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animatedrapture · 3 years

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"𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖞" — suna rintarou ;

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off—luckily, you're one of the very few people who know this; especially after he comes home to you sullen after finding out he didn't make it to the olympic players.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k

𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: in lieu of the influx of toxic stoner!suna content, i offer you a piece of appreciation towards him and all that he is. i was meaning to post this in my new blog but i thought there's so much of you here who would appreciate and need this more. written on a whim at 1AM and didn't proofread so for any errors, gomen. repost because tumblr tagging hates me. cross posted on ao3 under the same username. original post here. this was written before we got information that he actually made it to the olympic team. furudate really told me to stfu, huh?

It's you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It's when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.

"My number?" You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)

"If you don't mind, 's cool if you say no," he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you'd say no.

It's funny, really. It's not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you'd say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn't so full of himself to actually think you wouldn't say no.

That's what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you're done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.

"Y/N?" He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn't wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.

"Thanks, I'll text you later," is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.

It didn't take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he's been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.

The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping with affection.

"Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?" You had questioned him before, about the second time you've seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.

"It's a once in a while kinda thing, you don't actually think I'd sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?" He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes — now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.

It's when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It's as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.

"You're really interesting, y'know that Rin?" You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.

"Yeah?"

"I mean—you've always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it."

"What makes you say that?" You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.

"C'mon, don't be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!" You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.

But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, "'s not that deep, y/n," he answers.

But you already knew better.

Suna isn't one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.

It's hard to say it wasn't amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you've met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She's quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother's comments.

"Are you sure you didn't just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?"

"Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?" Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.

"You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!" She attempts to whisper. You're not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.

"Shit, Y/N," Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink's intrusion, but Suna's quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.

"You okay?" He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, "Be careful next time," he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.

There's something about the way that his little sister doesn't seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.

After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.

"Hey, nee-san, promise you'll take care of Rin-nii? You won't break his heart, will you?" His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.

"Don't you worry, I'll promise I'll take care of him, promise I won't break his heart," your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister's gaze remains on you, as if she's assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.

It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must've missed something.

"Whatcha girls talkin' bout?" He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.

"None of your business, obviously," his sister quickly answers.

They're truly quite similar, it's enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.

"What'd she tell you?" Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.

"Nothing, Rin," you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.

You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.

It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that's been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.

Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you've been nothing but patient.

What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn't make it?

When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn't look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.

"I'm just gonn—" he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.

"Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon," Suna hears you say but it doesn't sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.

"Meet me in the kitchen when you're done, okay?" He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.

You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.

"'m sorry, bunny," he mumbles.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—"

"It's odd, thought I'd pull it off, thought it'd be nothin' if I didn't make it. Don't know why I'm so upset right now," he continues, cutting you off, "Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I'd be nice to make you proud, ya know?"

Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.

You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.

"I'm always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud," you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.

"Don't even get why it matters to me this much, it's just—" it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.

Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it's all you can do when your heart feels like it's going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, "I promise that you'll make it next year, Rin. I'll be with you now, and I'll still be with you then."

It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy."

"'s too bad there's nothin' more I need than you, then."

That's what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.

📞 violet is calling... all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#suna x reader #suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #suna #haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #haikyuu imagines #rintarou suna #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #suna Rintarō #;cloud #IM SO PRESSED!!!#so anNOYED!!#GODDAMN HAD TO REPOST

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crash-hawk · 2 years

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Life on the line, winner take all, ready or not, let’s begin...

In honor of the one-year anniversary of Third Life (hi!!! I’m not okay!!!), have a Tumblr re-release of what I consider to be one of the finest one-shots I have ever written for any fandom.

(Inspired by thcscus’s Aerie series, this fic is part of the Kaleidoscope AU, and can be read totally blind/as a standalone. That said, I highly recommend checking out the rest of the series! My co-authors are extremely cool and epic.) AO3 link can be found HERE for those who prefer!

Three

If you come inside, things will not be the same

When you return to the light

And if you think you’ve won, you never saw me change

The game that we have been playing…

- Chris Cornell , “You Know My Name” ---------------------------------------------------------------

“So what do you do?” asks the young girl with the flower braided into her rust-red hair.

There are twenty or more of them gathered around the huge campfire that’s been set up on the beach--not everyone who calls the island village their home, but a goodly number of them, ranging the entire gamut from masters and journeymen to the greenest of the new apprentices. The young girl who’d spoken up is one of the latter, a bright-eyed young thing who’d come to learn architecture and botany, and who watches the two guests who’ve come to join their nightly get-together with eager curiosity.

The guest in question doesn’t appear to really hear her, looking over his shoulder back toward the lights of the village. “Where in the hell did George get off to?” he wonders, a trifle irritably.

“He’s still off with Pearl, I think,” answers one of the others, smiling. “Relax. He’s not going to vanish or be eaten by monsters or fall off a cliff, not around here, I promise.”

