked. If only you could touch the deck oven, just one touch...

Mrs. Jeon says your name for the first time since you’ve introduced yourself, interrupting your thoughts. “Ah, yes, CEO Jeon?”

“You keep calling me that. Do you perhaps work at one of my franchises?”

Rubbing the sides of the mug full of tea anxiously, you nod. “Two, actually. I work at one of the supermarkets down in Seoul, and a café at the University. I admire your plans and how you treat your employees, so I based my search on that.”

There’s a smile that jumps upon her lips, and it’s genuinely full of joy in comparison to the one she shares when you dragged Jungkook in. “A hard-working class citizen. I love that.” She brings the mug to her lips, taking a sip of her tea before sitting it down gently. “You brought Jungkook here. Are you two... an item, maybe? I’ve never seen him bring anyone home.”

Hastily, you wave your hands in front of you in denial. “Oh, no, no, CEO Jeon, we are not. If anything, I brought him home.” You pause for a moment as she eyes you carefully. “Oh, wait, no, not like that, I meant brought him to his home, here. Not to my house. Gosh, no, that’s weird.” Mrs. Jeon laughs, leaning back, almost stumbling off her seat and you were already set on your toes in preparation to catch her. “Geez, my son displeases you that much? Honestly, I wouldn’t be so opposed if you told me that you both were in a relationship.”

You blink. “Really? Why’s that? I kind of expected you to hope for him to go for someone who’s a bit more... accustomed to this lifestyle? Not that there’s anything wrong with it... I just... this is a bit different.”

Although you had been preoccupied with dragging Jungkook into the house, there was no missing in the way their home looked. Chandelier hanging in the hall off the ceiling with crystal-like features that you were sure were actually authentic diamonds, walls and floors were marble and granite, portraits and paintings that hung on the walls were originals, and the size of the home itself was... breathtakingly prodigious. The kitchen alone was a prime example— from your own personal research and knowledge, the appliances were top tier products of the industry, only the best of the best were able to afford it. Not to mention that the dimensions of the kitchen was about four times the surface area of your apartment.

Mrs. Jeon shakes her head in lack of approval, tapping her fingers against the ceramic cup. “No, I want my sons to go for love that they feel is real. But for Jungkook, I always hope for more than just that, someone who can teach him that this life of luxury isn’t necessarily everything. He hasn’t found anyone yet, or at least, I still hope it’s you, but I figured cutting him off the money would be the next best option.”

You tilt your head to the side, mouth open in hesitation. “But... you didn’t cut him off. Jungkook still gets an allowance.”

“Yes, but—“

“Sorry to interrupt, but isn’t that defeating the purpose? Like... you want Jungkook to go off and learn responsibility and what it means to be a functioning adult yet you’re still giving him money. I don’t want to criticize but...” You’re expecting her to jump at the chance to interject, mention something about how you’re overstepping, but she does nothing. Instead, her shoulders slouch and she frowns. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I take his allowance away?”

Honesty seems like an iffy noun to act on at the moment, but you speak words with it, nonetheless. “CEO Jeon, don’t get me wrong, you are a great person. But if you’re trying to teach your egotistical and spoiled-rotten son some life lessons, putting a step stool down for him isn’t going to make it any better.”

“It was you, wasn’t it!” Jungkook exclaims, stomping into the supermarket with his face flushed red with anger, hair pushed back with a vein popping out on his forehead. He has his pointer finger directed at you, startling Hoseok as he shoves Jungkook’s finger down. “Ok, I get you’re mad, but no pointing please. You may proceed.”

He scoffs. “She did this, you know. My mom cut me off. Completely! Done, I’m so done for. How the hell am I supposed to pay for anything? All she gave me was the money I earned from those modeling gigs in the past. What the hell is that going to do for me two months from now?”

“Uh... I don’t know, get a job?” You say sarcastically, unfazed by his fit of temper. If childish is how he’s going to act, he might as well embarrass himself while he’s at it. “It’s not my fault that she decided to actually cut you off.” Jungkook doesn’t get the right to come in here, full of flames just because of something you suggested to his mother the night he blacked out. He doesn’t, especially not after you learn from Mrs. Jeon why she wants to do this in the first place.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to get a job?”

Hoseok stares at Jungkook blankly for a moment before pointing to a sign behind him, taped to the wall with big letters printed.

CASHIER FOR HIRE @ THE JEON MARKET! PLEASE SEE AN ASSOCIATE FOR DETAILS ON HOW TO APPLY!

Jungkook lets out a heavy breath of defeat, falling back against the counter, fingers raking his strands of hair back stressfully. “Fuck, fuck...” He closes his eyes, head falling back. “... Fuck.”

It’s barely even the start of his first day and he’s presently on the verge of throwing another hissy fit when the apron doesn’t tie around his body like it does for the other workers. “Are you fucking—”

Snatching the fabric from his hands, you can see through Jungkook’s orbs that he’s ready to pounce at you for doing that, but you’re already standing on the tip of your toes as he dips down unconsciously for you while pulling the loop over his head. “This is so much easier when you’re calm, cool, and collected enough to think like a sane person.” He mutters a quick thanks, jutting out a puff of air from his lips. “Also, tie your hair up, will you? It doesn’t look professional.”

“Professional?” He scoffs, shaking his head as you’re slipping off the hair band that’s on your wrist, handing it over to him that he grabs unwillingly. “This place is far from professional. It’s a freaking goddamn supermarket.”

“It’s just... in your face and we have an employee handbook that wants your hair out of your face so the customers can see your lovely smile.”

“You think my smile is lovely?” His heart is warm at the compliment but it quickly fades when you respond, “No, it’s how it’s worded in the handbook. I’m only quoting what I read.”

“Why are you helping me anyway? I thought you didn’t like me.” This was true, notably since you’ve last spoken to him was with fury and fire in your eyes. But you merely just roll your eyes this time, turning away to turn the dial on your locker, pulling a slip of paper out to hand to him. “I was assigned to train you. Here’s your locker combo. Don’t think I’m doing this to be nice to you.”

“I’m still trying to understand what I did wrong that made you hate me.”

Tying your own hair back in the magnetic mirror that hangs on your locker door, there’s clips in your mouth to push your bangs back and Jungkook can’t help but find the action so... attractive. After taking the bobby pins from your mouth and slipping them into your hair, you straighten your shirt before turning to face him. “Because I can’t stand entitled people. And you are one of them.”

His mouth drops and closes several times before he finally gets the guts to speak up. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” Tugging the apron over your head and knotting the strings behind you, you inhale sharply afterwards. “I know that you’re the CEO’s youngest son, the bachelor, who basically doesn’t really do anything but freeload off his parents and spend their money. You’ve never had a real job before today and if I’m being totally honest, I kind of expect you to fail.”

“To fail?” He exasperates, his posture stiffens, in disbelief of your perspective. “I haven’t even started the job yet and you had this image of me build up before I even get the chance to clock in.”

“Speaking of, come here, I’ll show you how to clock in.”

Trailing behind you to a mysterious machine that hangs on the wall, he can’t help but attempt to sink everything in around him. He’s in the back of a supermarket, his mother’s supermarket, one of many, dressed in their uniform with his luxurious hair tied back, hidden away from all the people to admire. The locker room has flickering melancholic lights that he realized are unflattering when he looks at himself in the mirror earlier, and the people here drag their legs when leaving through the double doors to start the shift, all the way to the end.

“Hello, Earth to Jungkook?” You wave your hands in front of his drifted gaze, frowning at his sudden daydream.

“I can’t believe that it’s gotten this bad. I have to work... like a real job. I’ve never had a job in my entire life.”

“Well, yeah. I mentioned that just moments ago.”

His stare shifts to you, worry written all over his face. “I’m above all of this, above all of the people working here. I know what it’s like to be happy—I have money for god’s sake, I don’t need any of this. I could be working some corporate job right now that requires less effort.”

“Jungkook, I haven’t even started the training yet.”

He still hasn’t learned how to clock in before a shift yet and he’s already prepping to quit this job.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #gyukultfics

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potteresque-ire · 3 years

Text

Gg,

I’ll say this using the simplest way too. I’ll also say this, knowing it doesn’t solve anything ~

You didn’t start the culture of comment control (控評) and the fan circles that execute them, which stifled any rational discussions about entertainers. You didn’t start the culture of treating constructive criticisms—even opinions that fall short of being praises—the same as malicious slandering, something to be buried under a pile of positive comments, of rainbow farts. You didn’t start the longstanding frustrations among netizens, who felt they couldn’t even gossip freely when entertainment is all about the gossip. You didn’t ignite the antagonistic views of non-fans against fans that would one day turn into support for that movement against you.

You didn’t criticise fan circle culture on one hand, and encourage the practice of comment control on another. You didn’t tie the act of comment control to patriotism, didn’t mobilise fan circles to perform comment control on message boards in support of the Hong Kong police in 2019, taking advantage of the fan circle’s high level of organisation, their experience in performing such task, and their intense need to be seen as patriotic such that their idol will be viewed favourably by the government. You didn’t praise these fans who were there for their idol 阿中哥哥 (Chinese GeGe) — a virtual idol who personified the Chinese government—and called them patriotic.

You didn’t make performative patriotism a pre-requisite for entertainers to survive in c-ent. You didn’t require performative patriotism to be placed above logic, above personal preferences in expression. You didn’t portray performative patriotism as a goal sufficient to justify any means. You didn’t teach impressionable young fans that as long as the cause was deemed by the powers-that-be as patriotic and honourable, one can ignore the laws, scale the Great Firewall and go to otherwise banned websites; one can cause havoc on and trample on their perceived enemy’s communities.

You didn’t equate silencing one’s opponent with patriotism.

You didn’t market reporting culture as an honourable, noble deed. You didn’t resurrect reporting culture from its Cultural Revolution’s grave, with the knowledge that it had always been a weapon against people expressing different opinions. You didn’t ask your media arm to pen articles about the rewards to be made by reporting. You didn’t list the people who had reported on your official website like they had made honour roll. You didn’t make reporting so open, so righteous-sounding that many didn’t think twice to join the effort, even if it was only about a piece of fiction they didn’t like.

You didn’t make reporting of certain content on a website sufficient grounds for censoring an entire website. You didn’t make censoring a thing. You didn’t censor one of the few remaining websites left with relatively free expressions, while the rest of your team was already performing heavy-handed censorship on a certain pandemic—a certain pandemic that had killed, that had brought much anger, sadness and frustration. You didn’t put a chokehold on people who had already felt they had no room left to talk, when they were bound to their homes and could do little but talk. But vent.

You didn’t create a system where venting against the powerful could get one into trouble. You didn’t marry the politically powerful with the commercially powerful. You didn’t build the society where the few people left with perceived higher social status and who could still be attacked with little consequences were entertainers—especially young, recently break-through stars with little backing from the media companies, and the commercially and politically powerful people behind these companies.

You didn’t start 227.

The moment the axe fell on AO3, Gg, there was very little you could do, very little you could say. 227 was indeed an explosion, from too high a pressure from freedoms of speech that have been too strangled. They said you were mute? So were the theys who called you that, who didn’t have the guts to take their complaint to those who deserve it. You became the eye of a storm you didn’t brew, the eye that could’ve been anyone else—anyone else who wouldn’t have known better what to do.

Offer guidance? Exactly what kind of guidance? Tell your fans that AO3, which does host material offensive to the Chinese government, has the right to remain inside the Firewall? Tell your fans that reporting is wrong?

Is your guidance asking the solo and cp fans to keep their peace? Fans fight. Solos and cpfs fight. These fights happen on a daily basis, and there would’ve been no 227 if they were the cause of 227—because everyday would’ve been a 227. 227 became 227 because one of these fights, which happened to be between your fans, also happened to have knocked upon one of the most important pillars that prop up an authoritarian dictatorship: suppression of the freedom of speech; it stumbled upon what had already been a field of landmines, the buried anger of the people who have been silenced, censored over the years.

COVID put in a full, fresh layer of landmines, still buried shallow and waiting for inexperienced youngsters—who could be fans or non-fans, fans of any idol—to trip over their sharp corners.

These days, people call the youngsters who tripped over them the shrimps. One explosion triggered another and in the din, you were accused of not warning the youngsters, and thrown into the exploding field for punishment. To set off all the other landmines in danger of exploding. No one asked why the landmines were there.

Appropriately, perhaps, or ironically ... have you thought about this, Gg? That your silence might have played a role to your survival in the industry, the support you’ve got lately from the state media? Because you took one for them, for those who created the storm and buried the landmines, who did all the things you didn’t do. Because you became a convenient punching bag for a country of 1.4 billion who needed something to punch. Because you took the blows gracefully and without complaint, didn’t utter a word that would’ve made obvious the instigator of the damage you’re now apologising for. You eased the guilt in the people doing the punching by having so many gifts they didn’t have; it must have given some people cold joy to land their fist on your gorgeous face. You’ve gritted your teeth and stayed silent even after the water armies, the yxh’s entered the scene, eager to feed on your corpse. The rot they smelled was the commercial value on you.

Have you thought about this, Gg, that you might’ve already performed the social responsibility implicitly demanded of you and in flying colours, by being the punching bag, the landmine sweeper? That when you promise to take more social responsibility in the future, that you may be asked to do something similar?

No one asked why the landmines were there. They’ll pile up again.

Yes, I’m frustrated. I read your letter and wanted to scream. I understand why you said everything you did, understand the realistic need to issue an apology and I respect and adore you, as always, for your maturity, your emotional intelligence. This letter is therefore neither a complaint nor a criticism against you; this is me, venting my frustration, from that half of me that knows painfully well that your letter is necessary and the right thing to do.

Still, the other half of me wants to say your letter is utter nonsense.

Because your only mistake, Gg, is that you’re too likeable, and too likeable, perhaps, at the wrong time. You have too many fans who made all these issues you didn’t create so much more visible. You had too many fans at a time when COVID took too many victims, when the whole sociopolitical climate demands one voice and when every fan of yours is an individual with their own voice, their own likes and dislikes. You have too many fans who dearly love you but also require you to become a “public figure”—I’m putting this term in quotes as you did—a “public figure” who can help them decipher the conflicting messages the society is sending them re: the meaning, the responsibility of a fan, a “public figure” who, as you admit yourself, requires construction from Gg the Idol and Gg the regular person from Chongqing.

Gg the Idol and Gg the regular person from Chongqing who, you also said, require mutual acceptance. Gg the Idol and Gg the regular person from Chongqing who, therefore, must have significant conflicts—mutual acceptance isn’t necessary otherwise.

Who’s this “Gg the public figure” that will emerge? Or, what? How human will he/it be? How much will he/it still be you? Where are you going to be in this “public figure”?

And that’s the most difficult thought to endure this morning. To become a better self—you keep emphasising, as if you weren’t good enough, kind enough, courteous and respectful and professional enough to begin with.

A better self, may I ask, to who?

#pie metas #too grrrrrrr right now to insert the references #sorry #* sighs *

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

drivers license

francisco morales x f!reader - oneshot

rating: mature

3.1k words

warnings: drug/alcohol use, reader is a dealer, age gap, so much YEARNING!!!

summary: a surprise visit from an old friend

a/n: 100 follower celebration!! partially inspired by this post but also the fact that i have been sing-screaming “drivers license” for oh about four days straight now. thank you guys so so much for all the support so far ! 💕

A fist slamming against your front door wakes you from a dreamless sleep.

You push yourself off your mattress, blearily checking the time on your phone and cursing under your breath when you see that it’s almost 3am. You sit up all the way, blinking as you wait to see if what woke you up was something you’d imagined or if it were real.

It’s real. It starts again after a second, three sharp raps against the door, followed by some kind of muffled talking. Your heart rate picks up in your chest, you grab the baseball bat you have leaned against the wall as you reach your apartment door. Squeezing one eye shut, you look through the peephole.

The good thing is that it definitely isn’t the cops. You take a relieved breath, leaning away from the door.

The bad thing is that whoever is knocking is hunched on his knees, just outside of the peephole’s line of sight, so you have absolutely no idea who the fuck it is.

“Please open the door,” the man’s voice begs from the other side of the door. You’re about to yell at him to fuck off, but he interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. “Little flower, it’s me, please.”

The nickname makes your heart go to your throat. The bat in your hands falls to the floor.

You rub a hand over your eyes, huffing an exhale in a vague attempt to prevent your heart from ricocheting against your ribs. It doesn’t work. Because as soon as he says it, as soon as you realize who it is, it brings everything back with him.

A set of sturdy, tanned fingers cupped against the knuckles of your grandfather’s hand, the voice went low in a warm but respectful greeting. You didn’t realize how gnarled your old man’s hands had gotten until you had someone else’s to compare them to. You looked back down at the crumpled up dollar bills you’d just been handed, one of them still rolled. Turning to find your bag on the coatrack, you stuff the money in your back pocket.

“My little flower, this is a good one,” your grandfather told you with a small hum that signifies whatever he just said must be set in stone. You hear the sound of him heavily patting the hand cupped over his own in that way he does when he appreciates the presence of something. “He has a decent head on his shoulders, no?”

“Little flower?” You can hear the boyish smile in that all too familiar voice before you even turn back around. “That suits you well, I think. Florita. I like that.”

“Christ, Frankie, what are you doing here?” You rest your head against the doorframe, heart sinking in your chest. You don’t open the door, to protect him or yourself you don’t know.

“I need—”

“You’ve got a kid now, Frankie. I told you I’m not going to sell to you anymore.”

“Ever the moralist,” the bite to his words is so uncharacteristic you can’t help but flinch. He seems to realize this, too. His apology is nearly immediate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I… It’s not…”

You swallow, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself for some bare semblance of comfort. “Please go,” your voice is so quiet you’re not sure he can hear you through the layer of wood separating the two of you. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that you nearly think he’s left. Long enough that you don’t know why you’re still standing at the door and not back in bed.

And Frankie says your name, voice cracking. Your actual name. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it come off his lips you can’t help sink into the door.

A held breath leaves you in a shuddering sigh. Your shaking hands open the door.

The man who spills onto the ground before you is a stranger, yet, heartbreakingly, just as he had been when you first met him. Messy hair, worn blue jeans, gray button-down stretching over the perfect expanse of his back. All that is missing this time around is that lazy smile, that easy, Hey, darling.

In a bar. Right when your grandfather started getting sick.

“Eighty,” you said without him having to continue his sentence beyond his syrupy greeting, eyes trained on the shelves of liquor in front of you instead of having to meet his gaze.

He copped an eighth, tucking the little baggie in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. You went back to your drink, angling your body away from him again and expecting him to return to his table of friends. But then the knuckles of his hand nudged the side of you elbow. He gestured to your beer, the neck of the bottle clasped between your thumb and the hook of your middle and index fingers.

“Lemme buy you your next one, yeah?” He had a hunched lean to his posture, in that way that men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You were mad that it worked. He extended a hand. “Frankie Morales.”