Of all of them, he has been here the longest, long enough to remember when the island was nothing but empty plains and gnarled cypress trees and the occasional massive old oak. They had been three when they’d first come, much like these three who’ve come to visit today, laughing as they’d sized up their new refuge and laid the foundations of their first homes. One is gone, now, old age having claimed him decades ago, but pieces of his spirit are still scattered about the village: the great snarling beast of a tree, meant as a prank, that he’d loved so much he’d made a home of it; the wind-powered music machines that still play to this day; the old underground farm that still produces far too many potatoes for the village to eat, even at full capacity, but that no one has the heart or the inclination to replant with something else.

His wings are tucked safely out of sight tonight, out of an abundance of caution, although he’s certain his guests know they’re there. He knows well enough what his guests are, and vice versa--but while he trusts Pearl’s quiet, gentle spirit-brother, god of the green places, so much like his old friend that his heart aches, he is not so certain about the other two.

“Oh, yes, he’s perfectly safe,” chimes another from beside him. “Pearl’s night vision is a-mayzin’, she’ll spot any dangers a mile away, and I’m sure Grian’s cleaned up all of the traps...you did clean up all of the traps before company came over, right?”

“Traps?” queries one of the guests, eyebrows arching high over eyes as black as his hair.

“Shut it,” Grian hisses, elbowing his oldest friend so hard in the ribs that he doubles over, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Don’t listen to him. There are no traps. Why would there be traps? We absolutely, positively do not build, lay, or arm traps anywhere in this village. In fact, trap-laying is punishable by summary banishment. It’s in the village charter.”

That gets everyone laughing, residents and guests alike, and Grian relaxes a little. He’s being paranoid, he knows, but he can’t help it. It’s rare enough that visitors ever find their way to their place of safety...never mind visitors like these.

“I think the young lady was asking you a question,” says another of the trade masters, a genial man in black and gold with unruly reddish-brown hair who sits right beside the newcomers, tinkering with what appears to be an ornate clock. Much like said newcomers and a few of his fellow villagers, his youthful face belies his true nature.

“Hm? Oh, you mean me?” asks the first of the two guests, the one who’d introduced himself earlier as Dream.

The red-haired girl smiles, nodding. “It wasn’t terribly important. I was just asking what you do.”

Dream smiles, shrugging a little. “Oh, nothing very impressive. Nothing like you all do here. This place is really something else.”

Grian’s friend grins, twisting the old scars marring one side of his face. “Flattery will get you everywhere, good sir.”

That earns a snort and an eyeroll from Dream’s black-haired companion. “He’s fishing. His ego is the size of that bloody huge pile of rocks over there. Why the hell is there a bloody huge pile of rocks over there, by the way? I’ve seen castles that were smaller.”

“Are you insulting my bloody huge pile of rocks, Sir...Sapnap, wasn’t it?” Scar rumbles, mock-threateningly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, and don’t call me Sir,” Sapnap retorts.

“Did you build any of these?” Dream asks, still smiling at the redheaded girl. Grian feels oddly disquieted, seeing that smile, but he keeps it off of his face. Gods are proud, prickly creatures--he ought to know--and their village holds guest right sacred. He won’t insult them.

“Oh, no,” she denies with a giggle. “I’ve only just got here. But I’m designing a greenhouse. As soon as Pearl approves of my blueprints, I’m going to start building it. I’m Gem, by the way.”

“A lovely name. Anyway, to answer your question, Gem, I write stories.”

“Yeah?” queries a wide-eyed, dark-skinned young man in a fuzzy green wool tunic, absently handing tools to the one working on the clock without bothering to look at them. “Any good ones?”

“Well, I don’t know about good,” Dream demurs, holding up his hands. “I’ve written a lot of them, though, so one or two are bound to be, statistically speaking.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sapnap mutters, annoyed. “There are cathedral windows less transparent than you. Tell the children a bedtime story and be done with it. I’m going to go see if there’s anything worth hunting around here.” He gets up, shaking sand out of his white cloak, and stalks off down the beach toward the nearest clump of trees.

Grian and Scar exchange glances, nonplussed, but Dream simply waves it off. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He has a short attention span and gets cranky when he’s bored.” He smiles again, glancing around the fire before his gaze comes to rest squarely on the two of them. “That being said... would you like to hear one? I promise it’ll be a good one.”

The villagers all voice their enthusiastic assent, and Scar shrugs. “Sure, why the hell not.”

“Well...as long as it’s not a long one,” Grian acquiesces, not knowing why he feels so uneasy at the idea. “It’s getting on midnight.”

“That’s the best time for stories,” Dream suggests with a grin. “But don’t worry, it’s not a long one. I’ll be done well before the moon touches the water, you have my word.”

“Alright, then,” Grian says, summoning a smile of his own and lowering himself to sit down cross-legged on the sand beside the others. “Lay it on us. And if Scar interrupts, you have my permission to throw rocks at him.”

“I,” Scar protests archly, “would never.”

“He would,” Impulse whispers theatrically in Dream’s ear.

Dream laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not overly concerned about that. Besides, I think you’ll like this one. I think you’ll like it just fine.”

A sudden gust of wind whips through, sending sparks spiraling up toward the stars, and Grian tells himself that it’s only the chill that it brings with it that makes him shiver.

Only that, and nothing more. -----------------------------------------------------------------------

“In the beginning,” Dream starts, “There was nothing but nothing. A great Void, timeless and lightless and endless. And then there was a flash, and nothing became something. And that something resolved itself into everything, into dust and stars and light and worlds...and stories. The stories were here first, but they needed people to tell them. And so the gods were formed.

“The gods all had their own stories that they presided over, their own domains. Each had their part to play, working together in harmony. But stories aren’t much good without an audience, either, and so mortals came next. Their lives were short, trifling things, but they devoured the stories the gods told and passed them along, and together with the gods they created whole worlds.

“But the Universe had made a mistake: in creating the gods to write and to tell the stories, and the mortals to listen and pass them along, it had given them the freedom to do with them what they would. The harmony began to fall apart. Gods decided they weren’t satisfied with their own domains and looked to others. The humans defied the gods and claimed that they should have control of their own stories, as if the stories were ever theirs to begin with. They fell to squabbling, and war and chaos and tragedy followed, so much that they became the rule of the world. And the God of Stories watched it all, and grew angry.

“Some particularly defiant gods caught his eye. The God of the Stars, who abandoned his post to live among the humans, idling away the years in disguise as a king and holding grand tournaments that drew thousands to play and fight in frivolous games. He took up with a mortal lover who caught his eye in one of these tournaments, uncaring that he was setting them both up for heartbreak. The God of Sorcery, who perverted his art to grant immortality to his favorite and sold the secrets of enchantment to any mortal who came to him. The Goddess of Decay and Rot, who thought to create instead.”

Dream pauses, as if for effect, gazing about at his audience, all of whom sit listening rapt, without a single interruption. A slow smile spreads on his face at the sight.

“The God of Stories’ greatest ire was reserved for those who thought themselves above it all, who thought to separate themselves from all the chaos and turmoil of the outside world, as if they themselves weren’t a party to it: the twin Gods of Science and Invention, who taught secrets to the mortals that they were never meant to know; the God of Time and Travel, who helped the mortals find paths that they should never have found, and his friend the God of Calculation, who saw the rules of mass and motion, only to break them in ways the Universe never intended. Worst of all, though, were the two tricksters: the one who cheated his way out from under the Angel of Death again and again and rooked the gullible with promises of commerce, and his constant companion, he who stole fire from the sun and made it his own and granted himself the power of flight, a power the Universe had reserved only for one.”

Grian’s eyes suddenly widen, trance broken, hackles raised. He can feel every feather on his hidden wings lifting, puffing out as if in response to danger. And there is danger here, Grian knows, every instinct screaming...yet he can’t move.

“Together, they and their mortal favorites created their own false world in microcosm, a place they believed was safe, where they could live and create and make their own rules, where they could teach the mortals how to become the authors of their own stories. The God of Stories was very angry when he saw it, and set out to teach them a lesson.”

Grian can feel electricity crawling along his skin, crackling between the barbs of his feathers--his suddenly very visible feathers.

“What are you doing,” he whispers, his voice little more than a husky croak.

Dream blinks. “Telling a story, just as you asked. Just as you all asked.”

With a tremendous effort, Grian manages to turn his head to look at Scar, who sits frozen beside him, eyes round and glassy. Impulse, too, stares back at them from across the fire, still as stone. All of the others’ eyes remain on Dream, transfixed, lost in the tale.

“So the God of Stories came up with a plan: he would weave a world for these renegades, these shirkers and usurpers. A small world, with enchanted glass walls that no god or man could pass. He would set them down in this world, along with those mortals they loved the best, and there they would play a game.”

Dream’s words echo from the waves, vibrating along Grian’s bones. He can feel the world begin to shift and twist around him, the air encircling the captive audience by the campfire shimmering like a mirage. Worse than that is the feeling of being trapped, pinioned, fixed in place when every atom of him is screaming to take to the skies.

“Stop it!!”

“Stop it? Oh, come on, now, we’ve only just gotten to the good part!” Dream grins, his eyes flashing green in the flickering light of the campfire.

“Each of the players in this game would be granted three lives. They would live in their glass box, free to make whatever they could of their little world...and each death, accidental or on purpose, would take a piece of their soul. Each time they came back, they would come back a little less, stripped down closer and closer to base instinct, to kill or be killed. Friendly pranks would turn deadly, alliances would turn into warring factions, lovers would watch one another die and burn the world to avenge them, until only one remained in the end.

“And when that one finally gave in to despair, left alone with the blood of his friends still dripping from his hands, the God of Stories would send them all back to their little haven--but wiser than when they left. They would know that there was no true escape from chaos, that war and turmoil were inevitable as the tides, there was no love that would not end in loss. They would look at their closest friends and know that they were one string’s pull away from tearing each other apart, that bloodlust lies just beneath the surface, waiting for the right motivation. They could continue to build, to invent, to teach their little apprentices, and when the apprentices left to return to the wider world, the creations they brought with them would break armies and bring nations to their knees.”

“You’re wrong…” Scar grates out from beside Grian, and he feels a burst of fierce pride in his friend break through the leaden terror weighting him in place. “You...can’t make us…”

“Oh, I can. I absolutely can. Don’t worry, though, it’s only a story. You’ll wake up and it’ll be like it never happened.” The Green God’s eyes glow brighter, until they’re almost too bright to look at, until they’re all Grian can see. The eyes, and the smile. “Well, almost .”