The truth of it was that the two of you became friends, after that. Nothing more. Regardless, it was too close for you to get to someone you dealt to, but you were so lonely at that point in your life—taking care of the old man by day, GED classes at night--that meeting Frankie was a small blessing. Nothing ever happened between you two but God you wish it did.

To describe what you felt towards him as a crush didn’t really cut it, but you were fine with friends. Being completely fair, he was definitely one to send mixed signals—Christ, your weekly tradition of driving to an overlook to split an order of fries and milkshakes on the hood of his truck just about screamed every romcom you were raised on. But despite the occasional prolonged touch, the hand he would place on the small of your back to move you out of the way or guide you forward, nothing happened.

You dealt with it. Tried to be supportive as possible when he met his girl. Frankie broke the news that she was pregnant. The two of you saw each other less and less frequently. Sometimes he would call to catch up. Eventually, you stopped answering when he did. Your grandfather died. You got into a local art school.

It was sad how quietly it all faded. You didn’t know it could, but it did.

And now here he is, literally crumpled at your feet.

Frankie messily pulls himself up off the ground and onto his knees. He reeks of booze and old cigarettes. You freeze as his hands wrap over your hips, as he presses his face into your stomach and murmurs an incoherent apology—for what, you’re not exactly sure.

And when you finally processing what’s happening, what you had begged the universe for years, you can’t help yourself. Your card your fingers through his hair, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Frankie,” it’s a warning. It’s a reminder. “You’re drunk. You need to go home. Your girlfriend--”

“She left a week ago,” he speaks into the fabric covering your belly. The words burst forwards as if not even he was expecting to say them. It’s a confession. His hands flex from where they hold onto you. “She’s gone.” Your heart drops to your gut, your chest aching. “I need… Just for the night I… Little flower, the house is so empty.”

You keep petting back his hair until his breathing quiets. He keeps holding onto you, even then. The two of you stay like that for a long time.

“Why don’t,” your voice comes out too shaky. Too unsure of itself. You clear your throat and try again. “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll get you some water and we can sober you up a bit. Okay?”

He tilts his face up at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in well over a year.

And he hasn’t changed. It’s all there—the soft mess of shaggy hair, dark but kind eyes, the beloved hook of his nose.

One sun-sick evening, you rode your bike to the beach just to get out of the apartment. You need somewhere to sit and think for a while, just until your head feels more clear. There’s enough of a chill in the air that you have to throw on a jacket, it’s nice. It’s like you can feel the wind moving through you. Past you.

When you arrived at the beach, you got off your bike, leaning it against your hip as you scoped out a spot to sit in the sand. You were about to wheel it over to the rack when--

Someone pinched your elbow in greeting. Their steps were so quiet you didn’t even register their approach. It, obviously, startled you, and your hand immediately flew to the keychain in your back pocket. The knife you had attached to it.

When you turned, and it was Frankie’s familiar face, his hands raised in joking surrender.

In that light, with the sun still flirting with the horizon, it rendered his face into shapes and shadows you had only previously seen in the old oil paintings of long-dead greats. You thought it was in the deep bourbon of his eyes, soft when illuminated by a tangerine sky. It was him. All of him. Slightly breathless, hair ruffled by the wind.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded genuinely apologetic. You released a relieved huff of air.

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Did you bike the whole way here? From the apartment?” He asked, there was a tinge of concern to his voice.

You shrugged, trying to hide your embarrassment by lowering your kickstand with the heel of you boot. “It’s not that far.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” you wrinkle your nose. “Never needed to.”

He looked you for a moment, if you didn��t know any better you’d say critically.

“I was just about to get something to eat, if you wanna join me,” he tucked his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “There’s this overlook nearby that has a way better view of all of this.” He motions to the ocean with the tilt of his head. “I can drive us there.”

You regarded him as he spoke, cautiously looking him up and down. And you nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, it was big and crooked. It made something in the pit of your belly feel warm.

You step away, holding out your hand to help him to his feet. He complies, stumbling slightly and rubbing his hand over his face as he does so. He disappears down the hall without having to ask where the bathroom is.

Sighing, you go back into your room, pulling out a shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants for him to change into. You knock on the bathroom door on your way to the kitchen. The apartment’s walls are so thin you can hear the hiss of the shower from all the way down the hall.

“Come in,” Frankie’s voice barely rises above the sound.

You crack the door open, keeping your eyes trained to the floor as you place the folded clothes on the sink’s counter.

“Here’s something for you to change into,” you tell him. He thanks you, the shower turning off right as you close the door behind you. You walk back down the hall and into the living room, making two glasses of water before settling on your couch.

Once, after a night out, the two of you were too drunk and too broke to afford separate taxis home. He proposed going back to his house, split the cost, grab a cab for you once it wasn’t so late and the rates went down.

You agreed, as you did anytime he extended the offer to spend time there. There was something about the quiet, tucked-in nature of the suburbs that was so novel to you. So calming.

The two of you settled on the couch. Feeling bold, you lay your head in his lap and kicked your socked feet up on the opposite armrest as you describe to him the gallery opening you’d snuck into. How you successfully schmoozed to the owner as well as one of the artists.

He asked you if you had heard back from any of the scholarships you’d applied to. You hadn’t, but you’d only just submitted the applications, so it would be at least a few months wait.

You tell him your dreams of becoming an artist. A real one. He already knew that, but you really tell him this time, all the details you usually keep to yourself, too special to you to have the courage to voice aloud. The fantasy of moving out into the mountains, getting a cabin just big enough for a hotplate and a bed and a studio. You’ve lived and breathed LA for your entire life and you were tired of the city. Tired of every street corner baked with the memories of high school and the listless years that followed, of the small humiliations you had to succumb to in order to survive.

Frankie listened and nodded enthusiastically at all the right parts. It was only then that you realized his hands smoothed over the top of your scalp as you talked. You let it continue, it felt too nice not to.

He told you that you should, and if you needed help finding the money he could always--

You cut him off before he could finish the thought, shaking your head. Responsibilities came first, you had people who needed you. A degree to finish. Savings to maintain. You asked him about the new girl he’d been seeing and he eagerly launches into a story about a different, wild night out. You smile and laugh throughout the whole thing, trying to ignore the pang it gives you when he describes the dress she was wearing. He fingers continued to brush over the crown of your head as he talked.

You fell asleep there, on his lap. You woke up before the sun rose, hot and sweaty and still a little drunk from the vodka Redbulls that never agreed well with your heart.

It took you a second to realize you were in Frankie’s bed, alone. When you padded back into the living room, he was passed out on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, using his arm as a pillow.

You left after helping yourself to a shower, texting him a sarcastic good luck with that hangover. You’re about to call a taxi home but something stopped you. You thought it might be the way the sun was barely breaking over the cusp of the smoggy horizon, the sky reduced to pale shades of violet with the coming dawn.

The quiet neighborhood Frankie lived in is all the more beautiful, like this. Subdued, empty, houses in winding but even rows that scale up the mountainside like sets of bad teeth. You decided to walk, just until the sun got a little brighter. Until the people started to shake themselves awake for a new day.

You got a text from him as you were making breakfast, back at your apartment by then. Thanks. Hope you slept well, little flower. Something about the small missive kept you smiling the whole day after.

You mess with your phone until Frankie returns.

“I’m sorry, for showing up like this,” Frankie says as he hovers over the living room’s threshold. The clothes you leant him fit well enough, only slightly oversized on his frame as opposed to how they generously drape off of you. He holds his towel in his hands, looking down at it instead of you. “I honestly don’t have an excuse and you… you shouldn’t accept any. But I thought I should still tell you.”

You look at him for an extended beat, knowing he’s being honest. You’re at a genuine loss as to how to handle the situation.

“We can deal with it later,” you settle with that. It sounds good enough to you, and when he finally meets your eyes again he looks a little relieved. You nod you head towards the glass of water you placed on the coffee table, he takes your lead and settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to take his own glass.

“So um… how are you?” He asks you earnestly, angling his body towards you.

“Okay,” you take a sip of water, trying to keep it casual. “Cleaning up my act a bit, you know? Going to school, picking up jobs here and there. Trying to figure out what I want to do. Oh! I uh… I learned how to drive--impressive I know.”

“The city flower herself, operating a vehicle?” His face breaks into a familiar, goofy smile you can’t help but reciprocate. “I’ll add every pedestrian in LA to my prayers.”

“You should,” you shake your head as you laugh, leaning into your corner of the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest. You finally relax, giving yourself the small allowance of settling into the comfort that inevitably comes with his presence.

And it really is just as easy as it always has been between the two of you. The conversation naturally ebbs and flows, neither of you bother to broach the heavier stuff. For now, just this it’s enough.

It’s enough to see the spark in his eyes when he tells you about his daughter, how bright she is, how much trouble she gets into—just like her dad. It’s enough to hear about his friends, all those names and backstories that you still vividly remember. It’s enough to bask in the feeling of how he leans into you with laughter, a hand lingering on your knee for seconds longer than it probably should have, as he always tends to do.

It’s enough to see him grin when you tell him about the scholarships you got, how weird it felt being the oldest person in all your classes, even if it was only by a handful of years. He doesn’t ask how your grandfather is, the living room being cleared of all the heart monitors and breathing machines is enough to answer that question. You’re grateful he doesn’t. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep a brave face if he did.

You don’t want time to pass. You want to stay here, with him, like this, in that perpetual state of catching up, in that breathless deluge that has the not-so-subtle undercurrent of this is what has happened since you left. I wish you would have been there. But I am so happy you are here now.

When you can no longer stifle your yawns, you stand to refill your glass of water, speaking on your walk over to the sink.

“I’d love to keep talking but I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer,” you tell him as you turn the tap off. “I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you turn to look back at him. He’s staring at you from where he is seated, eyes dark with something that isn’t just from the low light of the living room.

“What?” You ask after a few more seconds of him not responding. He looks away from you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Your eyes search his for a moment, positive that that was not at all what he was turning over in his head during those few seconds of silence. You’re too tired to press, so you gather a spare set of sheets for him. He stands when you come back into the living room, holding out his arms to take them from you. You wave him away, setting up the pull-out bed yourself. You’d grown up sleeping on this thing, tucking the fitted sheet into the corners was always tricky, and he didn’t know where the bolts of the couch’s frame would cut the shit out of his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Throwing a pillow down, you turn back to Frankie. He’s standing closer to you, now. You have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“All set,” you tell him. He nods, eyes searching your face for a moment. Your brow furrows. “Frankie, you’re being weird. Stop it.”

His chuckle breaks the tension.

“Sorry—I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I?” He takes a deep breath. You’re smiling again, about to agree with him, and without warning his hand is comes up to cup the side of your face. You still, lips parted in an unasked question. “Thank you, little flower,” his voice goes rough again, as it had when you were speaking to each other through the door. “I really mean it.”

Frankie’s hand drops when you nod, lips pressed together. He sits back down on the pull-out. You wish him goodnight quietly and return to your room.

Leaving your bedroom door cracked open, you climb back into bed. With everything in you, you hope he’s still there when you wake. He will be.

#francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #reader insert #triple frontier #angst #hurt/comfort

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whumpwriterforlife · 3 years

Note

Hello dear bean! Could I please have an order of Accidentally Hurt by Friend for the bthb please :3

Why, yes you could! Here is your order of Accidentally Hurt by Friend with our boy Nyx.

Accidentally Hurt by Friend

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius, Luche Lazarus, Pelna Khara & Libertus Ostium

Whumpee: Nyx Ulric

Word Count: 1848

Warnings: None? Violence, battle situations in a war

Can also be found on ao3 here

---

The smell of copper and smoke was strong in the air as Nyx warped around the battlefield, striking down MTs and daemonic insects wherever he could. He was starting to feel the burn in his muscles and the impending fatigue but he kept going. He had to. They were losing ground fast as more Imperial dropships arrived with more MTs and their pesky pet animals inside.

It was not the Saturday Nyx had hoped for.

“Crowe, what’s the status over there?” Nyx called into the comms as he landed from yet another warp to sink his kukris into the neck of an unsuspecting MT. It hissed and spasmed, miasma leaking out of it but Nyx paid no attention to it as he moved onto his next target.

“We are down two mages, we’re doing this as fast as we can!” Crowe’s strained voice hissed into the comms. “Five minutes, tops.”

“Five minutes,” Nyx muttered under his breath. It was doable. Nyx gritted his teeth as he threw his kukri at a wide arc over a horde of ahriman to warp. A powerful lightning spell was enough to take down most of them, and those that stayed up were easily dispatched with a few well-placed kukris. There was a loud, almost deafening roar somewhere to Nyx’s left and he spun on his heels to see a behemoth being dropped from one of the ships, alongside with a couple of coeurls.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nyx groused, exasperation clear in his tone. “Luche, you seeing this shit?”

“I see it, Hero, I’m sending Pelna and a couple of others towards you,” Luche responded soon, as calm and collected as ever. “Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”

Nyx laughed at that, his lips twitching into a brief smirk as he sprinted towards the behemoth. “I would never.”

“I swear to Ramuh I will put your ass on gate duty for a month if you get yourself hurt doing something idiotic again Ulric,” Luche told him, his voice almost a growl.

Nyx rolled his eyes. “I won’t do anything too stupid, scout’s honor.”

“Don’t worry, Luche, I got his back,” Pelna’s voice crackled to life as he joined the conversation.

Nyx glanced around the battlefield and saw Pelna and three other glaives heading his way from the opposite direction. He gave them a quick wave before he threw himself into warp and at the behemoth, tuning out the rest of that conversation.

The behemoth was pissed.

Actually, pissed was a huge understatement, Nyx realized as he warped around the beast and barely avoided getting stomped on. He got in a few strikes here and there but he couldn’t land any critical hits, not with the way the beast kept moving and trying to snap him in half. Nyx did his best to keep his distance from the behemoth’s mouth because while it was full of razor sharp teeth that would shred him to pieces with ease, it also smelled foul enough for it to be a miracle that he was still standing after the first whiff of it. Nyx hid behind a large boulder to catch his breath for a moment.

“Need a hand, Hero?” Pelna asked from behind him.

“Shiva— Don’t sneak up on people like that!” Nyx exclaimed as he spun around to look at his friend. The behemoth growled somewhere on the other side of the boulder and Nyx interpreted that as the behemoth agreeing with him. “Are you trying to get yourself stabbed?”

Pelna chuckled softly as he peered at the behemoth from the corner of the boulder. “I wasn’t even being quiet, you need to pay more attention to your surroundings, Nyx.”

“I pay attention,” Nyx muttered under his breath as he moved to stand next to Pelna. “Where did you lose the three that were with you?”

“They went to take care of the coeurls,” Pelna told him as he procured daggers from the armiger.

Nyx nodded before stepping out of their cover. He gave Pelna a playful smile right as the behemoth spotted him and started rushing closer with an enraged roar. “You ready to take this thing down?”

“No theatrics,” Pelna shook his head at him. Nyx gave him a mock bow, hand over his heart before he was on the go again and heading for the behemoth. Pelna rolled his eyes and warped after him. “Show-off.”

The behemoth didn’t go down easily. It fought them tooth and nail, giving Nyx and Pelna a new variety of bruises and scrapes to complain about but after one set of kukris to the neck and another set of daggers to the spine, the beast finally went lax. Pelna dropped down to his knees, hands on the ground as he heaved breathlessly. Nyx wasn’t far behind, hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. A day of fighting in the frontlines had taken a toll on his body. He would crash so hard in his bunk when the day was over.

There was no break in sight for them yet, however, when a group of five or so MTs found them. Nyx groaned as he straightened back up and offered Pelna a hand to pull him back to his feet. He gave Pelna a tired smile as he flipped his kukri and prepared to warp. “Here we go again.”

Nyx materialized in front of the closest MT and stabbed the kukri through its chest plate. He was losing power behind his attacks. It wasn’t good. Nyx cursed as he ducked under a sword strike and sent a fire spell at the offending MT, taking it and the MT right next to it down. Nyx allowed himself a moment of satisfaction watching the MTs go down in flames before he warped to the fourth MT.

What Nyx failed to see was that Pelna was already there, his hands crackling with lightning magic. Nyx’s kukris sunk through weak spots in the MT’s armor. Pelna shouted his name, his voice tinted with panic, but by then it was too late and the lightning spell hit Nyx full force through the dissolving MT.

Nyx’s lips parted in a scream but only a strained groan came out as his muscles contracted with burning intensity that left him unable to breathe. The kukris slipped from his grasp as he hit the ground. His ears rang. The lightning spell burned, hot and ferocious as it ravaged through his body. It was the only thing he was aware of.

Then there were hands on him. Hands that forced him to uncurl and lie on his back. This time Nyx let out a ragged scream.

“Shit, Nyx!” Pelna’s voice had a panicked tint to it. There was a shuffling sound, followed by glass breaking. Nyx vaguely realized it was a potion as the pain faded the tiniest bit and he could gasp in a breath. “Nyx is down! I need some help here!”

Nyx made a pained noise in the back of his throat as his eyes fluttered open. Pelna was crouched over him, one hand on Nyx’s chest and the other on the comms. His eyes were wide with worry, his hood pulled back to reveal his face. Nyx wanted to tell him he was okay but he was barely managing to get air into his lungs. Speaking was out of the question.

“Stay with me, Nyx, keep your eyes open,” Pelna told him. “Lib is coming, he has an elixir. Just hang on.”

Nyx gave a tiny nod, the most he managed with the way he was hurting. He felt like he was barely awake, like he could slip away at any moment but Pelna wanted him to hang on. So he tried. The elixir would help. Normal potions weren’t good for magic induced injuries, they just took off the edge, but elixir would help more. Nyx’s eyes slowly started sliding shut.

“Hey! Don’t do that,” Pelna exclaimed and patted Nyx on the cheek with maybe a little more force than necessary. “Eyes open, you hear me?”

“You suck,” Nyx wheezed as he squinted at Pelna, the words barely above a whisper.

Pelna let out a laugh, his hand shifting to squeeze Nyx’s shoulder reassuringly. “Love you too, Nyx.”

Nyx muttered an incoherent response that was lost as Libertus skidded to a stop next to them and broke the elixir over Nyx. Nyx’s eyes slid shut, a relieved groan leaving his lips as the elixir worked to heal the worst of his injuries. He could finally breathe again.

“What the hell happened?” Libertus demanded.

“I hit him with a lightning spell,” Pelna said, his voice marred with guilt. “I was trying to take out an MT but then Nyx warped right behind it and I couldn’t see him until it was too late.”

Nyx blindly reached for Pelna and after a moment found his arm. “It happens, we’re both tired and not at our best. It’s fine, I’m fine.”

Pelna opened his mouth to reply but a rumbling sound from the sky drew their attention. They could see a mix of fire and lightning in the clouds, forming into a storm. Pelna shook his head softly and grabbed Nyx by the arm, pulling it over his shoulder. “Time to go, looks like the mages got the storm going.”