“...how does it end?” a slurred, drugged voice asks from somewhere Grian can’t move enough to see. Gem, the young apprentice girl, he thinks. “...the game...who wins…?”

There’s a low murmur from around the campfire, a rustling susurration as the others join the chorus, hypnotized children waiting on bated breath for the storyteller to bring their tale to a close.

The Green God cocks his head to the side, as if pondering. “Well, I could write the ending now, I suppose...but the fact is I won’t know until it happens, and it’s so much more fun to watch it unfold unspoiled. After all, what audience doesn’t love a cliffhanger?” I won’t, Grian wants to scream, but the world is dissolving around him, the cold darkness of the Void slipping through his feathers as he falls. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Gods and humans in order of appearance in Dream's tale: Scott Smajor Jimmy Solidarity Rendog Martyn Littlewood ZombieCleo TangoTek ImpulseSV BdoubleO100 EthosLab Scar Grian

#Hermitcraft Season 8 #Dream SMP #Third Life SMP #Passerine #Fanfiction #Kaleidoscope AU #If You Can't Boatem Join 'Em

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ellitx · 3 years

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Precious | Xiao x Reader

[Name] waits for the Vigilant Yaksha to come back as he went to meet a certain god.

note: i recommend reading it on AO3 (unedited version; refers Xiao as Xiao) or Quotev (edited; refers Xiao as Alatus) for the feels. tumblr’s text post is kind of weird for me

word count: 6.9k

“Xiao!”

A young feminine voice called out to him, chasing after his figure. His stride stopped, slowly turning his head to the source of the voice. Xiao’s amber optics were greeted by the smiling girl, her [eye color] orbs shining gleefully seeing him.

Since when did my name have a special ring to it only when you said it…?

[Name] walked forward and stood beside him, giving him another one of her bright smiles.

“This is fun!”

Her vocals echoed in his head as he reminisced the time they strolled near the Yaoguang Shoal, enjoying the serene and gentle breeze of the Liyue region. [Name]’s lips turned upwards as she enjoyed the presence of the Yaksha beside her. Just the mere sight of her soft and gentle laughs and grins made his heart tugged.

And if it made you smile, I’d do something over and over for you.

He reminisced about the time they went stargazing at the rooftop of her house near Dihua Marsh. Watching the umbra skies be splashed with little marks of white dots all around as it gives a source of light in Teyvat.

When did I start thinking such idiotic things like that?

They enjoyed their time being together, especially [Name], and not even realizing it was already morning. Hours and hours of late-night chatting and time have already passed by in a blink.

Since when did I…?

—

“[Name].”

The familiar voice of the Yaksha made her turn her head to face Xiao and raised an eyebrow at his sudden appearance.

“Eh? I thought you were out.” The female fixed her hold on the basket filled with white sheets that were supposed to be washed until Xiao called for her.

“Yes, but I forgot something to tell you.” Something urgent came up and for her not to worry he had to tell her about it. Sometimes this girl’s worries can come out of hand. He sighed internally at that thought but shook it off seconds later reminding himself of what he was doing here.

“I have to go to the annex.”

Xiao was very straightforward, he need not dawdle on any conversations, he’d rather want it to be forward and straight to the point.

After letting those words be released from his mouth, [Name] dropped the basket onto the ground and her eyes grew wide and turned glossy.

“Sorry I have to leave you alone here—“

“Wonderful. It’s wonderful. How lovely!” She cut him off and he was surprised to see how happy she was. It was not something the Anemo-vision holder was expecting. Why was she so happy about it?

“Huh?”

“It must be something important right? It’s alright, please don’t worry about me!”

Xiao’s eyes softened and lifted his gloved hand to lightly bump it on her head. His action made her look up at him in curiosity.

“Be good and wait for me to come back.” He said softly.

“I will! See you later!”

The female bid him a farewell and waved her hands at him, watching his figure disappear from the door.

"She’s so happy for you, huh?" Bosacius, another fellow Yaksha, cooed to him.

“Be quiet. Nothing good will come of it anyway.” Xiao scoffed at him as he turned his back.

"So scary~ You’re only kind to [Name], aren’t you?" The adeptus snickered at him.

His hands turned to fists, refraining himself to be ticked off by the teasing voice of his companion. He looked back at you for the last time at the door and saw you picking up the fallen sheets scattered on the ground and placing it back inside the basket. His legs lead him to where the annex will be held and went off on a journey, ignoring the winds mockingly lulling his ears.

It was a bit far from where [Name] lives. He wanted to go back and just stay with her but if he defies an order from a god, surely a consequence will come for him. Xiao gritted his teeth at the thought. A god who merely used him as a puppet for the archon and used his weakness.

How utterly disgusting his god is.

‘You’d better not lash out at your master, you know?’

“Shut the hell up.”

The Vigilant Yaksha’s voice was dark and glared at nothingness. How annoying these spirits are. Playing and annoying the man just for fun, to enjoy the sight of his weakness and see him be aggravated for their pleasure.