Nyx didn’t resist as Libertus moved in to support him from the other side and they pulled him to his feet. He could still feel the residual aches and pains from the lightning and the added support was most likely the only reason he didn’t end up crashing straight back down. Pelna and Libertus had to have been worried about him because they didn’t even crack jokes at how they had to support him.

They ended up waiting out the magic storm in some ruins before they made their way back to the base. It took them an hour to get back but at least the storm had taken care of the majority of the enemy. At the base, it didn’t take even a minute for Libertus and Pelna to drag Nyx into the infirmary and unceremoniously dump him onto one of the beds. Nyx had complained about it — of course he had, it was expected of him at this point — but he had been given no options. They didn’t leave him alone though, and even Crowe joined them after some time. Nyx wasn’t sure if they were worried or if they just stayed there to make sure he didn’t try to slip out unnoticed but he supposed it didn’t matter all that much in the end. He appreciated the company more than they knew.

When they eventually got home a few days later, Luche got Nyx and Pelna both two weeks on gate watch. It was his way of showing he had been concerned for them, and happy to have them both back in one piece. Or maybe he was just a huge jerk, Nyx couldn’t exactly brush that option aside.

#badthingshappenbingo #accidentally hurt by friend #final fantasy xv #nyx ulric #libertus ostium #crowe altius #pelna khara #luche lazarus #hurt nyx ulric #bamf nyx ulric #worried pelna khara #kingsglaive final fantasy xv

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iwaisa · 4 years

Text

request. (Sorry if this is too angsty for you, just delete it if not!!) But could I request Kuroo, Bokuto, and Daichi with a reader (gender doesn't matter and hc or anything) whos more of a people pleaser, like they put anyone else's needs before their own? And then one day they just snap and they help the reader so I guess with a fluffy end?? Ty sorry again!! - anon

a/n. hey anon ! this is such a cute request (especially since i am a people pleaser lol) don’t be sorry! i’m here to write whatever your heart desires! i really hope i interpreted this correctly! also, there was no relationship specified, so i just assumed it was a romantic relationship. have an amazing day/night, anon! <3

kuroo, bokuto, and daichi with a people pleaser s/o

- genre. angst to fluff

- pairings. kuroo, bokuto, and daichi x gender neutral reader

- warnings. none

- key.

c/l/n - classmate’s last name

f/f/n - friend’s first name

► now shuffling...

kuroo sat in his classroom tapping his pencil against his desk as he waited for you - his s/o - to walk into class

what he didn’t expect to see was you being bombarded with people

“l/n-san! please give me the answers to last night's homework!”

you attempted to wave off the group of people as you made your way to your seat, yet much to your dismay, the group didn’t disperse

“l/n-san please! i had basketball last night and i didn’t have enough time to do it!” another person spoke up

the others agreed, making lame excuses for why they were simply too lazy to complete a one-paged worksheet

kuroo rolled his eyes and pushed his chair out from under his desk, walking over towards you

he slung his arm around his shoulder, “‘morning, sunshine.”

you felt your heart stutter at the name, but you were quickly snapped out of your moment when someone leaned over your desk to continue pestering you

“l/n-san please, sensei is gonna give me detention if i don’t finish this homework!”

“and why couldn’t you do it?” kuroo chimed in

“i had baseball! i got home late and i was so exhausted-”

kuroo cut him off, “and you couldn’t find any time to do a single-paged worksheet?”

the boy was attempting to stutter out an excuse, but kuroo was not having it

“just leave my s/o alone. do the homework yourselves.”

“tetsu, it’s okay, i don’t mind,” you spoke up

the rest of your classmates began cheering as you handed them your worksheet

kuroo frowned at you, “f/n, i know you feel bad for them, but they’re only excuses, you know that right?”

you patted his head and assured him that you were okay with giving out your homework as long as you saw your classmates happy

this carried on for weeks; you would walk into class, and would instantly be bombarded with people asking for your homework

and each time, kuroo would watch as you instantly handed it over telling them that you would be happy to

kuroo has had enough; he couldn’t stand seeing his s/o being pushed around like that

after school, you and kuroo walked to the gymnasium for his volleyball practice, when a classmate approached you

“l/n-san! i won’t be able to do my homework tonight since i have dance, so can i please have your notebook!” your classmate bowed, hands clapped together above her head

you began reaching into your bag to pull said notebook out, until you felt a hand stop your movement

“c/l/n-san, i understand your schedule is busy, but i would appreciate it if you would stop guilt tripping my s/o into giving you the answers. they also have a very busy schedule, and it’s getting tiring seeing them be pushed around as if they aren’t human too,” kuroo said through gritted teeth

you stared at your boyfriend, wondering what had gotten into him

your thoughts were quickly interrupted when you felt kuroo pulling you into the gym

he turned around and wrapped his arms around you, “i hate seeing them use you like that, f/n.”

he nuzzled his face into your neck as you chuckled, “i promise i won’t let them do that anymore, tetsu. i’ve been getting better about saying no to people, as much as it hurts to see them sad.”

he nodded and pulled back, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, “i’m glad to hear that.”

you and bokuto walked down the hallways of fukurōdani high talking and laughing, until one of your friends walked up to you to confront you about missing out on a karaoke get-together

they continued scolding you as bokuto simply watched from the side, confused as to why your friend was talking to you like that

“i-i’m sorry f/f/n-san. i promise i’ll go to karaoke with you guys tonight!”

they continued the confrontation, even after you had already apologized

bokuto tilted his head in confusion as he watched you continue to apologize

he felt himself growing annoyed with your so-called friend’s constant condemning, so he took it upon himself to step in

“hey hey hey! they already apologized, what’s the big deal?” he asked while pulling you into his side

your friend just ignored bokuto, and continued to walk past, letting one more negative comment slip

bokuto watched as your figure seemed to deflate

“hey hey! emo mode is my thing, f/n! don’t be sad! they’re no good for you if they keep making you feel bad, y’know,” he pouted, crouching down in front of you

“i’m sorry, kou.”

he assured you it was okay, and the two of you continued walking to class with him rubbing circles into your back with his hand

however, this problem remained unsolved

your friend only continued to chastise you, and your mood was worse than ever

soon enough, the only thing you could find yourself saying was sorry

this also did not go by unnoticed by your loving boyfriend, who unfortunately was not there this time as your friend approached you

“f/n-san!” your friend whined

“what’s wrong?” you asked, tilting your head

“the notes you gave me were wrong! i just failed my chemistry test!” they continued

you took the notes and skimmed over them

“b-but i just wrote down what the teacher had on the board, h-how could they be wrong?”

your friend continued, “i don’t know! ugh, i just failed a super important test because of this!”

you felt tears welling in your eyes at your current predicament

“i-i’m sorry, f/f/n-san. i’ll take better notes next time,” you sobbed

“ugh. it’s fine. stop crying will you?”

“s-sorry,”

“and stop apologizing! it’s annoying!”

your friend’s negative comments never ceased, and the tears continued streaming down your face

you looked up at your friend, only to see a familiar figure approaching from down the hall

“hey!!! f/n!!! i was looking for- h-hey! why are you crying?”

bokuto ran up to you and cupped your cheeks, wiping tear after tear away

“i-it’s my fault. i gave f/f/n-san the wrong notes. i’m sorry,” you choked out

bokuto asked to see the notes, and he read the pages

“but, these are the notes sensei told us to go over. these are the right notes!” he defended

“but i still failed my test because of your s/o! ugh! i knew i shouldn’t have trusted you to take the notes.”

bokuto felt his heart break at their comment

how could your ‘friend’ just say something like that? aren’t they supposed to be there for you? shouldn’t they be reassuring you that it was okay? shouldn’t they have taken their own notes in the first place?

bokuto’s mind ran at a mile a minute, until he turned around to face them

“you know, i would appreciate it a lot if you would stop terrorizing my s/o,” bokuto said darkly

he continued, “you’re no friend! you’re just using them! they’re trying their best and all you’re doing is criticizing them! you don’t deserve to be friends with someone as sweet as f/n!”

with that, he grabbed your arm and dragged you off to a separate hallway

he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted at your face, “f/n, you don’t have to deal with them anymore, okay?”

he continued comforting and reassuring you until you were fit to go back to class

you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before entering the classroom, earning yourself a very giddy boyfriend for the rest of the day

your relationship with the captain of the karasuno volleyball team was smooth-sailing

the relationship between the two of you was nothing less than loving, and the two of you always supported each other

however, one thing daichi wished was different was that you would stop hiding your true feelings from him

he could read your face like a book; he knew exactly what emotion you were feeling at any given time, but you always brushed it off whenever he asked about it

it’s been six months since the two of you started dating, and he felt himself growing more anxious at the fact that at any given moment, all of your emotions would hit you at once and you would start breaking down

he wanted nothing more than to just be true to yourself and him

“hey, baby. how are you today?” daichi asked as you walked into the gymnasium

“i’m okay! how are you?” you gave him a quick kiss on the lips, but he didn’t fail to notice how your face seemed to be less expressive than usual

“are you sure you’re okay?” he questioned, cupping your face in his hands

“yeah, i’m fine! how are you?”

he felt himself growing annoyed that you kept brushing his question off as if it were nothing

it seemed to him like you cared more about his well-being than your own

“i’m alright. did something happen today?” he kept pressing. no matter what, he wanted to get an answer out of you

“nope! how was practice?”

by this point, daichi’s blood was starting to boil. he wasn’t meaning to get mad at you, per se, he was getting angry at the fact that he felt so useless

he felt as if you were hiding something important from him - something he could most definitely help you with

he stopped walking, and he watched as you turned around and walked up to him, tilting your head

“f/n, i need to know if you’re actually okay. and please don’t lie to me.”

he watched your expression drop, and you furrowed your eyebrows

“w-why would you think something is wrong?”

he sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders

“i know you’re hiding something from me. and i’m not mad, i just want to be able to help my best friend and my s/o with anything that’s troubling them. so please, i want you to be honest.”

by now the tears were rushing down your cheeks, and daichi offered you a seat on a nearby bench

you waited until you could form coherent sentences until you began to narrate your god-awful day to your boyfriend

he listened carefully as you described your day; firstly, you woke up late so you were unable to eat breakfast, then you received a horrible grade on your test, and then you didn’t have any lunch money to buy food at the cafeteria. you were exhausted and you just wanted some food

daichi nodded his head as he reached into his bag to pull out a granola bar, which you accepted eagerly

“f/n, please don’t hesitate to admit whenever you’re feeling awful. it’s my job as your boyfriend to make you feel better, and i can’t do that when you’re hiding your feelings from me. promise me you’ll tell me when something’s bothering you?”

you nodded and hugged him, burying your face into his chest

“good,” he sighed in contentment as he watched you excitedly scarf down the rest of the granola bar

#kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #daichi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #kuroo x gn!reader #bokuto x gn!reader #daichi x gn!reader

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

Note

How do you deal with the hate comments you get?? (Not that I think the last ask was particularly hate or anything) but I never see hate stuff on your blog or in your comment sections either. I feel like I see tend to get them a lot abd sometimes I don't know how to handle them :( love your work!!! Sorry if this is rude to ask...

Not rude at all - but there's a lot to unpack here, so I’m really sorry if I ramble or go off on a few tangents in my answer!

The short answer is: I don't deal with hate comments.

The medium answer is: It depends on the type of 'hate' that I’m receiving.

The longer answer is this:

I have been really lucky (I think) to have been able to grow a little community on this blog of similar, like-minded people who enjoy the same things that I do (Tsundere characters, characters that can help show more representation in the Alphabet Mafia community, dumb boys who deserve to just be dumb boys, etc). I've rarely received any hate comments since my time here on Tumblr, and I think there's a lot of reasons for this.

1.) If someone comes rearing into my Ask box just LOOKING for a fight (ie, random death threats from Anons, homophobic comments, an obvious attempt to bait me into some kind of long-winded debate, etc) I simply just do not deal with it. Those people (especially Anons) are just looking for a reaction out of you. They want you to get upset, to post some long rambling defense, to be snarky and rude back to them, that's what they want.

But at the end of the day, I don't owe any of them a response. Hell, I don't owe anyone a response if I don't want to answer something.

But I answer Asks because I like talking with people, and getting all amped up and excited over the same things, that's part of the fun of creating and sharing that creative work online and being an active part of the fandom. I LOVE hearing from the people that follow this blog (even if I don't always get the chance to respond to all of them) because I know that they're happy or excited enough to hit that Ask button and send me a message, and that makes me feel good to know that I was able to get them so pumped up!

But those Anons aren't looking for that kind of connection. Most of the time, they’re not even looking to have a mature discussion, even if that’s how they come across at first. They're looking to hurt. To ridicule and make fun of, to make me and my followers feel bad or low. And, most of the time, the people who are sending that hate are young. So young. Like... way younger than what you might be picturing in your head right now.

So when I get the really bad hate - the hate that makes your skin feel hot, the hate that spikes your blood pressure, the hate that makes you start typing in a blind rage because you want to hurt them just as much as they've just hurt you - then they've already won. And I'll be damned if I let myself be led by the hand right into a losing battle.

So I simply do not engage. I don't reply with some snarky comment thinking I'm oh-so clever, I don’t reply in a holier-than-thou manner because I think I’m just so much better than them, and I don't reply with a long rambling post about why they're wrong and why they're childish and why they're hateful because that in itself is a hateful act, and I have far more important things to be spending my time and my energy on than fighting with a random on the internet and fueling that (quite frankly, pointless) hatred.

When I don't respond, the anon grows bored. Why send hateful things into someone's Asks if they aren’t even going to showcase it to all of their loyal followers? The reason you don't see hate on this blog is because I simply do not allow them to sink their roots into this soil. I pull them out like weeds and refuse to let them grow here.

I also don't respond because, while I may be able to take a death threat or a homophobic slur with gritted teeth and a roll of the eyes and keep on going about my day, some of my followers may not be mentally or psychologically equipped to see such rude backlash. They range from pre-teens to adults, and when they choose to follow me and my blog, I see it as a responsibility on my end to shield them from that unnecessary hatred. There's no need for them to see such toxicity, and so I act as a stubborn guard blocking the front gates. This temple is for relaxation, for laughter and excitement and love, and I'll protect it until the day that I decide to send that last post and go off to do something else with my life.

2.) Another reason that I believe that I don’t get much hate on this blog is because I don’t cross-platform my content. Does this lower the visibility of my work? Sure. I don’t have a Twitter, or a Youtube, or a TikTok, or an Instagram. This blog is just that - this blog on Tumblr, with a link to my AO3 for my writing. And while that limits my audience and perhaps bottlenecks my views, the safeguard it brings from distancing from toxic mindsets that tend to leak into the more problematic social media sites is well worth it, in my opinion.

I don’t write these stories for kudos and hits. I don’t write these stories to push out as much content as possible, to gain a following as quickly as I can, to reach the entirety of the fandom. I don’t want that. I want to write stories to get better at writing, I want to write about the boys because I crave more gay representation and quite frankly I am obsessed with Bakugou as a character and how much fun it is to write from a Tsundere mindset.

If other people happen to find my work and they like it too, then that’s so awesome! But the extent of my dedication to this blog is just that, my own dedication to something I love and something that brings me joy.

3.) The final reason that I think why I don’t get a lot of hate comments or hurtful asks is because I put a lot of pride and effort into my fics. When I write a piece of work that contains heavy levels of smut, I work really hard to make them realistic, to make the characters motives and emotions clear and concise, to showcase a healthy depiction of what it means to be sexually attracted to and/or engage in sexual activity with someone that a person cares very deeply about.

I see a lot of smut centered around the bnha fandom, and there’s nothing particularly wrong with that, in my opinion, but sometimes I do see things that I personally feel are a little tactless. They’re not handled well, or they promote toxic behaviors, or it really is incredibly self-indulgent and sometimes grossly ignorant.

However, just like with the hate that I sporadically receive in my Asks, it’s of my own personal belief that if I see something I don’t like or don’t agree with on the internet, then I simply do not engage with it. I don’t give it the attention that it so desperately wants to get out of people, I don’t give it a platform to grow on, I refuse to allow it to think that it has the upper hand anywhere in the situation.

I am entirely in control of the things that I promote on this blog, and I take that responsibility very seriously. It’s why I refuse to reblog art if it’s so obviously not being posted by the original artist (there are SEVERAL kiribaku blogs I have seen gaining popularity recently that simply post art from other artists without any credits or any permission). I have even seen several of my own mutuals reblogging art from those particular blogs, and so I find it incredibly important to be diligent in which accounts I reblog art from.

That being said - I’m not perfect. I’m a human being behind this account, a singular entity the runs the entirety of this blog, ever growing and learning and working every day to be better than I was the day before, and sometimes I make mistakes.

Sometimes I reblog stolen art, and need a follower to nudge me in my inbox and let me know that it’s stolen and where to find the original art, so that I can take the responsibility of deleting the stolen post and reblogging the original content to show support for the original artist. Sometimes I write something in a fic that (to me, from my own experiences) I might not consider to be harmful or inappropriate, but that might be damaging in a way that I may have never considered before because I had grown so used to receiving that kind of treatment myself that I fail to see its toxicity on my own, and so when people come to me with genuinely helpful constructive criticism, I feel it is my duty as a writer to be level-headed and humble enough to admit that perhaps what I have grown so accustomed to is just that - behavior I’ve simply grown accustomed to - and to then take a good hard look at that example and make a decision about whether I want to change it or not.

The important thing to remember is that we’re all entitled to our own opinions and feelings, but that we’re also individually responsible for the way that we react to these types of circumstances.

Becoming defensive, becoming enraged, becoming aggressive, becoming jaded - these things don’t do anything but make a situation worse.

That’s why I love Bakugou so. fucking. much. He IS all of those things. Defensive. Easy to anger. Inherently aggressive. And Horikoshi is teaching him through many trials and errors why those types of behaviors will be his inevitable downfall, why falling into the pit of ‘you hurt me, so I must hurt you back’ leads only to repeated failure and internal anguish, why you will forever be forced to run in place and can never continue to grow and move forward if you’re so busy ignoring the reality that we are all humans, that we are all flawed, that we all experience the same emotions, even if we don’t agree with them or think that they’re justified.

The reason I love Bakugou’s character so much is because he is so deeply flawed, he is told time and time again that he is the epitome of a villain, and yet he refuses to accept that. He refuses to believe that he is anything other than the greatest hero-to-be, and he’ll push his bruised ego and damaged pride aside time and time again to relearn what has already been so solidly ingrained into his being, to continuously be watching and listening and learning while still whole-heartedly remaining unabashedly true to himself, to know that he came to this amazing hero school and is being taught by these incredible heroes “not to learn what he can do, but to learn what he can’t do.”

So, to wrap up this entirely incoherent rambling mess of a response that you no doubt didn’t care to read about, I deal with hate the same way that I deal with everything else; circumstantially, and with as much empathy as I can possibly muster.