Xiao stomped his way to his destination, killing the hilichurls that were blocking his path. He released all his anger to these poor monsters. Fortunately, no one ever bothered him again, and finally reached the top of the cliff to see his master.

The one who’s behind the strings attached to him to see his sufferings, the puppet master— his god.

It already made him sick seeing him.

“Welcome.” The divinity greeted who was sitting idly at one of the stones, waiting for the man’s arrival.

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked face-to-face.” He smirked at the Yaksha.

His amber optics sharpened and clashed with the god’s black ones. The wind softly danced against them, their clothes ruffling and the leaves flying, though it only made the temperature drop down at the intense aura between the two.

“It’s okay. Come closer, my pitiful monster.”

—

[Name]’s gaze was fixated on the streams and lakes, the clear blue water, and bright azure sky made it a good time to do the laundry. She placed the last white clothing on the plastic rod and clipped it to avoid being blown away.

“Xiao should have arrived there by now.” She muttered to herself. “I wonder if they are dining together?” A chuckle escaped from her lips and imagined the immortal and other deities eating together in peace.

“Be good and wait for me to come back.”

The young woman placed her hands together and intertwined her fingers to pray. Hoping the Geo archon will hear her prayer.

I hope that Xiao will come back at least a little happy.

[Name] closed her eyes, hoping for him to come back to her abode safe and sound.

—

“How’s your duty? I suppose you have already killed tons of people, correct?” The god tilted his head to his side, enjoying the sight of the Demon Conqueror’s weakness almost crumbling to pieces in front of him. But Xiao won’t give in, the walls surrounding him are still strong. As if he’ll let the god do what he pleases.

Just hold it a little longer.

“I’m amazed at how you’ve slaughtered so many. Tell me, did you like it? Were those dreams you’ve devoured— their hopes and dreams— delicious?” The god’s stygian orbs glinted as he fiddled with the stones lying beside him. His grin only widened when Xiao stayed silent and presented his master with a cold glare.

“How’s the bet going? It’s impossible, right? It must be impossible.” He continued to smile in amusement when his puppet’s grimace didn’t falter.

“Now now, don’t look at me like that. That’s how it’s supposed to be… How it’s been from the start. It’s what’s been carved into the wheel of fate for those born with a spirit. Didn’t I teach you that it’s the fate of your lineage?”

The Anemo-vision user’s knuckles turned white. His nails dig deep into his skin and he can feel the blood dripping down. Xiao ignored the pain, it didn’t bother him the slightest but what did was the words that escaped from the lips of the deity.

“I have nothing to do with that fate! You made me do this! You’re the one who made me do this!”

Xiao grabbed the supreme being’s clothing and clutched it tightly, holding it upwards as if to choke him.

“Oh? You’re saying it’s my fault? Then let’s make a bet.”

Amber eyes widened at his sudden challenge but his grip didn’t faze. The god’s fringe covered his eyes, not even going to bother to face him.

“If you manage to break the curse in 2 years, I’ll release you and stop being your god. I’ll even let you enjoy the life of freedom. But if you can’t,”

The deity sneered at him, grin outspread on his face enjoying what was about to come for his puppet.

“I’ll lock you up permanently and you won’t ever run away from me.”

Xiao let go of him and stepped back. The upper being stood up, unfazed, and chuckled as he fixed his outfit.

Oh how amusing this was. He loves it, the expression the Yaksha is giving him. The despair in his eyes was so wonderful!

“If you can’t break it, you’ll truly become a monster to everyone.”

“Looks like I’m going to win the bet after all.” The god picked up the stone and chucked it in the air upwards and the weight of it fell back to his hands.

Xiao clicked his tongue in annoyance. “What? Don’t just assume that. There’s still time. You don’t know that yet.” The volume of his voice increased with each word left from his mouth.

The god suddenly stopped tossing the stone and gripped it tightly.

“Who’s the one who doesn’t get it?”

Before he could speak, the Demon Conqueror was cut off when something hard and rough scraped against his cheek. Xiao felt a stinging pain on his skin and watched the stone that was thrown by the god fell onto the earth.

“Why don’t you get it?” He repeated to him. His gaze was dark and his voice was so quiet that the vanquisher couldn’t almost hear it.

“How come? Did you forget?” The god lifted his own body away from the rock he was sitting on and looked at his puppet with mixed emotions. Anger. Disappointment. Annoyance. Frustration.

He tilted his head to the side and asked, “Why are you so deluded?”

The way he walks was rather crooked and hobbled, he slowly walked to Xiao and he can feel an unsettling aura surrounding the god.

“Remember. Come on.”

He stopped on his track when he’s finally in front of his follower.

“Remember that you’re a monster,”

Xiao gulped down the air that was blocking his throat and took a step back.

“And because you’re a monster, everyone is dead.”

Something snapped inside Xiao. His eyes enlarged and his lips quivered. “You’re wro—“

“I’m not wrong.” The god cut him off again.

“No, it wasn’t my fault!” He retaliated to his master loudly. His heart was beating so loudly and sweat was dripping on the side of his head. He opened his hand to summon his polearm but was once again ceased for an umpteenth time when the numen took his wrist to put a stop on summoning his weapon.

“It was your fault. You killed those poor villagers.”

“Stop. Stop! Don’t touch me!” Xiao wriggled his arm but it only tightened a bit more when the deity spoke in a dark tone accompanied by a threatening glare.

“Don’t give me orders.”

His fingers were shaking and only stared at the deity in fear.

“Those poor villagers. Even though they were just enjoying their peaceful lives, protecting their family, and raising their children, they ended up dying from your hands. And you don’t care about their death, not even mourning once for their death.”

The Yaksha’s lips hung open, he wanted to speak out but no words were coming out. His brows formed a crease between his forehead, fear, and confusion written all over his visage.

The dark aura is surrounding them so fast. It’s so suffocating, he wanted to get out.

He wanted to be released from this god.

‘Xiao, do you know how that poor child felt?’ Whispered the wind.

‘It wasn’t an accident.’ Another told him.

‘It wasn’t a suicide.’

‘Do you know how much grief you have caused to those poor souls?’

‘Do you understand? As a monster, do you understand?’

His gaze was so dull. There was no glimmer or spark in it. It’s as if he’s soulless… He continued to stare at his gloved hands that were splattered with blood. His polearm was lying on the ground, and fresh red liquid continued to drip forming a puddle.

Xiao’s thoughts subsided when he heard the voice of the divinity.

“You should have died. But sadly you can’t, you’re an immortal after all. Surely, if you didn’t exist, everyone would’ve been happy.” The god’s black eyes glinted under the dusky sky. He stared down at his puppet and tightened his grip on his wrist.

The air is so thick, it’s getting hard to breathe the more the god stays close to Xiao. It’s so suffocating, the atmosphere is too heavy. He wanted to escape from his grasp. He wanted to be free.

I killed them…

Scenarios of red splatters and cries of pain and agony flashed before him. The screams of the children and adults resonated inside him. Lifeless eyes and cold bodies continued appearing to remind him of what he had done.

I…

A lifeless body of a young woman.

“Please stop!” Xiao cried desperately either to the god or the spirits.

“Please… stop…” He begged and fell down on both of his knees. “Please… just stop…” The deity released his hold on his arm and turned his gaze to the birds perching on the branch of a tree.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking…” The god smiled and knelt down to the vanquisher’s height and offered him another one of his all-knowing smiles Xiao despised so much.

“Is [First Name] [Last Name] the one who’s been encouraging your delusions?” He placed his fingers beneath his chin, feigning that he was lost in thought.

“She was unperturbed after seeing your true form.” The vision holder looked up at him in panic and shock. “How do you know that?”

The numen’s body raised and let out a huff, glancing once again at the birds. “She’s really amazing. Almost like an angel? The Holy Mother? Or more like…” His voice drifted off and stared at the vulnerable immortal in amusement, letting his lips form into a smirk.

“...a monster?”

Xiao gritted his teeth when he mentioned the female. How dare he call her a monster?! It filled him with rage inside. If anyone talks bad about [Name], he immediately beheads them or kills them in a flash. But this was his god, no matter how much he wanted to do so, they both knew who had the upper hand.

“Really, don’t you think she’s too perfect?” He asked and furrowed his brows together. “Aren’t people who are too perfect actually scary?”

“A monster who’s too perfect. That’s what [First Name] [Last Name] is.” The god hummed to himself, slightly absorbed to know just who this girl Xiao attached to is.

“People would normally run after seeing you in that form, no doubt.”

It was raining hard outside and the skies were so gloomy. Xiao’s face was hidden by a blue and teal mask. He dropped down his polearm as it let out a loud thud.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Standing before Xiao was [Name], she looked at him in shock and stayed silent. She could only stare at him, speechless at seeing this form. Black and teal mist were surrounding him. She knew that it was dangerous to get closer but she insisted to stay put.

She didn’t run away from him.

Xiao closed his gloved hands and gripped them on his pants.

“How…”

The god curled a brow and faced him, letting out a confused sound.

“How can you say something like that?” The immortal stood up slowly and looked at the deity.

“You don’t know anything. You weren’t there at the time.” His brows furrowed and glowered at the person in front of him.

“How can you, when you weren’t watching? She wasn’t born a monster or anything. How can you?” His voice was getting more aggressive and it irked the god. Xiao was enraged at what the divinity was saying as if he was there. As if he saw what happened and claimed that [Name] is a monster.

How disgusting. It made his stomach wrenched in aversion. How dare this god assume everything.

“You…”

The female hugged his arm, she didn’t care if her clothes were getting dirty or how it was already painted in red. She didn’t care if her clothes were getting wet because of the rain. She didn’t care how muddy her hair was.

She didn’t let go of him.

“You don’t know how scared she was. How can you say that?!” Xiao’s voice was rough when he screamed those words out.

Her hands and voice trembled.

She was cold. Her face was pale,

She was afraid…

Even just remembering that moment tugged his heart. It hurt him to see how scared [Name] was in seeing it in that form.

“Even so…” Xiao muttered.

“Even so— she didn’t run away from me!” The god groaned and placed his hands on the side of his head to cover his ears. “Shut up.”