If it’s random hate just looking for attention and wanting to hurt, I refuse to give them a stable platform to stand on or an audience to be subjected to. I force them to go somewhere else, cause it’s no fun to hit someone over and over again who refuses to ever hit back. If it’s in regards to my fics, I think I work really hard to provide healthy representation work for this fandom, to showcase the characters in not only challenging situations but also how they can realistically overcome them, and to create an environment where love can be seen as just that, love.

Whether it’s with Bakugou and Kirishima learning how to recognize their own weaknesses and become better people because of them, or whether it’s with Bakugou and Hikaru discovering that experiencing love and relenting in trust doesn’t make them weak but in fact makes them infinitely stronger than they will ever consciously realize, the end result is always the same. I just want to share stories, hopefully ones with positive messages, that make people feel things and maybe might teach them a lesson or two along the way.

I hope this somewhat answered your question anon! Sorry it’s so long and jumbled but is anyone really surprised anymore? When you ask me a question like this, just know I am always going to go off on a long tangent :,D

If you’re ever experiencing a situation where you feel harassed or unsafe or you want advice on how to properly handle a situation, please feel free to reach out to me, and we can work together to try and come up with a mature, responsible solution!

Happy reading!! xx

#dealing with hate #there I go rambling again oops sorry ahaha #personal #asks

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Longing

Chapter 1

Description: Chris Evans becomes obsessed with you when he realises he can't have you. Eager to be with you in some form or the other, he starts writing fanfiction, where both of you are passionately in love with each other. But what happens when his imagination starts to merge with his reality in his subconsciousness?

Warnings: This entire mini-series will contain smut, bad language and angst. ONLY PROCEED IF YOU ARE 18+

This first chapter is inspired by the GIF below from @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 's ShamelessHoesForChris writing challenge. Click here to know more

A/N: I do not know Chris Evans personally. This fic is a work of imagination and should only be used as such. It doesn't comment on Chris or anybody else personally. It is also not meant to destroy his reputation or paint him in a bad light. I admire the guy and he really seems like a genuinely nice person. Again, I repeat, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION SO TREAT IT AS SUCH!

A/N 2: I did search quite a lot on the internet and didn't come across a fic like this. Which makes me nervous and also kind of excited that I get to do something unique? Please please give me your criticism and feedback on this! Would love to hear your thoughts.

A/N 3: I have used a few big words throughout the series because this fic is from Chris' POV and we all know that he's a bit of a wordsmith 😅 I had never even heard these words before in my life. So please let me know if I have used them in an incorrect manner.

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I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

The best thing about shooting Defending Jacob? Chris got to stay in his house in Boston. The worst part about working on the set? He was currently stuck in a room engulfed in hot, angry flames of fire. The fire had abruptly started due to a short circuit and spread across the set in the blink of an eye. Coughing, Chris doubled down on the floor, his breathing becoming more laboured with each second.

The smoke stung his eyes as he looked around for a fire extinguisher. He tried calling for help, but only small grunts managed to escape his lips. Just as he was on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard a voice. Your voice.

"Is anyone here?" you called out, your voice faint in his ears. "Hello?"

Chris tried to shout again, but only sank further towards the floor.

Luckily, you opened the door of his room and found his almost crumpled body on the ground. Using the fire extinguisher, you managed to douse as many flames as you could, while also covering Chris with a thick blanket. As the room was still filled with smoke, you pressed a wet towel on his face, asking him to breathe through his nose.

Slowly, you managed to drag him out of the room and into the corridor, the fire reduced to embers in most places thanks to your fire extinguisher. Chris being a heavy man, you tried your best to support his weight as much as you could, your body almost stooping to form a right angle.

Just as you thought you might be in the clear, you heard a crack from above. Looking up, you realised that the ceiling was about to cave in and so, on impulse, you pushed Chris out of the way, as portions of the false ceiling fell on you, knocking you unconscious.

Chris, in his state, vaguely realised what happened, before he lost his balance and fell to the ground a few feet away from you, his left arm stretched towards your limp body, as if reaching out.

Sirens of the firetruck and the ambulance filled the heavy air. A deep groan escaped his lips as he attempted to crawl towards you, a failed effort. Where did it all go so wrong? he thought. I was supposed to be the one to save you angel! You should be falling in love with me!! And break-up with your good for nothing fiancé!

Overwhelmed with emotions, Chris started drifting off to sleep, your name leaving his lips in the form of a desperate whisper.

🔥

8 MONTHS AGO

Chris met you for the first time at the table read for Defending Jacob. You didn't strike him as anyone special. Being the Junior Assistant Scriptwriter for the series, you were just in the room as a formality. It was your job to jot down the minutes of the meeting, and have the parts of the script marked which were supposed to be changed slightly.

You managed to stay invisible for more such meetings. An introvert by nature, you kept to yourself even when the shooting started.

It was in the Week 4 of the shooting when Chris actually started to notice you. He realised you were always absent from his house parties, never stayed around on the set for after-work shenanigans and, you never hung out with any of your crew-mates for a drink.

What really drove his attention towards you were your random acts of kindness. He once saw you feeding a homeless man in the alley behind the set. Unknown to you, it was where Chris often hid from his cast and crew to smoke.

Then there was the bit with setting up of a mobile blood donation camp on the set, which was completely your idea. He had also seen you distribute fliers for animal adoption centres and NGOs who fought for climate preservation.

You always made sure everyone on the set ate before you did, and the ones who couldn't due to work, you were sure to help them and share their load so they could have lunch.

But one particular incident made him see that you were no ordinary woman.

It was a particularly tough day on the set. They were shooting the 35-second sex scene between him and Michelle. While these scenes looked easy on the screen, they always made Chris feel uneasy about himself. "What if my body is not upto the mark?" , "I don't want to hurt Michelle in any way" , "God I hope I don't touch her inappropriately by mistake" and more such troubling thoughts clawed at his mind. After the scene finally ended, he felt the lustful eyes of the crew feasting on him, admiring his body on display.

He hurried towards his van, avoiding to look at anyone, until his eyes met yours for a total of 5 seconds. He expected to see the same smirk to be reflected in your eyes as everyone else's. Instead, he saw a completely different emotion. He saw sadness, sympathy, and most importantly, recognition of his discomfort etched on your face.

After that, Chris started to keep a close eye on you. You always wore comfortable clothes, with loads of pockets. Yet somehow, they always fit you well. He also noticed that you always got your own lunch, refusing to eat the food available on the set.

A few days after filming the sex scene, he decided to try to speak with you. Palms sweaty, he headed towards you and gently said your name.

"Hi," he said, and stopped.

"Hello Mr Evans," you greeted him back, a little surprised that he knew your name.

He continued to look at you, bright cerulean eyes bearing into yours, apparently lost. You blinked twice, unfazed, and a little uncomfortable, "Can I help you sir?"

Chris shook his head slightly. He was so used to women fawning all over him, that your utter lack of excitement on seeing him deterred him a bit.

He cleared his throat, a little flustered, *Ahem yeah… I wanted to ask… something… karaoke!" he managed to mumble, "It's karaoke night at my house. Tomorrow. Will you come? At night?"

"Umm… No Mr Evans. I am sorry I will not be able to make it," you politely declined while taking a small step back.

"Oh. Uhh… well we can have it any other night if you want," he cleared his throat again, sweat starting to gather on his forehead as he noticed your movement, "You never visit any of my house-parties."

You smiled a bit, "I like to go home early. I want to spend as much time as I can with my fiancé and my cat."

Chris raised his eyebrows at that revelation, "Fiancé? I… I don't see a ring."

"That's because there isn't one," your smile widened as you pulled the chain around your neck and revealed a locket. It was an intricately carved sunflower locket, with small, delicate curls nestled inside the petals.

Chris glanced at it with disdain. It looked hand-made, cheap, "Is that… is it made from clay?"

"Yes Mr Evans," you beamed at the locket, admiring it with love and pride, "My fiancé is a potter and he made this himself. It took him over 6 hours just to carve all the petals. But he still made it because he knows how much I love sunflowers."

"So he's too poor to give you an appropriate ring?" Chris snapped at you.

Offended, you looked at him in shock and anger as he continued. "You deserve someone who can afford to give you an expensive engagement ring. Not some cheap craft project."

You grit your teeth at his comment, "Unlike some people, I don't look at the price of the gifts, I look at their value. While this," you held the locket in front of his eyes, "is worthless for you, it is priceless for me."

You placed the locket back inside your shirt and walked away. Chris stood rooted at the spot, biting his cheek hollow. He hadn't meant to drive you away. He had just wanted you to see him as a prospective partner.

As he turned towards his trailer, an idea popped into his head.

🔥

Next Friday saw you and your fiancé walk into the bowling alley. The production house had organised a "Bring Your Partner to Work Day" and you both were excited to step out of your routine lives.

A few people on the set recognised your fiancé Aiden from his YouTube channel. Kenneth, an Assistant Set Designer, drooled over him, "Maaahhnnn! I love your pottery videos! They are so calming dude. How do you make them so relaxing?"

The ever shy and soft-spoken Aiden gushed at the compliment, turning a shade of red which you always found adorable. Aiden was almost the same height as you, with a lean figure and a kind, freckled face. Your friends always told you that Aiden's looks were nothing to brag about, but you disagreed. Because for you, this man was the most handsomest, cutest and sexiest person in the world.

And you knew he felt the same way about you. That's why, even after being together for almost 5 years now, you two still looked at each other with heart eyes.

As the party progressed, you made sure to avoid Chris, and so far, you were successful. That was until he softly said your name.

With dread in your stomach, you and Aiden turned around to face the man. Aiden knew of your previous encounter with Chris, and tried to square his shoulders as much as possible, but Chris' towering physique and personality literally made it impossible for Aiden to appear tough.

You gave Chris a curt nod and received a sweet smile in response.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he confessed, "I am sorry. My behavior that day was inexcusable." He paused for reaction, but looking at your hesitant faces, he continued, "It was quite a hectic day on the set and I guess I took it all out on you," he looked towards you, "You know I am capricious by nature. It takes me some time to become gregarious. But," he raised his hands in the air, "I repeat, the way I acted was inexcusable. I am sorry."

He extended his arm towards Aiden, "You are a porter I believe."

"Potter, sir," Aiden corrected while shaking his hand and introducing himself.

You bit your tongue, knowing that Chris was mocking you with his false apology.

He invited Megan to join the conversation, "Megan loves handmade ceramics. Maybe she would be interested in your work."

Introductions were made again, and as the conversation pursued, it arrived at the topic of your marriage.

"Have you guys decided on a date yet?" asked Megan as Chris looked at you.

"We are planning to get married as soon as the shooting ends for DJ," you smiled.

"Oh really? Wow that's… unusual," Megan tried her best to hide her surprise.

"We don't know exactly when will the shooting end," Chris said with a frown on his face.

"That's not an issue Mr Evans. We are actually planning to get married at the courthouse," revealed Aiden.

"You know if money is an issue then we would be more than happy to help you guys out," Chris offered in a sincere tone.

"Oh no no Mr Evans. Money isn't an issue," you clarified, "We have decided to donate the money we had intended to spend on the wedding."

"But thank you so much for the generous offer, we really appreciate it," Aiden added with a sincere smile.

"You know a lot of couples are doing that nowadays. It's a trend I believe," Megan commented, "Where are you going to make the donation?"

"The local orphanage where I grew up. We both love kids and, it just seemed to be the perfect choice," Aiden beamed at you.

You mirrored his expression while Chris scowled. "I think everybody should get the wedding of their dreams, and you" he stated, pointing towards you, "deserve much more than a courthouse wedding. Don't you want to get married in a beautiful church? Walk down the aisle in a gorgeous white gown? And get married to a man who can actually fulfill your wishes and desires?"

Squaring your shoulders, you looked at Chris dead in the eye, "I am marrying the man of my dreams Mr Evans. The wedding ceremony doesn't matter to me. What does matter is the beautiful life we will begin together. Now if you will excuse us," you linked your arm with Aiden's, "we need to leave."

Chris watched you leave as Megan tried to distract him with something else. Tonight did not go the way he had anticipated.

He left the party shortly after you, directly heading for his home. Standing under the cold shower, he tried to reason with himself. He was acting out of character. There was no reason for his behavior. You had made it ample clear that you loved your fiancé and that nobody in the world could sway you.

Then why was he so hell-bent on claiming you as his?

Because she's perfect for you, a voice answered him.

Yeah, but she belongs to someone else, he argued.

So what?, the voice urged, Fight for her. You saw her wimp of a fiancé. You can break him into two pieces without breaking a sweat. She is made for you. Just you, and nobody else.

"I… Just… No," Chris stammered loudly as he shook his head, trying to get rid of the voice in his mind.

He tried to meditate, but it didn't work. Dodger too, was unable to distract him. Even his books on self-help and mental health were of no use.

As a last resort, he opened his laptop, but his fingers halted at the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him.

He was too tempted to search for you again. The last time he had Googled you, he had been satisfied with the results. You often volunteered with a few NGOs, coordinated multiple donation drives, visited orphanages and taught underprivileged children. His heart had melted at a particular photograph- you were holding an 8-month-old girl in your arms, while looking over a painting drawn by a 4-year-old boy as the child looked up at you with a toothy smile.

It reminded him of everything he wanted to have, but still couldn't.

He closed his eyes and started kneading his forehead with his palms. Everybody he knew always only had the best things about him. Right from Scarlett to Mark to Olivia to every fucking person he had ever worked with, everybody said he deserved to have a loving wife, a stable family.

And yet, here he was, on a Friday night, home alone with a beer bottle, on the verge of anxiety.

Was it just anxiety though?

Who the fuck is Aiden and why does he deserve to be with her? the voice in his head was back.

They love each other, they want to get married, Chris reasoned.

He doesn't hold a candle next to you, the voice persisted, People love money more than they love others. She will come to you. But you need to let her know you are available. You need to take her to-

"No," Chris interrupted the voice loudly, "No. This is unhealthy. No."

Reaching for his phone, he searched for his therapist's number, when the voice chuckled, You really think a shrink is going to help you with this? Eh? They are only going to ask you to fuck another pussy, or read more books. And I will be damned before you touch another book about trees.

Chris shook his head again, but in vain. Unable to find the number in his contacts, he turned to Google for the second time that night and started searching for therapists in his area. The voice tut-ted, Yeah, as if the psycho doctor is going to shut their trap about Chris Evans crying over a girl.

Chris almost crushed his bottle in frustration. He couldn't let the voice take over. Not now. Not after working his ass off to get where wanted in his career. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the screen again and came across the headline- "Why Do People Write Fanfiction?" The word fanfiction seemed vaguely familiar to him. He was going to ignore the article and scroll downwards, but the brief underneath the headline made him stop- …mostly, people write fanfiction to stay in touch with the characters they love," says leading Psychologist Andrea Williams.

Intrigued, he opened the article and started reading. Then he opened another, and another and by the time he was done, he had read 6-7 articles on the concept of fanfiction and what it entailed.

Sighing, he opened a new word document. He was reluctant to type a letter, let alone a whole fictional story. He had tried everything and yet, you chose to occupy a rent-free space in his mind.

Now all he needed was a reference.

He minimised the document, and opened a new tab on his browser. His hesitant fingers typed the words - Chris Evans Fanfiction - into the search bar, and he instantly winced.

Millions of search results were displayed before him, and as he read the descriptions of each one of them, he realised that 99% of these stories were porn. There was no sugar-coating it. On the 5th page of the search results, he luckily found a story sans the erotica. It was a cute one-shot about him going on a first date with the reader. He read it with squinted eyes, afraid that a sex scene might jump out of the blue, but luckily, nothing of the sort happened.

Chris liked reading it. It was an innocent story filled with romance.

But the only problem? It was written from the reader's point of view. He checked a few others, and realised they were all written from the women's perspective, not his.

He sat back in his chair, turning his head such that he was looking at the ceiling, contemplating his options.

You want her, the voice whispered.

Reluctantly, he typed the first word that came to his mind. Your name.

Chris rested his chin on his palm, wondering where to start. If this were fiction, would tonight have gone different? Would you have visited his house for karaoke that night?

Tapping his fingers on the desk, he bit his tongue in thought. Thinking it was better to start at the beginning, he started typing from his POV-

The first time I saw her I thought she was pretty. I saw her during meetings and the shooting. Then one day I saw her giving food to a homeless man-

Deleting his words, Chris shook his head. This was insane! Right? You were a real human being and it was unethical of him to write this! He needed to learn to handle his feelings.

If you don't have the balls to fight for her, then be with her in the stories you write. Grow a spine Evans, whispered the insulting voice.

Hesitating, he tried to write another paragraph, which ended up getting deleted.

Try again, the voice coaxed him. Pour your heart into this. Write better.

Taking a sip of the beer, Chris started typing again-

It was lunchtime when I saw her arranging some equipment on the table. Her back was facing me as I carefully approached her, afraid to startle her. I breathed in her scent, light, floral and fresh, before whispering her name.

She turned around, a bit surprised to see me, but she smiled nevertheless. Oh gosh her smile. I had seen her smile a few times on the set, but in person, it took my breath away.

"Hi," I managed to greet her shyly. She matched my response.

"I was wondering if you would like to sing karaoke with me? There's a karaoke party tonight at my house if you would like to come," I asked her hopefully.

Her expression turned remorseful as she apologised, "I cannot come Mr Evans. My fiancé won't let me."

Imagine my surprise when I found out about her fiancé. "I didn't know about your fiancé. Why won't he let you come?" I asked her, concerned as she started sniffing a bit.

"He's… he's very strict Mr Evans. He doesn't like it when I go out with my fri-friends or co-workers," she shared between her light sobs.

My heart broke into pieces on hearing her confession. I had often noticed her taciturn behaviour on the set, but I had no idea about the reason behind it.

I raised my hands to cup her face. I was itching to wipe her tears with my lips, but instead, I used my thumbs.

"I want to help you. Please let me," I requested.

"Nobody can help me Mr Evans. I am stuck with a monster." She pulled a chain from underneath her shirt and I got a glimpse at the marks on her neck. "Aiden gave me this chain and locket instead of an engagement ring. He said it will be better than a ring. And now he-" she started sobbing harder. I pulled her into my chest, running my right hand through her hair as my left hand soothed her back.

"And now he uses it as a leash," my angel whispered, horrified, "he says I do not deserve a ring."

I hugged her tighter and thankfully, she buried her face in my chest, "You are no longer stuck with him. Are you listening to me?" I bent my face to bring my lips near her ears, "I will make sure that you are free of him."

She shook her head, reluctantly pulling away from me, "No Mr Evans. I cannot-"

"Yes you can," I interrupted her. "You are going to come to my house for karaoke tonight. Message Aiden right now, and tell him that I will be dropping you home. Okay?"

After some coaxing, she agreed. I held her close as she typed out the message, her hands shaking around her mobile phone. Finally she clicked on the SEND button.