“She didn’t run away from me!” He repeated.

Xiao’s god turned away and continued to tell him to shut up. The god was acting childish, he was so stubborn to listen to his puppet. He didn’t want to hear any of it, it annoyed him. But Xiao continued to speak out, his voice getting increasingly louder. It was uncharacteristic of him to raise his voice.

“She… she held my hand!”

He let out a small gasp when a realization struck him.

She knew that if she let go of my hand. I would never return.

The female continued to hold on to him and tears were flowing down on her pale face. Her hold on him was firm, to let him know she would never let go no matter what. She was stubborn even though fear was present on her face.

[Name] was scared yet she didn’t run.

“Why… why are you following me like nothing’s the matter?!”

[Name] was trembling from fear yet she continued to stay.

“I said stay away!”

[Name] continued to stay for Xiao. She was afraid she'd never see him again if she let go of his arm.

That I might never return to anybody.

No matter how much Xiao pushed her away, she won’t budge. He pushed her again but with more force and it was a success, it sent the female flying to the ground at the strong impact from the immortal. But even so, she stumbled on her way up to reach for him.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you blind?! We both know I’ve done this!”

She didn’t take up all of my pain.

He raised his hand and stared at the bracelet dangling on his wrist that was given by the mortal.

She didn’t fill in all the brokenness.

Xiao grimaced behind the mask and gripped his hair.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

[Name] crawled her way to the Yaksha slowly.

“I don’t need any of your pity!”

Xiao thought she’ll finally leave him alone when she turned her back away from him and walked away. [Name] glanced at him over her shoulders. It hurts her to see him keep pushing her away. But that doesn’t matter, what matters the most is that Xiao is the one hurting here!

‘I won’t run away!’

She ran up to him at full speed— occasionally stumbling on some branches but still continued to go after him.

When their distance was nearing, she reached out her hand at him and wrapped her slender arms around the vanquisher, and held his head close to her chest. His golden eyes widened at the intimate action and he felt her small hands tugged on his shirt.

But those… those weren’t important.

Tears continued to pour on her visage and so too did the rain. He can hear her sniffing and feel the warm droplets on his shoulder.

“Let’s go home. We have to go…” [Name] pleaded to him.

“Back home!” She lifted her face up and stared at the male with persistence and determination.

Xiao clicked his tongue and pushed her once more.

“Let go of me.”

“No!”

“Don’t you get it?!”

“No, I don’t get it!”

He grabbed his polearm and swung his arm forward so the human will struggle to grasp a hold of him.

“I said let go of me!”

Her hair was so messy that strands of [hair color] were sticking on her face, she shook her head vigorously and clutched on his shirt tightly.

“Right now, even though I hear your voice, it doesn’t sound like you. You’re in a form I’ve never seen and it scares me.” Her voice cracked and continued sobbing but she held it back. She has to stay strong. Xiao knows that she’s afraid. Her fingers were shaking so much and he could see her shoulders shuddering.

“But… but from now on, I want to understand. Just like when you listen to me when I’m discouraged, from now on I want you to share with me when you are! I want you to tell me when you’re hurting, or scared, or feeling weak, and let me worry about you!

Because… because I want to keep living together. To eat, to chat, and worry… All those things. I want to continue--” She held back her cries and pulled him closer to her chest, scared he’ll vanish if she even let go of him the slightest.

The most important thing…

“—to continue to live life with you!”

Was that she stayed with me…

[Name]’s eyes glimmered in awe at him when she saw him cooking Almond Tofu inside her house. Amazed and surprised to see him creating that dish.

Finding joy in the smallest things…

She smiled at simple things such as collecting seashells together or the time there was a Qingxin flower stuck on his outfit, unintentionally discovering it was her favorite.

Being happy and smiling so cheerfully.

She continued to smile even if she was sick. The time he took care of her, she was living all alone and no one was there to tend her…

Why? She should think of herself more.

The female looked over her shoulder when she felt a familiar presence behind her. She stopped her task in drying the clothes and immediately strode to him and greeted Xiao with a welcome home.

Why? Doesn’t she think she’s getting the short end of the stick?

It hurt him to see her crying all alone inside her abode after he came back from his duties.

She thinks that she’s stupid, or there’s nothing good about her.

The time where [Name] bawled her eyes out in front of him.

She was so vulnerable.

So fragile that even the slightest touch might already shatter her to pieces.

‘It’s a waste of time to think about the loss of life or life getting harder.’ Xiao looked back at the time the little boy’s spirit shared a story with him.

‘The traveler never thought about that stuff. Even if other people think that makes her an idiot, I just don’t. That’s all. What about you, Mister Yaksha? What do you think when you close your eyes?’

He put away his gloved hands from his face and stared at them, lost in his thoughts.

“Xiao.”

The female called out and turned around, greeting him with another one of her bright smiles whenever he comes back to see her or just visit her after his travels.

“Xiao.”

Her voice was so sweet. He feels safe whenever he hears [Name]’s voice. So soft. So gentle. So sweet and so calming.

He didn’t know there were beads of liquid trickling down on the side of his face.