I brushed a kiss on her forehead, "Wait for me in the back alley after the shoot, okay? I will pick you up from there."

She nodded gratefully in response.

I couldn't wait for the shoot to be over that day. In my eagerness, I even messed up a few takes, mumbling over my lines like an idiot. But eventually, I got through the day.

I was excited when I picked her up after the shoot. I could see she was nervous and maybe a little bit scared, but she still entered my car anyway. So I made small talk with her and tried to put her mind at ease.

Finally, when we reached my house, she was in awe.

"This is the most beautiful house I have ever seen Mr Evans," she gasped as I led her inside, "I don't think I have ever seen anything like it before!"

I chuckled, "I am happy you like it. It… it just feels empty sometimes, you know? I find loneliness ubiquitous in this house."

You looked at her puzzled expression and smiled. "Ubi-what was that word Mr Evans?"

"Ubiquitous," I replied, "it means something that is present and is found everywhere."

"Ahh okay," she nodded, "thank you for teaching me."

"I will accept your gratitude only on one condition."

She tilted her head ever so slightly, "And what would that be Mr Evans?"

I smiled as I slightly bent down and held her hand, "You need to start calling me Christopher."

Visibly flustered, my angel looked down at her feet. "I-I can't Mr Evans," she said in a low voice.

"Why can't you?"

"I respect you too much sir," she confessed.

"Hey," I gently nudged her forehead with mine, "I want you to say my name. Please?"

I stared into her eyes as she met mine. God.

There was something about her eyes that was absolutely riveting. The depth of her eyes pulled me in towards her as I read the plethora of emotions hidden within them. Her gaze searched my face for malice, deceit, but only found love and trust in return.

I slowly cupped her face as her breath hitched in her chest. I could feel my own heart race. Bringing my face as close as I could to hers, I whispered, the distance between our lips fast closing, "Please."

She parted her lips ever so slightly. I felt her warm breath on mine as she obliged, "Christopher."

I closed my eyes as I heard the most melodious symphony, my name draped in her sweet voice.

I dipped my head to kiss her, feel the shape of her lips, but she stepped back.

"I-I am st-still engaged Chris-Christopher," she stammered.

I straightened myself, my hands no longer cupping her face, "I understand. I am sorry. Would you like-"

Before I could finish, a car honked outside. While I was curious at the intrusion, her eyes widened with fear.

"That's him," she gasped, "Aiden is here. He found me."

"How is that possible?"

"He has a location app installed on my phone through which he tracks my location," she revealed, visibly shaking at the thought of greeting her fiancé.

"Stay here. You will be safe inside. Let me handle him," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

I walked out of the house and towards the car. The vehicle didn't look in good shape, it's owner even more so.

Aiden manually rolled down his window and spat on the ground. Fumes of cheep alcohol and stale cigarette smoke escaped through the window. "Where is she?" he hollered.

"That's not your concern anymore. She's breaking up with you," I crossed my arms and stood facing him. "If you know what's good for you, you will leave her alone and stay out of her life."

Aiden exited the car at that threat, the door of the vehicle rattled as he opened it. "She said that?" he scoffed, "Color me surprised, I thought the little mouse had no fight left in her. Bring her out here. I want to hear," he wriggled a finger at me, "whatever the fuck you are saying from her own fucking mouth."

"Not going to happen Aiden. You followed her here against her own wishes. Now scoot off before I call the cops," I warned.

"You think I will be scared of some Hollywood prick who shits diamonds?" he sneered.

"No. But you should be scared of the law. You are currently harassing the owner of this private property, not to mention you have clearly abused your girlfriend mentally, emotionally and physically. So be sensible," I took a step towards him, "and fuck off."

"STOP," she shouted as she trusted towards us. She stood in front of me, as if to guard me from her monster of a fiancé, "Please don't hurt him. I will come with you. Just let him be," she pleaded with him as he smirked.

Before he could react, I pulled her behind me, making sure my body was shielding her from Aiden.

"She's a gold-digging bitch. You stay away from her," he pointed at me as he tried to reach her.

I pushed him away once and kept my hand on his weak, thin torso. Turning my head, I asked her for the last time, "Are you sure you want to go with him? I can save you. I will protect you, provide for you and keep you happy!" I urged her.

She looked at me with hope and helplessness. Slowly, she glanced at Aiden who looked like he was ready to commit murder. Sobbing uncontrollably, she removed the chain with the sunflower locket and threw it at his feet.

"Leave me alone," she managed to mumble at him.

Furious, Aiden growled and tried to pounce at her. Fortunately, I intervened on time and punched his sorry excuse of a face into the ground.

She gasped as Aiden fell with a thud. Embarrassed, he slowly got up and dusted himself, muttering under his breath as he sat inside his wreck of a car.

"Don't bother coming back to gather your stuff! I am burning it all tonight you cock-sucking bitch!" and with that outburst, Aiden was finally gone.

She was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably at what had just transpired. I wrapped her in my arms to let her know she was safe. Within moments, I felt her ease into my body.

I closed my eyes and smiled, my nose buried into her hair. My angel was safe. My angel was mine.

Chris blinked his eyes as he re-read his story. He already felt a whole lot lighter, his anxiety at ease, and mind exhausted. Clicking on SAVE, he finished the last of his beer and went to sleep, hoping that this was the end to his problems. Little did he know about the horrors that awaited him, behind the door he had just opened by writing that fictional story.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo

Chris Evans and his characters taglist: @onetwo3000

This story: @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @carpediemm-18

(If you guys don't want to be tagged in this, just let me know. No hard feelings 😊)

Taglists are open! Just comment, send an ask or a message!

#ShamelessHoesForChris #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chrisevans #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #dark!chris evans #chris evans rpf

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bloodpressure911supplement · 3 years

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muichewrou · 4 years

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Inosuke - Protecting him scenario

Warning: Includes spoilers of the Red Light District Arc if you haven’t read the manga.

Word Count: 4.1K+

You initially began covering for him after Gyuutarou fatally stabbed Inosuke with his poison sickle.

The thought of losing him struck fear within your spirit. Without a second thought, you jumped in front of his fallen body.

It bothered you that you couldn’t check over his wounds. Not with the demon hovering menacingly over the both of you.

“I would stay and cut you up for slicing up my dumb bitch of a sister,” Gyuutarou sneered, lifting his sickle and allowing it to glint balefully, “but I need to go slaughter that Sound Pillar and that kid with his demon sister.”

Your Nichirin blade pulsated and chattered in your hands as you stressed over the unsavory situation. Without Inosuke, there was no way you could defeat an Upper Moon Demon on your own. The best you could do was hold him back until Uzui or Tanjirou or even Zenitsu fought alongside you.

Like Shinobu, you excelled at using your overwhelming speed to your advantage. Traveling with Tanjirou had also allowed you to pack on some muscle mass as well, though not enough to change your appearance as it was mostly Inosuke or Tanjirou handling the dirty work for the team.

Gyuutarou and Daki immediately switched positions, which was relieving since Daki didn’t exactly use her brain in the most critical moments.

The sister now donned a third eye at her forehead, large and palpitating. It was disturbing enough to make your mouth dry but not as repulsive as her brother’s caving midsection. You’ve seen worse demons, like Rui and his unsettling spider family.

You moved from the area as quickly as you could.

A building with a broken roof wouldn’t do much good for your footing. That, coupled with the fact that you didn’t want your unconscious partner to get lacerated to death with Daki’s sash slashing.

If he was still alive by this point, the least you could do was prevent further injury to him.

“This is so troublesome! Just die already!”

Daki never once used underhanded methods to attack you. All of her assaults were intended to strike you head-on. With Gyuutarou, he had three Blood Demon Techniques instead of one like Daki, as well as his poisonous sickles you had to elude.

She went for a jab to your waist, and then another swipe towards your legs. With your defensive Breaths, you evaded her attacks without a problem. It annoyed her to no end, evident in the veins protruding on her face and when she summoned more detachments your way.

Then, she faltered.

Midair, you swerve your body to dodge one final swipe of her sashes. Her attention had shifted entirely from you and onto the unconscious boar-headed man.

“I finally got you away from that stupid kid who tried to take my head away! I’ll pummel him to death if he’s not already!”

Knowing the distance Daki had managed to put between you and her, it would be near impossible to reach them in time.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see Zenitsu running towards Daki, eyes closed and hand on his sword. As much as you were glad that he made it out of the wreckage, you weren’t sure if he had enough stamina to perform God Speed again.

You begin to take deep breaths, entering a Full Focus Breath state. After enduring countless losses of those you loved because of your powerlessness years ago, you couldn’t allow the Demon Slaying Corps to sustain another casualty. Especially not someone as strong like Inosuke.

And would Inosuke really give up on you if he were in your place?

With hesitance thrown out the window long ago, you swung your blade back, feet digging into the roof of the building you resided on.

“Breath of Illumination, Fifth Form: Lustre of the Waning Moon.”

You force all the tension in your body down to your legs. Your body was lighter than you ever felt before in your life, and you wonder if it was because someone you cared for was at risk of getting cleaved to ribbons.

Your Nichirin blade became enforced with the brilliance of the moon above, glowing with such candor that it made you involuntarily squint from the brightness.

While the Fifth Form was the fastest move you developed so far, it was by no means an offensive technique. Rather, it rendered your blade useless at Breath Styles for a set amount of time. You had no clue why it happened, but you were planning to write a letter to your swordsmith after leaving the Red Light District.

Appearing in front of Inosuke’s unconscious body, you raised your sword in an attempt to block the flesh sashes.

You swung your blade, deflecting her attacks as best as you could. With your legs feeling like jelly after utilizing your Fifth Form, it was a miracle you were able to continue parrying against Daki. Perhaps it was because you were maintaining your Full Focus Breathing that you could keep your head up and protect the boy behind you.

You gave a yelp when one of Daki’s sashes managed to graze your arm and waist. Taking a leap back, you dodged a descent to your stomach.

The assaults stopped for a moment, allowing you to finally rest regain your stance.

Looking up to your opponent, you notice her eyes weren’t focused onto you, but rather what was behind you. With a gasp, you see two sashes swerving from your body and around you.

“No!” You grit your teeth.

But despite how much you wanted to move, your legs failed you. Why now of all times? You should’ve been able to with your continuous breath patterns.

Shakingly, you slam the tip of your blade with a resounding thud into the roof shingles, sending debris up into the air. You heaved your body forward, using your Nichirin blade as a form of support as you launch yourself towards Inosuke.

Daki pierces through your left shoulder as you kneel in front of Inosuke. He seemed to be breathing--or grunting, which you were glad for. His hands were twitching as he gripped his twin Nichirin blades, struggling to sit up.

Blood splattered onto his arm as Daki’s other sash finds its way through your abdomen from behind, twisting and veering up to the sky, dragging you up until the tips of your toes barely touched the roof. Your head slung down, sighting the dripping of your blood down your clothes.

Inosuke snarls as he stares up at your body. Rage fills him, his eyes meeting yours through his boar mask, and even though you couldn’t see them, his eyes were narrowed dangerously as he found the strength to push himself up using his swords. Before he could slice off the sash that pierced you, Zenitsu struck Daki’s neck, causing the appendage to pull out from you and switch to strike the yellow-head boy.

“[Name]!” Inosuke’s arms found their way under yours as you slumped over. Your breaths came out in a harsh rhythm, the pain so devastating that you couldn’t even bother to ask of Inosuke was all right enough to be holding you. “Breathe slower, goddammit!”

He lays you down gently onto the roof. It was certainly odd considering Inosuke was known for being brash, obtrusive, and feral, the last being what you called him occasionally.

“I’m fine,” a bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face while you try to hold back your tears. “My sword--give it to me. I can still fight.”

Inosuke shakes his head so furiously that you believed that his mask could slip off any second. “Like hell I’d let you fight with those wounds! Who the hell do you think you are, playing hero like that!”

“Hey, I protected--”

“I don’t wanna hear it! Just--just stay here,” his voice trails off at the end, and you realize that his aura and fighting spirit felt...off.

“But the poison in your system...” How did he even survive anyway? You click your teeth, questions could come later. He was fine enough to stand up and carry you after a lethal dose of poison, so you assume he developed some resistance to it. Still, his stab wound was where his heart was. So unless he had no heart, he would be dead already.

Giving a sigh, you nudge him with your fist, “If you won’t let me fight, then go help Zenitsu! We’re so close to victory...!”

He gives a yell of frustration, twisting his body to face Daki and Zenitsu. He didn’t want to leave you alone in fear of Daki taking advantage of the situation. Although his body hurt so, so much, he needed to end this battle to ensure your safety and allow Shinobu to tend to you at the Butterfly Estate.

Daki was holding up to Zenitsu fairly well, but she was also very impulsive. She cackles wildly, expression contorting into one akin to pleasure, and brings her sashes to enclose around Zenitsu. “I’ll dice you to shreds before you even get a chance to cut my head off!”

“...Ze--” Blood splurts out of your mouth as you begin to cough when you feel it is inhaled to your lungs. The movement allows ache and affliction to buzz throughout your body.

This was bad. If you couldn’t warn Zenitsu to escape from Daki, then all you could do was watch your friend get sliced up through your blurry vision.

‘Inosuke, do something!’

Relief floods your body when you see Inosuke kicking down Daki from her upper back. The Upper Moon’s eyes widened with shock, teeth grinding harshly as the brunt of Inosuke’s kick coerced Daki’s neck to slam forward into Zenitsu’s blade.

“How can you still move?!” She’s shrieking in anger, baring her sharp canines at the boy.

“DON’T UNDERESTIMATE THE SUPPLENESS OF MY BODY!!” Inosuke’s voice was clamorous and reverberated within his boar mask. “SHIFTING THE ORGANS IN MY BODY IS JUST CHILD’S PLAAAY!!”

Your eye twitched, though you were amused in your state of agony. Shifting organs should’ve been remotely impossible, but you wondered how Inosuke even managed it.

‘I wish I could’ve done that,’ you bring your hand over your wound. The attack had pierced through your gut.

You push yourself up despite Inosuke’s insistence on you resting out for the remainder of the battle. Pain sears through you like a wave of nausea, and you suddenly feel like vomiting. You bite down on your lip, ‘Don’t forget to breathe, [Name].”

In through your nose, out through your mouth. Rinse and repeat.

Inosuke swings his arms up, the blood escaping from his wound was relentless. Even if he managed to decapitate Daki, he should be faint from the amount of blood he lost.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You drag your body towards the blade embedded into the roof. Thanks to your breathing, you can feel the blood from your wounds dripping with less vigor.

You pause for a split second to hold your hand up to your mouth. A bitter taste flows into your mouth. You swallow it down.

Inosuke twirls his two Nichirin blades with such speed and elegance that all you could make out was a swift blur of indigo-gray, the color of his weapons. He strikes the area just above where Zenitsu’s blade was, but in the opposite direction where they could use force to grate apart Daki’s neck.

Your sword is within reach now. Daki and the others are too far to reach, however.

The Nichirin blade twinges with light as you rest your hand on the hilt. You begin to shake it back and forth to forcefully pull it out.

Your weapon was clearly not made for throwing, given the length of the steel. Though you suppose there was no other option other than hoping Inosuke and Zenitsu can persevere without your assistance.

You raise your blade up when you dislodge it, swinging it back over your shoulders.

Daki summons several sashes to assault the two boys. Just a little bit more until her neck is ripped apart. Tears sprung to her eyes, “Big Brother, do something!”

You suck in a breath, “Your big brother won’t be able to do anything after this.”

Your body slams down onto the roof as you send your sword flying onwards with as much might as you could muster.

Blood drips down your forehead when you lift your head up to gaze onto the projectile in the air.

Breathe!

You blink. Your vision is suddenly swirling and the pain from your gut overcomes you once again.

You focus on breathing.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The flesh sash is inches away from penetrating Inosuke. You can only hope that your weapon could make it.

And it does, piercing the appendage heading for Inosuke at the same time.

Daki wails as the blade makes a clean cut into Gyuutarou’s eye on her forehead. Her cries for help dissipate as her head tumbles to the ground face first. Her brother swiftly meets the same end at Tanjirou’s hand.

Your sword clatters noisily after it cleanly slices out from Daki’s forehead. The victory was finally here!

Footsteps are heard clambering onto the roof shingles. You see Inosuke feet as he bends down, taking you by the arm to pull you up. Your brows furrow. Shouldn’t you be waiting for the reinforcements and medics to arrive?

Breathe in, breathe out.

His lips move, but his words are silent. You catch on to how his mask isn’t present on his head anymore. It must’ve fallen off on his way to get to you. You want to ask about his expression, so distraught and afraid.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Why were you still utilizing your Full Focus Breathing?

Anyhow, you can’t hear a single thing anyways. So you keep up your breaths.

Inosuke’s grasps on your arm become more insistent and it is rough against the bruises of your body. He opts to drag you up from your underarms but fails to when his body drops down on top of you. He’s completely run out of energy, as did you.

Your head crashes down once more at the weight of the boy’s body. It snaps you out of your breathing technique.

It starts as a tingle, a kind of buzzing sensation before your face squinches into one of anguish. The wound on your shoulder and in your gut starts to feel like the flames of Hell had washed upon your body.

You were so going to beat up Inosuke later.

And then, you’re falling unexpectedly. It takes a while for you to become aware, if not for how Inosuke spun your body to lay over his. You grab his shoulders on instinct as his arms wrap around your waist.

“--could still use his techniques even if his head--”

You’re unconscious as the entire building fully collapses.

By the time you’re awake, you could hear Zenitsu’s sobs for Tanjirou.

“Tanjirouuu!” He sounds closeby. You groan as he begins lamenting louder. “Tanjirouuuuu!!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your left ear is pressed against Inosuke’s chest, just above his heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Even if you could hear it, there was no denying it that his heartbeat was slowly getting weaker. Your mind flashes back to how you ended up in his arms, and the events before.

You push yourself up, swinging your legs so that you’re straddling his waist. “Inosuke! Wake up!”

His head lulls to the side and his eyes won’t open. You brush away the hair covering his eyes for good measure.

“Wake up, Stupid Boar! I still need to beat you up for knocking me down--”

“[Name]!”

You turn around to see Tanjirou carried on Nezuko’s back, who seemed to have shrunk like how she did in the Natagumo Mountains.

“Tanjirou!” Your head is throbbing and your legs are sore. The man under you is breathing shallowly, diaphragm contracting without depth. “Inosuke--he won’t respond to me!”

Tanjirou stumbles away from Nezuko to climb over the debris and to his friend. He places his arm under Inosuke’s body and lifts him up after you move yourself to the surface. The Breath of Water user was sweating so much and bleeding profusely that you considered pushing him back to let him rest.

But this was Tanjirou, the person who always place others before himself.

“He said something about how poison wouldn’t work on him, but I think by that time the poison had circulated throughout his body and his adrenaline kicked in,” you rush to explain, turning Inosuke’s head to face the sky. “We can’t send a crow or it’ll be too late...but what else can we do?”

Your heart clenched tightly as tears prick the corners of Tanjirou’s eyes. In turn, you blink yours back.

You feel a slight nudge on your leg as Nezuko smothers herself onto Inosuke. Her body seemed so small when you compare it to Inosuke’s.

Your mouth opens to question her, but you are cut off when your partner’s body suddenly erupts into flames.

“Nezuko?!” You and Tanjirou shout at the same time. You shove your palm against her forehead in an effort to push her back, but she wouldn’t budge. The rope is scratchy on her mouth, her bamboo muzzle long gone.

“[Name], wait!” He points at Inosuke’s chest. “The skin that got inflamed by the poison is getting healed!”

Your eyes drift onto the area Inosuke got attacked. Sure enough, the swelling from the wound was less pronounced from Nezuko’s healing.

“Nezuko...thank you.”

You pat her head, and she seems to enjoy the feeling of being doted on.

“Inosuke should be fine now, but you should probably watch over him until the medical team arrives,” he offers you a smile, yet it comes across as awkward. If you didn’t know about the wound on his chin, you’d believe that was an expression you would give to a person nosing into your business. “I’m going to check on Uzui-san and the others, but before that, are you hurt anywhere? You...you didn’t get poisoned either, right?”

Your hand moves from your shoulder, then to your abdomen. You nod in reassurance.

“No poisoning, just a rather unpleasant stab in my gut. It isn’t anything I can’t handle, though.”

That was probably the biggest lie you ever told. The pain wasn’t too bad when you were worried frantically over Inosuke, but Tanjirou seems to trust you and nods his head, readying himself onto Nezuko’s back. The girl stares at you with very large pink eyes, suspecting falsities in your words. She turns away from you when you shake your head, and walks off with a bounce. You wave at Tanjirou as he retreats to where the Sound Pillar and his wives were located.

You shuffle a little to the left, resting on your knees and nibbling your lip when you see Inosuke’s peaceful face. Lifting his head up as gently as you can, you place him onto your lap, undoubtedly much more comfortable than the lopsided and crumbly rooftop.

Just as you do, his eyes snap open, revealing a set of alluring sage-colored orbs. He startles you when he lets out a shout.

“Inosuke! Tone it down!”

He sits straight up, eyes wide. You frown. He hasn’t even stayed on your lap for a minute yet!

“What happened?” He speaks slowly, confused, and even says your name incorrectly. Your eyes soften, recalling how he used himself to block you from being on the receiving end of the wreckage.

You narrate the events in detail, from how he was on the brink of death and to how Nezuko saved him with Blood Burst. He’s quiet as he processes the information.

“I don’t know how Uzui-san is doing, but if he’s poisoned, Nezuko can save him. Still, with how much blood we’ve all lost in one battle, I don’t know how long it’ll take to recover.” You place your fingers under your chin in thought, eyes darting over to the discoloration of his skin. “When the medics come, I’ll make sure that you’re treated immediately. You’re in so much worse shape than me, I can’t fathom how you’re still alive at this point.”

He cackles as you speak, voice booming, “PFFT, as if someone like ME is gonna die! Who do ya think you’re talking to? I am the great Inosuke-sama--”

Inosuke? Die? In the same sentence? Ha, like that would happen! If he could survive after being raised by boars of all things considered with little to no human interaction, he’s basically unassailable! Invincible, one might even say.

You’ve clearly had enough. That mindset of his would only permit demons to claim his life.

“Shut up! Don’t you know how important your life is? You can’t just joke around like that!” You slam his head back on your lap, gripping his shoulders as he attempts to wrangle himself away from you. “Hey, stop! You shouldn’t even be moving or your wounds will reopen, Stupid Boar!”

“I don’t care!” He thrashes again, brushing against your abdomen. “I’m hungry! Gimme something to eat!!”

“We’ll eat later! We need to take care of your injuries first! Inosuke! Stop being so feral, you’re not a kid anymore!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Nothing! Honestly, I swear I’m more of a mother to you than your partner.”

He growls, “I don’t have a mother!”

“I--yes, I know!” You’re facing the sky as Inosuke shoves your chin up during his endeavor to break away from your clutches. “You just don’t take care of yourself like how I want you to. What would I have done if you died back there? That’s not all either! Maybe you wouldn’t have died, but I took a damn hit for you! This isn’t all about you, Inosuke.”

The pressure on your chin is gone, his hand drooping midair, and his whole body turns rigid. His vision wanders unmindfully to you, and he wonders how had he forgotten about what caused you to become incapacitated in the first place.

“I know how you are, Inosuke. We’ve known each other for so long, don’t you remember? How I protected you from my brother when he called you a ‘weird animal’?” Your eyes close at the memory, humming contentedly. “You always fought with him and even snatched me away once to show me how you lived in the wild. You never took up my offer of staying with us in our home. And you never wore any shirts, huh?”

The first time you had met the boy was when you came home with your brother after he’d finished work. Gramps was too old to take care of you himself, at least that’s what your brother thought. Imagine the look of surprise on your brother’s face when he saw Gramps taking care of a toddler with a boar’s head!

Inosuke practically stayed the same as you grew up together. Selfish, short-tempered and needy, embodied when he demanded various goods from you and your brother, like baked mochi, rice crackers, and tempura (he’d only eat vegetables if it was battered and deep-fried at the time).

Inosuke’s face is twisted and wrinkled. “Yeah, so?”

“’ Yeah, so’, that’s why I don’t want you to live on the rest of your life like it’s some game. Demon Slayers have always had the same fate with Muzan being alive. They either die protecting themselves, retire, or become a demon. And we can’t take that back. I want us to continue fighting until we can’t anymore and be like Gramps. Old, wrinkly, and crippled.”

You stroke his hair, going silent. It was very soft and pretty, how the black faded to blue at the tips. You admit, his feminine facial features were more attractive than most women from your town.

“You’re very pretty, Inosuke.”

Despite it being nighttime, you can see (and feel) heat radiating off his cheeks. Was he having a fever?

“Go to sleep. I’ll be right here.” You place your cold hand over his forehead to soothe him.

“What about you,” he huffs.

You tilt your head, “hm?”

“You’re hurt ‘cuz of me, so you rest first.”

“Really, I’m fine. I’ve clotted the bleeding some time ago.”

He doesn’t seem in the mood to argue.

“’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I'm not blaming you.”

His eyes flutter shut. “Hah? You said earlier--”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” You pinch his cheek. He grunts and doesn’t say anything else. You don’t need him to, knowing what he’s conveying. “Don’t be mad at yourself. If our roles were switched, I know you would do the same for me.”

Inosuke nods once more, turning around and tucking his head into your lap. Sunlight arises over the obliteration of the Red Light District. You hope everyone is okay, but for now all that mattered was that Inosuke was safe in your arms.

#chew writes #unbeta'd #hashibira inosuke x reader #inosuke x reader #inosuke hashibira #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #i tried to have this done when i created this account

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nelllraiser · 4 years

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familiar strangers | bea, luce, & nell

TIMING: a few days after and then you’re free (escape from the ring). LOCATION: the vural home. PARTIES: @nelllraiser, @beatrice-blaze, and @divineluce. SUMMARY: the sisters finally come clean to one another.

This had been a long time coming. It had only been recently that Nell had promised her sisters answers, a look into the part of her life that she’d been hiding since...she wasn’t quite sure for how long. And they all had questions about necromancy. As for Luce, she couldn’t be certain what secrets she might hold, but it was time to bare them all to the light, to start anew with one another, and know each other for who each of them truly were. “I think-,” Nell began, knowing that they’d all have much to say. “We should try and just let each other speak at first, maybe. To get the secrets and whatever out before asking questions or anything.” She didn’t want to be judged, and she doubted Bea and Luce wanted to face scrutinous eyes, either. “That’d probably make this all easier.” But which of them would go first? “I don’t know who wants to say their stuff first, but we can draw straws or volunteer or whatever.”

Leaning back against the countertop of the kitchen counter, Luce stared at Nell as she spoke before her eyes went to Bea. They all had secrets. They all had questions. And for fucks sake, she wasn’t going to wait until the next time one of them got hurt or kidnapped or ki-- there wasn’t going to be a next time. She wanted all of this shit out in the open, right now. She’d wanted answers the day she’d stepped out of the hospital, after her conversation with Bea. But, her mind wandered back to everything that had happened with Nell, with Remmy, with Rio, with Nadia… She hadn’t had time for some spill your secrets session. At Nell’s suggestion of drawing straws, she rolled her eyes. “Fuck me, no. Let’s just get it over with.” Holding up her hand, Luce attempted to tap into the magic she’d felt that night at the Ring, consumed with worry and fear. Fire sprang to life at her fingertips, the flames just as blue they’d been since the day she’d heard of Bea’s death. Trying her best to focus in on the magic, she gritted her teeth and threw more power into the flames, willing them to-- the flames sputtered for a moment, crackled, and the barest hints of electricity arced through the air. With a wave, the magic dissipated. “I’ve been trying to learn lightning magic for the past fucking six years. It’s not necromancy or demon summoning. But yeah.”

There was a bubble of nerves in her stomach as Bea stood with her sisters. She had poured herself a glass of whiskey, but barely sipped from it now. She knew why they were in the kitchen, it had been a place of comfort for all of them before. “It’s best if we leave me to last, you two probably have a lot to ask me.” She would if she was them. She certainly had questions for Nell. As Luce showed them her secret, a smile took Bea’s face. Now that was amazing. Lightning. She had never even considered using her fire to create something like that when she had been alive. “Not necromancy or demon summoning, but it’s pretty amazing. You’re learning that by yourself?” Bea surprised herself when she heard the proud tone to her words. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sounded like her old self. She supposed it would make sense that one of her sisters brought it out of her. “I’ve never even heard of someone using lightning magic before.” Her finger idly went around the rim of her glass, considering her middle sister.

It made sense that Luce wouldn’t be as reluctant to show her secret as the others might be. Nell didn’t think that lightning magic was something that had the power to tear them apart, but her gaze still lit up as she took in the pretty and powerful way the magic crackled from Luce’s palms. Still, she internally flinched at the mention of demon summoning, a learned panic flaring up at the mention of it. Did Bea realize what Luce was insinuating by mentioning it in the same sentence as necromancy? She tried to focus on Luce, but it was difficult with the dread building inside of her. Nevertheless, Nell’s intrigue and admiration came through her words. “‘How long have you been able to do lightning? That’s pretty badass.” Perhaps she didn’t quite understand it as much as Bea did, seeing as she’d never been a fire elemental, but she could still support her sister in how cool it was in general. “But same, I haven’t seen someone use lightning like that before.” Should she mention her own strange magic that had seemingly popped up? Luce already knew about it, and it wasn’t exactly something she considered a secret. This was secret time, wasn’t it?

For the first time in years, Luce squirmed under the scrutiny of her sisters. They’d always been the focus of attention, either from their parents or from others. Having them stare at her, compliment her, admire her… It was everything she’d wanted growing up, but having it now? It felt wrong. Strange. Foreign. Shrugging, Luce glanced over at Bea’s glass of whiskey, idly wondering why her sister hadn’t gone for gin. “Other people have done it in the past. I read about it one day while going through some of Mom’s books and… just kinda latched onto it. Been doing a lot of reading since then.” She said with a sigh. “It’s part of why I got my cabin. I wanted to focus on figuring it all out on my own.” At Nell’s question, she shifted uneasily. “The first time I did it was at the Ring, but it felt… I don’t know. It felt familiar. Like I’d done it before.” She muttered, thoughts drifting to the spider web of scars across her chest. With a shake of her head, she glanced at Bea. “Yeah… Yours should be last. Your turn, Nellie.”

As her pride simmered, Bea considered Luce, eyes narrowed with thought. Her sister had always been powerful, but this was a different type of power. It was rare and to those who didn’t understand elemental magic, it was scary. Luce had kept it from them, but her secret had power to it. It wasn't magic that Luce would be attacked for either. Bea was sure that if they got that information circling around to the right people, they would begin to solidify the notion that coming after the Vurals was a fool’s errand. “I can ask someone I know if they have any more books on it.” If Leah could find her tomes on necromancy, she could find Luce information on lightning, but she would never betray Leah’s trust by mentioning what position she had. Her friend could tell Bea’s sisters if she wanted to. “Should start to come easier for you then, if it feels familiar now.” That’s how necromancy had started to work for her after coming back. She was sure the same feeling could be applied to Luce. She turned to look at Nell, eyebrow raised,“Come on, spill.”

Nell’s own mind began to whir as Bea mentioned books. Why hadn’t she thought of that for her own attempts to look into whatever was happening with her magic? Like Luce, she also fidgeted under her sisters’ eyes, though it was for different reasons than the lightning bearer. Most of the time Nell was the center of attention between the three of them and their mother, it was because she was in trouble, and it was hard to shake that feeling now that she was going to get into the things she’d been most afraid her sisters’ would judge her for, possibly even hate her for. But Bea had also broken the rules, and Luce had too now. So that was something, right? They wouldn’t cast her out? “Well- you both already know about the Ring by now. That was part of the reason August came after us,” she said quickly, inclining her head towards Bea. “I started working for them a bit before I got home. But the uh- bigger reason he came after me was that he also saw me summoning a demon.” Summoning a demon like their grandmother had done. “He wanted to out me to the coven to get me kicked.” Luce already knew this part, but she still needed to tell it to Bea. “But I panicked- the coven is- you know it’s the only place I can...do things right.” A place where she wasn’t a freak, or constantly berated by her mother at all times. “I didn’t want to lose that. I tried to take his memories, but I fucked it up. They came back, painfully. And he decided he was done with me, I guess.” Now all she could do was brace herself for whatever her sisters might say.

"I... yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." Luce said, slightly taken aback by her sister’s easy offering of help. She'd been working on this for so long, determined to find some kind of way to outshine Bea, to rise above Nell's trouble making streak. And now that she'd accomplished that, it didn't matter. She realized now that her pursuit of this strange and new power had been... petty. Attention, validation, it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The only thing that mattered was that her family was safe. And now, she had power that could ensure they would never be bothered again. If she could only control it. Luce looked over at Nell, listening intently to her younger sisters words. It wasn't all that different from the story Nell had told her back in the shed with August all those months ago. Just... a few key fucking details left out. Luce looked at the scarred skin of Nell's arms and remembered the way her sister's skin had been peeled back from her flesh. She remembered the way she'd looked when she'd emerged from the Ring, exhausted and drained. Nell had suffered enough. She didn't need to deal with criticism from them now. "What happened happened. Nothing we can do about it now. How long had you been doing this sort of thing? Just when you left home? Or before that?" She asked, wondering just how long they'd all been keeping secrets from one another.

Only two months ago, Bea would have looked at her youngest sister with disdain, ignoring her own hypocrisy. She had been comfortable ignoring the rules she was breaking, while dishing out judgment at every turn. She hummed as Nell spoke,“Guess you’re more like Grandma than we wanted to admit.” They had been taught to think of their grandmother with disgust, her use of magic being something bad. It was pretty amusing to think of how much they had turned out like her. There was a part of Bea that wanted to tell Nell she should have never attempted memory magic without help, but it wasn’t like the youngest Vural thought she would get support with this. Things would have ended up very differently if Nell thought she could come to Bea. “So that’s how you knew how to bind Greg. I was wondering for a while, but never thought I’d get a straight answer out of you.” She finally took a sip of her drink, letting the strong taste wash over her mouth. “Did you start doing it because you couldn’t do fire?” She knew that question was stepping into sensitive territory, but it was the only path Bea saw leading to summoning demons.

Nell’s shoulders relaxed in the slightest with the realization that she wasn’t about to be burned at the stake, and a small snort of relief passed over her as Bea made the comparison. “Well...technically, I guess I learned from her. I found some of her journals mom was hiding a long time ago and...well...read them and stuff.” It had been nice, almost comforting to read the words of someone that seemed to understand and was also in her family. She could only assume Luce meant how long she’d been working with demons. “I found the journals when I was fourteen. But I didn’t manage to summon any sort of demon until I was seventeen, during the summer between junior and senior year.” She’d worked hard that summer, all too engrossed with what she’d been working on. “But yeah, that’s how I knew what to do with Greg. I was hoping you’d think it just stopped at binding when it happened. And you were right in thinking you wouldn’t get a straight answer,” she finished with a dry chuckle. Nell shrugged at Bea’s question, not entirely sure how to answer it. “I mean- I started summoning cause I couldn’t do fire, obviously. I had to do something. And I understood it, you know? And demons were just...a deeper branch of summoning. I was curious and intrigued and I wanted to know if I could.” She’d wanted to be good at something, not even for her family, but for herself.

At Bea's pointed question, Luce's jaw clenched slightly. Of course she must have gotten started on this shit because she didn't have fire magic-- why else would Nell do something like that? Their whole lives, their mother had praised fire magic above all else and slandered their grandmother for defying the laws of nature. And yeah. Maybe it was fucked up. Maybe it was messing with forces beyond their control. But, any hesitation she'd had surrounding that kind of magic had long faded. She'd willingly fought alongside a hellhound, she'd studied necromancy, she'd helped resurrect Bea. She'd gone against every rule she once abided by... in the name of family. "Well, you succeeded." She said with a nod. "You haven't made any deals with any, right?" The last thing she needed to worry about was fighting a fucking demon for Nell's firstborn or some shit. As she thought more about Nell delving into their grandmother's journals, Luce blinked. "The journals-- is that where you learned about the body manipulation thing?" She asked, mimicking the way that August's hand had snapped backwards before the resurrection. Or had that just been something Nell has discovered on her own? Either way, it was fucking terrifying. Incredible, amazing, but terrifying too.

Bea’s mouth twitched up as she heard the reason Nell started summoning demons. Hadn’t that been part of the reason Bea has started doing necromancy. She had wanted to see how far she could go with the most banned magic. “Deals would be a pretty bad idea, but I’m sure Nell already knows that. She’s the expert after all.” The words slid easily off her tongue, but it felt strange to praise her over demons. Parts of Bea understood the danger of that. Parts of her wanted to weaponize that danger. She looked over to Luce sharply, eyes glittering with the new information. “Body manipulation? What does that mean?” She couldn’t control the excitement in her voice, already thinking of how powerful her sister must be to do something like that.

The way Bea and Luce seemed to talk about the demon summoning as if it were just another day in their lives...it was monumental in Nell’s eyes, to realize that she wasn’t going to be cast out from them for what she was practicing. “Deals are usually bad, yes.” She had to answer Luce’s question, though. “I’ve made some, if I’m being honest. But never any that that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to deliver on, or be tricked by.” Apparently they thought this was also a good time to talk about whatever new thing her magic had been doing, though. She wasn’t sure what to make of Bea’s excitement, but it was certainly better than the alternative. “No, that’s...different. I still don’t really get how it works. But it happened when Montgomery was going to kill me, and I accidentally did it to Kaden once too when things were...not great. I wanted them to stop and then they just...did. It hurt too, apparently.” She couldn’t help the glint beginning to shine in her eyes, remembering what she’d seen in the mirrors when it came to the power, the heart she’d held in her hand. “Kaden said it felt like his insides were being pulled in different directions or something. Maybe I could look in that for books, too. It felt...familiar but...not. I don’t know, it was strange. And then I did on the smaller scale with August’s hand.”

“Uh huh.” Luce said, more than a little uncomfortable by the fact that Nell had made deals with demons. She didn’t want to know what kind of payments she’d made, or what kind of deals she’d made. As much as she hated the idea of secrets, there were some things she just didn’t want to know. Nodding, Luce recalled what Nell had told her about her encounter with Montgomery. At her words about Kaden, she raised an eyebrow though. “Interesting.” She said slowly. Familiar but not. That was almost exactly how she’d felt about the lightning magic that coursed through her. Familiar in the way that fire had been, but altogether different from anything she’d ever felt before. Hm. Glancing over at Bea, she couldn’t help but wonder just who her sister was now. Since coming back, she was still her sister, still the same woman from before. But… there were definite changes. “Your turn. How long have you been at… all of this?” She gestured off-handedly, unsure of how else to put the subject to words. Necromancy.

A frown tugged at Bea’s face as Nell told them that she had in fact made deals with demons before. Even if the younger woman believed that she could take on whatever they wanted, it seemed like a dangerous game to play. She supposed, though, that all of them had been playing a dangerous game for a long time. She tilted her head at Nell, “You can just do it whenever you want?” Humming she took another sip of her drink,“We all need to practice these magics. We’ll need that strength soon.” She wanted them all to be the best they could be when they destroyed the hunter. “Just before I stopped coming to coven meetings. So about a year and a half now. We always talked about banned magic and I had always wanted to know why necromancy was banned.” She had been afraid for years to research it, terrified of what would happen if someone found out. Funny how if she had listened to the coven, she wouldn’t be alive now. “The more I read about it the more I wanted to try it. And when I tried it, I was good at it. It almost felt as natural as fire.”

“I can get the hellhounds whenever I want,” Nell said carefully. “And Greg too since he’s bound to me. Smaller demons are easier to do on the fly, but if you wanted someone powerful it takes more planning. But you can always do that beforehand, and then bind them to something while you wait for whatever it is you summoned them for. They don’t like being seen as tools though, obviously. I’ve developed the summoning...pretty well. I definitely want to figure out the other thing, though. The one that hurt Kaden and Montgomery. I think that could be...definitely useful. With them it was sort of instinctual magic, but I was able to do it intentionally with August.” Well enough to have summoned creatures people didn’t often feel comfortable enough to say aloud, or even knew the names of. As for why they’d need the strength...Nell could guess why. “Montgomery,” she simply said, letting the name fall between them all, the single word spiked with disdain and anger. But as she listened to Bea, she realized she only had more questions. “Is it mostly necromancy that you were exploring? Or was there anything else new?” She’d heard from Kaden about talk of shadows and the like, but she wanted to let Bea tell her if that’s what she wished.

Nell’s words made sense-- she’d seen her sister summon the hellhounds like it was nothing. If she could do that, it didn’t surprise her that Nell was capable of summoning even greater demons. Fingers flexing instinctively at Bea’s words, Luce’s thoughts were spoken aloud by her younger sister. The hunter. The murderer. They’d dealt with August, wet the earth with his blood to bring Bea back. And now that she was back, now that all three of them had laid their cards on the table, it was time for Montgomery to face the consequences of his actions. “If it felt natural to you, that’s pretty fucking impressive. It didn’t feel that way for me at all.” She said, still remembering the way the magic had felt as it coursed through her body. Tilting her head at Nell’s words, she frowned. “Something else new?” She echoed, wondering what the younger woman meant by that.

Bea was far more interested in hearing about the body manipulation, but she listened carefully nonetheless about the demons. “Well, if Greg is bound to you, can you evict him from my house and call him whenever you need him,” She asked with no bite. The demon hadn’t bothered her in some time, but she had not let go of her grudge against him. She still found him a little annoying. “You can always try to practice your body manipulation on my new friend. He doesn’t feel pain. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll find other ways for you to practice.” Bea refused to call the hunter by his name, if she could help it. To her, he didn’t deserve to have that from her. Hearing his name made her smile sharp, eyes angry, fingers tight against her glass. “Yes, for him. I’m taking his head and I think it would do him well to understand what we all gave up to bring me back.” She would see that man ruined. He would never know peace, she was going to make sure of that. “It was only necromancy. I haven’t been looking into anything else. I don’t know why it felt natural, but it does. Even more now. I guess it’s because it’s all I have now, since my fire is gone.” She had never explicitly said she had lost her fire, but she was sure her sisters had guessed it.

Nell wasn’t all that sure what to make of the Greg comment, remembering how it had been one of their grander fights before Bea had died, so instead brushed past it in her uncertainty of what to do with it. “He doesn’t?” she asked curiously, already mulling the thought over. “I mean that’d be...great, then. If I can just sort of experiment on him.” Even if the vision of the heart in her hand had worried her in the Hall of Mirrors, she was still curious enough to see if it could be a reality. Or something she could work up to. “You want to keep the head?” Nell asked, also not entirely clear on what Bea’s plans for it would be. “I definitely want to kill him too, but also make him hurt before he gets to die.” She didn’t want to push Bea, entirely. But the point of this was that there would be no more secret, so Nell decided to ask outrightly. “Someone mentioned that they saw some sort of like...shadowy magic pooling around you.” As for the fire...Nell wasn’t entirely sure what to say. It was something she couldn’t fully understand, having never used fire herself. “Well...at least now we outnumber Luce?” she said, trying to bring some levity to the words.

Luce listened to her sisters intently, mulling over their words. From Bea’s cold, callous words of violence and murder, to Nell’s quick agreement and eagerness to join in… She wanted Montgomery to pay, of course she did. She wanted him to feel the consequences of his actions. And if it boiled down to death… A slight chill went down Luce’s spine as she realized that she was just as eager to play her part, to work with her sisters to stop him. She’d killed before-- she’d killed August and even before that… she’d killed monsters. Killed creatures that tried to hurt her, that would have killed her without a second thought. And Montgomery? He was just another one of those monsters. “Death’s almost too good for him, but… it’ll do.” Luce said with a nod. She folded her arms across her chest while the other two talked about practicing on Bea’s new friend-- a corpse? Must be. Swallowing at the mention of Bea’s fire going out, Luce did her best to shoot Nell a grin. “Guess that makes me the odd one out for once. Go figure.”

“No one has ever written about how they feel pain and he’s never reacted poorly to anything I’ve had him do. Not that he reacts to anything,” Bea shrugged. Of course, if it turned out that he did feel pain, she would feel pretty badly about it. She wasn’t sure she would stop, but she would feel bad. “I just don’t want it to be with his body. If he comes back as a ghost, I want him to feel how I did when I realized my head was away from my body.” There was no way to explain how it felt being unaware of what was happening to parts of her body. Bea shrugged,“Kaden saw them when I was mad at the waitress, but I didn’t see them. I wasn’t casting any magic either, so I’m not sure why they were there.” She lifted her hand, staring down at it. She tried to summon something, but nothing truly changed. The light grew dimmer around her fingers, but she knew that could be some trick of her eyes. “How does it feel, Luce?”

“Alright...sure, yeah that doesn’t sound like a terrible idea if he doesn’t feel anything.” If Nell could practice on Bea’s resurrected corpse, that would be the best way to hone the new skill, wouldn’t it? “So what are you gonna do with him?” Nell wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about Bea stealing a body if they still had loved ones around to mourn them, but hopefully Bea would choose bodies respectfully. As for Montgomery not having a head, Nell’s grin grew sharper when her sister’s reasoning was given. “I like that. Good. He better not fucking come back, though.” As for the shadow magic or whatever it was, it seemed Bea was uncertain. “He seemed to think it was magic. Maybe another thing that’ll be worth exploring?” Her lips pursed as Bea’s flames continued to evade her, wishing her sister didn’t have to deal with the fallout of losing such a big part of her magic. “I’m sorry,” Nell apologized reflexively. If they’d done the ritual correctly, Bea would be sitting here with her flames in all their former glory. “And I’d say welcome to the club, Luce- but then you wouldn’t be the odd one out.”

Though they weren’t the same thing-- a resurrected corpse and a zombie were different-- Luce couldn’t help the slight lurch in her stomach at the idea of Nell practicing her body manipulating magic on the corpse. It reminded her too much of Remmy and she didn’t want to think about them right now. Uncrossing her arms, she drummed her fingers against the counter. Murder. Death. Torture. Months ago, she would have balked at the idea. Would have wondered why it was necessary to do something like that, when fear or posturing could get the job done. Not anymore. She’d learned that sometimes, death was the only way to truly protect others from harm. And she had learned there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her family. It had taken a twisted, fucked up lesson, but it had made her stronger. Made them all stronger. “If he comes back, we’ll send him back to Hell where he belongs.” She muttered darkly. But, the mood shifted slightly, from one of anger back to mild teasing and she relaxed a fraction. “Ah, you know me. I can manage just fine on my own.” Luce said with a wave of her hand.

“He’s around for protection and if I need help in the house,” Bea answered easily. She would wait to make more. She didn’t want to be grave robbing that often and she did understand, in some ways, how families would be upset if they knew what she was doing. She would be angry if someone did this to her body, but she needed this. “We’ll find a way to get rid of him if he comes back,” She told her sister resolutely. She considered this for a second, could she have become the opposite of once she once had? “I don’t know how to try to bring it back, Nell. Everything else came back naturally.” She had never once struggled with her fire magic, she didn’t know how to struggle when it came to the magic she was supposed to have. She shrugged off her sister’s apology,“I walked through death, of course I was going to come back different. At least I still have my magic. That’s what I was scared of.”

Protection certainly wasn’t a terrible idea. In fact, maybe it’d help Nell sleep a little easier at night around the house, knowing that there was something helping to protect her sisters. She certainly needed the peace of mind with all the trouble she’d had as of late including nightmares of her sisters and friends deaths in addition to being trapped below the Ring. “We’ll find a way to get rid of him,” Nell echoed in determination. She’d rip his soul to shreds herself if she needed to. It was true what Bea said, it was probably lucky that she even had her magic to begin with. Nell should be thankful. But it was hard to be thankful when she was the reason Bea even needed to worry about her missing fire magic in the first place. “But you’re right. You’re back now, that’s what matters.” The words sounded more like a lame attempt to convince herself rather than agreement. However, she supposed they’d done what they came here to do. There’d be no more secrets between the sisters. Their power would be as one. Just as they’d been born to be.

#chatzy #ch:bea #wickedswriting #ch:luce

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ryqoshay · 3 years

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How to Handle a Nico 10

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~2.6k Rating: G Time Frame: Maki is a surgeon. Nico is working as an idol producer. They are living together as a happily married couple.

Author’s Note: A bunch of cobbled together headcanons that I hope to someday expand upon and turn into full scenes in their own right, just like the rest of the numbered chapters. This one was inspired by VNVdarkangel’s fiception story about Egao Jōshō, to which I will link in the followup post.

“Nico Nico Ni~!” Nico sang as soon as she entered the room.

“Nico Nico Ni~!” An excited group of children sang in return, mimicking the twin-tailed idol’s signature gesture.

“Someone’s as popular as ever with the kids.” Tsubasa murmured to a redhead beside her, just loud enough to ensure Nico could hear.

“That’s because she is still like a kid.” Maki replied in a similar volume.

Nico resisted gritting her teeth and maintained her smile as she continued to greet the audience. The small room was packed from wall to wall with inpatient children, some in wheelchairs and one in a gurney. All were ready for a brief respite from their routines of surgeries, treatments, therapies and whatever else was being done to help them recover. Several attending staff members were also present as well as a handful of parents or other family members.

“Thank you for that wonderful greeting!” Nico cheered. “Now let’s all thank the woman who continues to ensure these concerts can occur; the amazingly adorable Dr. Maki-chan!” She swung her arms around in an exaggerated manner to indicate the woman beside her.

“Thank you, Dr. Maki-chan!” the children turned their attention to the named redhead.

“N-Nico-chan…” Maki protested quietly, unable to resist a blooming blush across her cheeks as she bowed in acknowledgement of the thanks.

Well, that was sufficient revenge against Maki. Nico then decided to leave getting back at Tsubasa for later. For now, she had a concert to run.

Nico took the single step up onto the raised section at the front of the room. It was an area small enough that her old school idol group, µ’s, would have barely fit with enough room to dance in place and have been hard pressed to perform larger scale choreography. Still, a stage was a stage, and Nico lived for every moment upon one. Likewise, an audience was an audience, and Nico’s heart pounded in anticipation as she turned to face a small sea of smiling faces.

Tsubasa gave a quick countdown with her fingers from her position at the karaoke machine and the moment she hit Play, the concert began.

By the gods, the thrill never faded. Nico threw herself into her performance with the same passion as when she had shared the stage with µ’s. It didn’t matter that she had been doing this for years. It didn’t matter that she could only dedicate a woefully small fraction of her time to the stage as her primary duties were to run her company. It didn’t matter that the high majority of the idols currently contracted with her company were around a decade younger than her. Nico was born to perform and would always give everything she had to her fans. Even if her fanbase eventually shrunk to just one person…

One fan…

There had been a couple times in her life that Nico had believed she had lost her entire fanbase; that she was hopelessly lost as an idol. The second half of her first and the entirety of her second year in high school, she had stewed alone in the clubroom, growing more bitter and jaded with each passing day. But the fiery passions within her had been reignited when she joined µ’s in her third year. It was in that group that she found a fiery redhead who captured her attention and became someone whose attention she sought in return.

Nico’s gaze found the redhead, no longer an idol, but now a doctor, leaning casually against the doorframe, ready to slip away swiftly and stealthily should some situation arise somewhere in the hospital. Maki, her wife and by far and away her favorite fan.

Maki was there the second time Nico thought she had lost it all, when the fact that the two were dating became a scandal that ended her solo idol career. Nozomi, Eli and the rest of her friends did their best to show Nico that she wasn’t alone this time, but looking back, Nico knew little of it would have mattered if she had lost Maki then. But she didn’t. Maki remained by her side, supporting her however she could and regularly reminding her of her duties as an idol; making people smile, even if just one person.

Also, years ago, in a rare moment of utter openness, Maki had admitted that when Nico was in the audience, she was the only one that mattered. Certainly, Maki loved sharing her music with others, especially those close to her. In fact, it was for this reason that she didn’t put up resistance when Honoka continued to insist on having Christmas reunions at the Nishikino home, even years after everyone had graduated. However, everyone else seemed to disappear if Nico was around as Maki had come to enjoy the attention Nico paid her. And as time went by, she started to crave it.

Nico hadn’t really thought about things in the same way Maki had explained them, but she realized that she held a similar sentiment. As much as Nico loved the lights, the cameras, the crowd, the cheers, the giddy and giggling girls anxiously awaiting autographs, it all paled in comparison to the attention and adoration of one fan. And the fact that Maki felt the same in return made it all the better.

Enthusiastic applause and cheers filled the room as the final song of the set came to an end, bringing Nico back to reality from the euphoric trance her performance had induced within her. She bowed and thanked the audience before relinquishing the stage to another raven-haired woman.

The younger idol was one who had taken Egao’s college program that allowed her to take classes alongside beginning her career as an idol. Recently, she had earned her degree and thus fulfilled her parents’ requirements. Immediately, she signed a full-time contract and dived headlong into the world of idols with a passion rivaling the likes of Egao’s founding members. This of course included active participation in the company’s volunteer program as often as possible, like today’s concert.

Nico made her way toward her wife while the stage behind her was set ablaze by the intensity of the performance.

“Another good show.” Maki said quietly so as not to distract from the idol on stage.

Nico offered a grateful smile before turning her back to the wall, leaning into her wife and resting her head on the taller woman’s shoulder.

“You’re definitely doing your duty as an idol, today, Nico-chan.” Maki continued, surprising Nico by sliding her hand into hers and intertwining their fingers. “Just look at all those smiles.” She smiled as well as she gazed fondly at the room as a whole. “You know, some days I believe this program does more good for these kids than all of the PT and treatments combined.”

Nico chuckled. “I dunno, I may sing my heart out up there, but I can’t mend a broken bone or treat any sort of disease, unlike my marvelous Maki-chan.”

“But you help ease the stress of the whole ordeal of being in a hospital as a child. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to definitively quantify the amount of improvements made. But there is no doubt that this makes a difference.” She squeezed her wife’s hand. “You make a difference. And I can’t thank you enough for keeping this project running.”

Nico decided to let Maki have the last point and offered her a hand squeeze in return. Sure, it had originally been Nico’s idea to start holding concerts in the Nishikino hospital, but the project would have never gotten off the ground had it not been for Maki.

Well, spinoff project, really. Egao’s volunteer program predated the production company itself. It all started with a request from Hanayo for Nico to help an overextended Rin. The orange-haired young woman had been working an internship position at a local school and was recognized by the fledgling idol group there. Though Rin wasn’t the type to complain about it, Hanayo was sensitive to the stress caused by trying to maintain a classwork, an internship and help a newly formed school idol group.

Nico, who was spending most of her days then awaiting approvals and licensing for this and that to get Egao up and running, had more free time to lend assistance to the group. Then Hanayo made a few appearances after her classes. Soon after, Tsubasa, Erena and Anju took time out of their schedules as well. Everyone involved had so much fun working with the up and coming idols that they quickly agreed with Nico’s idea to turn it into one of the cornerstones of Egao’s business philosophies.

Thus, the Pro Bono Schola Idoli project began. Just as lawyers in many areas were expected to put in so many hours a month for clients unable to pay normal rates, so too would Egao expect their employees to assist the next generations of idols. The project grew to include all areas, from pushing past trouble points in song writing to reviewing choreography, as well as donating materials for costume creation or making connections to secure areas for live performances. Naturally, the idols were expected to do the bulk of the work themselves, but quite often, even something as simple as receiving praise, criticism and advice from professionals was enough to boost moral for many groups.

It was through this program that Egao earned much of its notoriety in the industry and Nico began to worry about having enough volunteers to fill the incoming requests. But, much to her delight, such a situation rarely came to pass. In fact, after a couple years, the project began being mentioned by new hires and contractors as being a reason for their desire to work with Egao. And of course, with that level of popularity, other companies began to take notice and slowly, ever so slowly, started rolling out similar programs of their own, though to nowhere near a degree as Egao.

But a live idol performance in a hospital? Maki’s father had been right in saying the idea was utterly ridiculous. What had they been thinking all those years ago?

It was for the fans. Everything was always for the fans. Keep them smiling, even when, or perhaps especially when they were lying in a gurney, awaiting their terminal illness to take its final toll…

Jizenka… An amazing artist and avid fan. The first concert had been for her and had intended to be a special, onetime-only thing.

But news spread fast, and soon a nurse approached Maki about another young fan. And then another request came in. And then one for A-RISE. Then another. And another.

Nico heard from both Maki and Miyuki, the hospital’s head administrative assistant, about the heated debates among senior hospital staff as the concerts began to increase in frequency. Surprisingly, it was Maki’s father that ended up fighting the hardest to allow the concerts to continue. Through it all, he maintained his distaste for the genre of idol music but became unwavering in his position that the positive results he was seeing outweighed the potential disruptions. Certainly, it helped that all involved took extra precautions to minimalize such possible disruptions to normal hospital functions.

Eventually, and unsurprisingly, perpetual private performances proved to be unsustainable. Maki initially attempted to secure occasional use for the hospital’s auditorium, but that area wasn’t the most accessible for some patients, specifically those needing to remain in bed; the room wasn’t designed with gurneys in mind, after all.

Nico couldn’t remember who originally made the suggestion, but as the high majority of the patients attending the concerts were children, constructing a small addition to the children’s wing ended up being the best solution. The project was funded in full by generous donations from grateful parents with the excess being donated to children’s medical research. A dedicated area with full hospital level access, yet outside both general and emergency traffic paths and was an easy green light to be given by the paternal Dr. Nishikino.

Once the auditorium was built, it didn’t take long for other companies to take interest and the possibility of other, non-idol genres of productions started to become a reality. However, with two performances a week dedicated to the genre, the idols remained the most popular. Maki designated Egao as the point of contact for scheduling events and Nico maintained the position that all events would be free to those attending. Parents or others wishing to provide monetary compensation were asked instead to donate the sum to a designated list of charities, just like the excess funds from building the auditorium.

“Excuse me, Yazawa-san.” A woman said, her voice barely audible above the joyous cries of adoration as the second performer concluded her set and allowed the women of A-RISE to take the stage.

“Nico is fine.” The idol producer replied with a smile, turning toward the other woman.

“The nurse said we couldn’t buy tickets…”

Nico nodded. “That’s right, these events are free for patients and a limited number of their guests, courtesy of Egao Jōshō and the Nishikino hospital.”

A familiar expression crossed the woman’s face, one Nico had seen hundreds of times before. “My son has been a big fan of the girl who was just on stage and he was overjoyed to learn that she would be coming this week. Are you sure there is nothing I can offer, payment for an autograph or something?”

A card entered Nico’s field of vision. “Here is a list of medical charities.” She heard her wife explain. “Whatever price you believe would be appropriate, we ask that you donate that sum to one of them.”

“Thanks, Maki-chan.” Nico flashed a grin at the redhead. “Also,” she turned her attention back to the parent “if your son has any merchandise with him, we’ll be sure he gets it signed by his favorite idol. If he doesn’t have an item, we have plenty of paper.”

“Thank you.” The woman said, seeming to be holding back tears. “Truly, thank you.” With that, she bowed and made her way back to where her son sat in a wheelchair, barely having noticed her absence as his attention was held exclusively by the continuing performance on stage.

“You keep your own supply of cards now?” Nico couldn’t help murmuring to her wife.

“Of course.” Maki replied. “Your idol outfits don’t typically come with pockets.”

“True…” Nico returned to her prior position of leaning into Maki. “Say, Maki-chan, how much time do you have left before you have to go back?”

“I can stay until the end, unless some emergency happens, of course. Why?”

“Nico is starting to get hungry and now wants to have lunch with her favoritest Maki-chan before we both head back to work.”

“Oh… I’d… be alright with that…”

Nico giggled quietly, not having to look up to know the expression on the taller woman’s face. After a moment, she knelt to retrieve her phone.

No1Idol: I’m stealing Maki-chan for an early lunch

ByōinKasan: Roger that

ByōinKasan: Have fun you two

Nico smiled at the swift response from Miyuki. There was always the chance that Maki could end up being called back for something major, but at least this way, all minor things could be redirected to other staff or asked to wait a little while.

As the final song of the concert came to an end, Nico grabbed Maki’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Alright.” Maki replied, allowing herself to be led into the hall. But after a couple steps, she paused. “Ne, Nico-chan…”

“Mmm?” Nico turned as she felt resistance.

“I…” Maki glanced around, likely to ensure a lack of witnesses. “I love you.”

“I know.” Nico resisted the urge to tease her wife about her behavior. Sneaking in a quick statement like that before the hall was to be filled with people exiting the auditorium wasn’t quite as public a display as Nico liked to do herself, but for someone like Maki, it still meant a lot. “I love you too, Maki-chan.”

With their routine completed, the couple continued toward their destination of a shared lunch break.

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #fanfic

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Pulse III

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Virgil Tracy, Gordon Tracy

Part 3 of my entry for @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Touch. Part 1 | Part 2

Some complaints about being in the dark have come my way, so let me shine a little light inside the rubble. Maybe there might even be an answer or two in there!

He opened his eyes with an involuntary groan. Ow, something wasn’t right. An attempt to move resulted in his right arm screaming out in pain and he stopped. Okay, that was a problem. Keeping said arm carefully still for the moment, he turned his head to the side – registering that it was dark, and that the light from his helmet was the only thing stopping him from staring into black – to try and see his immediate surroundings and- oh. That explained it.

Where his arm should be, there was a chunk of building. Specifically, a piece of what had once been a supporting wall, he suspected, although that wasn’t particularly helpful when it was trapping his right arm and therefore a good part of the Jaws of Life, too. Wonderful.

“Thunderbird Five?” he called out, even as he continued to look around, spying his other arm – still linked in to the Jaws of Life – intact and covered in small chunks of masonry rather than one large one. John didn’t answer, which meant nothing good, because presumably his suit telemetry would be picking up on the probable damage to his right arm and sending it straight to his older brother. If John wasn’t picking up, that meant John couldn’t, and Virgil didn’t like any situation which resulted in being cut off from any of his brothers. “Scott?”

Biggest brother also remained silent, and with a groan he lifted his left arm, allowing the masonry to trickle down onto the uneven floor. Typically, the claw best suited to lifting a large chunk of fallen wall was also the claw buried under said chunk of fallen wall, but Virgil was resourceful. Rolling over onto his side and gritting his teeth against the agony of his very upset right shoulder – dislocated, probably – he got the three grabs of his precision claw securely clamped onto the offending slab of masonry.

The angle was awkward and all wrong, but this? This was what Virgil did, and no relatively small piece of wall was going to get the better of him today. With a groan that was two parts effort and three parts pain, he heaved the slab up and forced his unco-operative right arm, complete with attached exosuit, to scrape out of the way before dropping it with an almighty crash, unfortunately prompting more smaller chunks to pepper him from above.

Virgil didn’t really need the reminder that a collapsed building was not a safe place to be in. Ideally, he’d like a map of the place, complete with locations of other trapped individuals, so he could continue his job. His right arm – both the dislocated shoulder and the probable broken radius and/or ulna – would have to wait until he got out of there.

Some of his brothers, naming no names of course, would continue to use the Jaws of Life with a broken arm, claiming that it was splinting the injury and therefore causing no further damage, but then, that was why this particular equipment had his name on them. He could be trusted not to do anything stupid with the heavy duty equipment, which was exactly why he wasn’t removing it, and already looking to find a weak point in his small air pocket to work his way free of the rubble.

Beyond his small prison, there was the sound of sobbing. He couldn’t make out any words, but it was clear to him that at least one person was there, in trouble, and a broken arm was not going to stop him from saving them. Still, let it not be said that Virgil was as reckless as certain brothers. He left his right arm hanging limp, supported by the equally mangled right claw, and focused all of his strength into his left.

Being ambidextrous was an absolute must in this job, and not for the first time in his life, Virgil was glad that he could control his left hand to the same degree of accuracy as his right as, slowly, piece after broken piece of masonry piled up behind him. The good thing about having the Jaws of Life was that it made moving heavy masonry possible, even with a single hand. The bad thing about having the Jaws of Life meant that his already built frame was made even bulkier and he had to make a bigger hole so that he could squeeze through without causing another cave-in.

“Hello?” he called, poking his head through the hole as soon as it was big enough for his helmet and seeing two figures several paces from his current location. One was lying down, a crumpled heap with too much masonry on top of them for him to have much hope, while the other seemed to be a teenage girl. The sobbing was coming from the girl, and from the looks of it she was crying over the other body.

Neither responded to his call.

“Hello?” he tried again, louder this time. “I’m with International Rescue.”

The wailing just got louder, and he pulled his head back, eyeing the hole critically to work out the best way to expand it. He had at least two individuals almost within reach, and almost wasn’t good enough. It was tempting to shoulder the rest of the masonry out of the way, but if he did that he could well bring the whole thing down on top of them.

No, he had to go carefully.

“I’m working my way to you!” he called to the pair, just to keep them in the loop even as they continued to ignore him. He’d long since stopped taking that personally – panic did strange things to the mind.

The tremors were mild to begin with, so mild Virgil barely noticed them until a small trickle of mortar started to fall from the hole he was making. Another earthquake? No, it wasn’t right for that. Too regular, too predictable, too-

Woah.

Virgil was forced to jump back from a familiar nose cone bursting through the rubble just by his hole-in-progress.

A Mole Pod? They were using Mole Pods? That seemed a bit risky, although Virgil admitted their options were somewhat limited.

“Virgil!”

The hatch lifted to reveal a dirt-streaked grin of pure relief belonging to the next Tracy down in the line. Gordon looked okay, if more brown and grey than blue and yellow, and Virgil relaxed at the sight of assistance and a route out.

“There are two people just through there,” he said, jumping straight into rescue-mode. They could deal with the whole we lost contact and oh my arm is broken stuff later. “A teenage girl and a half-buried individual.” Gordon made a face and immediately Virgil knew it wasn’t good news.

“John’s only got two lifesigns at these co-ordinates,” Gordon told him. “Your gear’s not responding to Thunderbird Five – which Johnny’s going crazy about, by the way – so one of them is you.”

Virgil had already suspected it wouldn’t be a happy ending, but it never got any easier.

“You go on ahead and get the girl,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.” Gordon was already shaking his head.

“Your comms are down, your exosuit looks like Grandma tried to cook it, and don’t think I don’t know what a broken arm looks like, Virge. You’re coming up to the surface where you can reassure our totally-not-terrified big brother.”

“Scott’s up top?” That didn’t sound like Scott. Scott would be throwing himself into the rubble at the head of the pack, long before he let the terrible two near the Mole Pods.

Gordon pulled another face Virgil didn’t like.

“Not Scott, our other big brother, the one who lost all traces of you when the second quake hit.” He shook his head, opening his mouth as if he had something else to say, but then closing it again. “We’ll get the girl out, then all three of us are going back up top.”

Virgil frowned at him, but Gordon had already closed the hatch again, restarting the Mole Pod to create a secure path to the girl weeping over a corpse.

What wasn’t Gordon telling him?

Part 4

#sensorysunday #sensorysunday2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #pulse

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Bad Ideas Make Good Memories (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by @queen-destenie | Prompt:

i live for you qUEEN! i LOVE your writing. if you have the time, could you do a fic where reader is the most reckless badass and Cal is like ‘wait don’t do THAT’ and she is just ‘im living life BABYY’. she does the most insane things that always somehow work and Cal is literally like what the F*CK’. reader is basically a GOD. please and thank you

Additional tags: Rebel fleet, rebel base

Also in AO3

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

The jump was lucky—partially.

It’s not every day pilots see a Jedi girl climbing up the front face of a TIE Assault Shuttle.

“That kid’s crazy!” one of the pilots exclaimed.

“Should we shake her off?!” the co-pilot suggested.

It was too late for them to try out that plan, because you’ve already kicked the entry hatch open and jumped in.

“Hello there!” you beamed.

From behind, you sensed a Scout Trooper and his commander lunge at you with their batons but you easily deflected both of their weapons.

“Oh, she’s a bold one!” the scout trooper blurted.

You repaid that comment with a smug smile and quickly got rid of the troopers. The pilots couldn’t take their eyes off of the Jedi, alternating their attention between the controls and you. They knew they were next when the two scouts troopers fell dead on the floor of the ship. One of them resumed control over the ship, it was the one who proposed to swerve the ship when you were still outside—and he put his plan to work.

Both pilots hung tight on their seats while you pawed the air in search for something to hold on to. You hugged the wall for support as they continued swerving the ship.

From the rebels’ point of view, they saw the large TIE hovering and swerving in place. They could only imagine what’s happening inside that ship.

“Look at TIE, it looks like it’s out of control!” Aqua Five pointed out.

“But we didn’t hit it!” Maroon Eight replied.

“No, that’s [y/n]!” Cal cut in, shepherding your Interceptor into the skirmish and letting R-12 take on the guns while you’re away. “Try not to get roasted, R-12!”

“Beeee-woop!”

“Yeah, she’s insane,” Cal repeated, agreeing with your own droid’s comment. “Good thing she’s not hearing that!”

“[y/n] is… driving that TIE?!” the operator exclaimed, absolutely flabbergasted at the stunt you pulled. “The droid’s controlling her ship! That kid’s crazy!”

While the AT-ATs are still out of range, the rebels still have a fighting chance in protecting the base. Cal continued taking on the reins of command.

“Guns, see if two of you can take down the AT-ATs!” the ground command radioed and Cal overheard.

“No, their armor is impregnable! Their weak spots are too narrow for our guns!” Cal cuts in.

“Well, what do you suggest, Interceptor One?”

“Tow cables!” Cal cried in epiphany. “Maroon Three, follow my lead!”

“Copy that, Interceptor One!”

The ship tailed Cal. They sank on the fine line between the tree canopies and the legs of the iron giants. The young Jedi connected his communication to his companion.

“Maroon Three, you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Interceptor!”

Cal instructed the fighter to fly low enough in the same level as the AT-ATs’ knees before releasing their tow cables.

“Three passes should be enough! Don’t worry about their fire, the heads can’t look down that low!”

Meanwhile, back in the TIE shuttle, the ship continued to swerve and the nausea frustrated you. When the pilot opened fire, you evaded that single shot that cost the pilots their lives—you’re standing behind the auxiliary power grid and that blast met a different mark.

The auxiliary power was now cooked and is sputtering sparks all over. You finished off the pilots as soon as the swerving ceased when the one who opened fire realized his grave mistake. You took over the pilot’s seat and made quick work of converting its frequency to open range.

“That TIE shuttle’s trying to transmit something,” Cere spotted the soundwave register in the screen from the base.

“This is [y/n] of Interceptor Two, I have hacked the TIE shuttle’s communications. The auxiliary power has been damaged, integrity is at 60% but is going down fast!”

“Get out of there, [y/n], or you’ll go down with it!”

You heeded Cere’s warning, but you weren’t able to reply—your attention was immediately stolen by the thundering thud of the metal giant stumbling to the forest floor, followed by the loud twang of a snapped tow cable around the second AT-AT’s legs. You steered the TIE shuttle to face the last AT-AT standing, the transmitter beeped to your end.

It was Cal, “[y/n], what are you doing this time?”

“Relax, I got it covered!”

“I hope it does because from the looks of it—no, it doesn’t!”

“Just tell R-12 that I’ll be hitching a ride in a bit!”

You found the lever for the auto-pilot and cranked the gear to the highest speed, you stepped back, aligning to the entry hatch above your head as the TIE shuttle rams towards the AT-AT. The TIE was now mere inches away from the walker—that was your cue to escape through the same way you came in—and you’re already sprinting away from the TIE and onto the walker—which was more stable ground.

“There she is, R-12! On the walker’s back, hurry!”

“Beeee!”

The droid steered the Interceptor to your exact location while retracting the glass dome cover of the cockpit, he was close but the surface you’re standing on was beginning to incline and you had to stand on fours to keep yourself stable.

“Come on, R-12!” you encouraged through the grit of your teeth.

“BEEEEE!! TRILL, WOOP!”

You propped yourself in a runner’s starting stance and sprang off before the TIE shuttle imploded and proceeded to take down the walker with it. Had you waited a second later, you wouldn’t have closed the distance of that leap of faith. You thudded on the hull of your Interceptor and crawled quickly to the cockpit.

“I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON YOU, BUDDY!!” you whooped and regained full control of the starfighter.

The droid scolded you and at the same time cheered you on as you flew to the dogfight. The gunships were able to cover the starfighters from a safe distance away from the rest of the TIE Fighters.

“YOU ARE INSANE!!” Cal scolded you, bellowing through your radio. “That was probably stupidest thing you’ve done this month!”

“It’s not stupid if it works!!” you screeched back, the adrenaline levels are through the roof in your system as you steered your way back to the skirmish.

Cal can’t stay mad at you, after all, he actually agreed with you on that.

The two of you opened fire at the enemy lines until none of them have gotten close or have dealt critical damage against the base.

“People on the ground, how are you back there?” you call.

“We’re still here, don’t worry! A TIE Fighter got a shot on us but nothing critical!” Cere responded. “We’re taking care of the ground quite well from the Stormtroopers here!”

“Perfect, we’ll keep it up and I’ll be just in time for a scolding once this is all over!”

Your excitement has made you reckless and your joker side is showing. Oddly enough, your out-of-place-and-time enthusiasm and optimism were boosting the squad’s morale, while still keeping a serious tone when strategizing real-time in the middle of the crossfire.

“I’m being tailed!” one of the gunship pilots screeched through his transmitter.

At the top spot of your windshield, you saw a trio of TIE Fighters tailing the gunship with a cartoonish graffiti of a thermal detonator.

“I see you, Bomber! I’m coming to you!”

“Hurry! They’re just missing me by a hair strand!”

“R-12, are my proton torpedoes charged?”

“Weee-woop!”

“Good,” you flicked open a glass cover on the dashboard, revealing a second analog controller. “This is where the fun begins!”

You accelerated the ship until you got close enough to the cluster of TIEs ganging up on the rebel gunship.

“Bomber see if you can maneuver to a curve so you’re out of the line of fire, I’m sending some torpedoes on those vermin’s way!”

“Roger!”

The gunship did as you were told and when the friendly got far enough, your targeting monitor reflected the three TIEs on your screen and when they aligned in the grid, you threw all the pressure of your thumb on the second analog controller—two torpedoes jetted through the sky while you used the guns to take down the third.

“Thanks, Interceptor Two!”

“Don’t sweat it! We need every single one to win this thing!”

Every fighter in the sky and everyone in the ground heard you. Suddenly, your confidence and bravery infected everyone. The tables have turned for the Imps. The starfighters were the ones ganging up on the lone or pairs of TIE Fighters and are thinning the herd in a dramatic scale.

“We’re slowly gaining the upper hand!” the second-in-command to Captain Miccah reported as he pointed at the blips on the holograph; there were more white and blue blips than red.

“That’s good,” Cere rubbed her hands together, shaking off the tension. “They just need to keep pushing.”

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