I love you.

He wanted to come back home and return to her welcoming arms. To come back and enjoy the sense of comfort.

I love you so much…

His chest hurt from this unknown feeling. He never felt this before in his entire life. It felt weird. What is this? It felt like he was yearning for something.

…Just as you are…

Tears continued to fall down his face and this amused the god to see him cry in front of him. Xiao’s hair covered his eyes but the deity can still see how the liquid trickled under the disappearing sun. Now, this was another wonderful sight to enjoy the vulnerable state the Yaksha had.

“Are you crying?”

Xiao remained quiet and the god asked him once more.

No response again.

The master snickered and lowered his head to take a good look at his weak state. “Are you mortified?”

His midnight orbs had a trace of intrigue and mirth.

“Don’t tell me that you’re in love with [First Name] [Last name].”

The god snickered and placed his hand on his mouth to stifle his laughter when Xiao still remained silent.

“Take a look at that. A monster falls in love with another monster.”

The Yaksha’s pupils dilated and looked up at him in anger.

“What? What’s that look on your face?” The divinity’s eyes flashed to him, dark and warning. It irked him to see this side of his puppet. Before Xiao could react, he felt another piercing sensation on his bruised cheek.

“I’m not the one at fault here! You’re the deluded one!” Another slap came to him again.

“And that woman. She acts so insolently even though she’s a mortal!”

Xiao caught his wrist before he made contact with his skin again.

“If— if you hate her that much, why did you allow this to happen?! You’re crazy. What are you thinking? What are you—“

His breath hitched when he saw the emotions behind the god’s eyes.

“What are you scheming…” His voice wavered when the thought of [Name] disappearing flashed before him.

“You used her…? Why? I don’t know, but…” He tightened his hold on the numen’s wrist and his glare was colder than ever.

“You dragged her into this mess.”

The god clicked his tongue and huffed at his words.

“You’re always quick to make me the villain, huh? So which is it? Do you love that woman?” He pushed him back but Xiao was quick to regain his balance.

“I—“

“Then you’re the real idiot!” He pointed at him in an accusing manner. As if he was the one who had done all these horrible crimes.

“Do you think you have the right to fall in love with someone?! Do you think that’s allowed!?” He shouted at him as his face darkened. The threatening aura was back again.

‘I won’t forgive you.’

“Hey, Xiao,” The deity called to him to get his attention. “Think about it. Who’s the real villain here? Who’s the one who involved her the most?”

The vision holder’s brows creased and looked down with a pained look plastered on his face.

“It was me.” He mumbled.

The god hummed and placed a hand on his chin to frame his face. “Though, that woman is also at fault—“

The Yaksha halted his statement. He’ll take the blame. All of it. He doesn’t want another word about [Name] to be spilled from his lips. He hated it. He just talks badly about her and he doesn’t like it.

“I’m… I’m the one who—“

Her eyes were so gentle…

Her touch was so warm and comforting…

Her smiles were so sweet…

“I don’t love her…” He bit down on his lip and clenched his fists. Xiao glared at the god menacingly as if to prove he doesn’t have feelings for the mortal.

“I definitely don’t love her. I’ll never… never fall in love with anyone. I’ll never fall in love.”

No. No more.

I won’t let anyone talk bad about her because of me anymore.

He wanted to protect that smile so much. He wanted to treasure it so badly. He wanted you to be safe in his arms. He won’t ever let anyone hurt you, he’ll take all the pain. He’ll shoulder it all for you.

He fell down onto his knees, shoulders slumped down. Xiao’s figure was weakening from all that was happening, from all the corrupted thoughts that swarmed his mind.

“Is that right?”

The god glanced at the other side, disappointed that his claims are wrong about his puppet’s feelings for the mortal.

“I see. I was jumping to conclusions. That’s right. There’s no way you’d love her. A sensible decision from you, for once.”

He faced the pitiful state of Xiao and closed his eyes. “You’ll never break the curse anyway, so your confinement is certain. Don’t you think that’s for the best?”

The deity neared him and knelt on one knee, continuing to whisper the words that will surely plague his mind.

“I’d feel bad to involve her, or others more than you have already.”

The Yaksha's eyes were dark and lifeless. The whisper of the winds was taunting him along with the god. He wanted to shun them away so badly. He wanted to get out of here now. But it’s no use. The strings are still attached to his master’s fingers and he can’t do anything about it but abide by his orders.

“It’s okay. I’m still here even if the curse still remains within you.” He pets his black and teal hair, but it didn’t give him the comfort unlike what [Name] has. It irked him off, it’s like the god was saying to give up and just live with it.

“I’ll be by your side, so you won’t be alone.”

“You’re just mocking me.”

The god ignored him and continued to brush his hair with his fingers. “I care for you. I actually care for you so much, Xiao.”

He leaned forward and whispered in his ears.

“Be good for me now and just follow my orders. You’ll be stuck with me forever after all.”

—

Splashes of water were gently flowing down the placid and shallow stream. The god feverishly washed his hands as if to remove the dirt that was too stubborn to get rid of.

“I touched him too much. I feel gross.” His dark orbs were so dull when he stared at his pale hands that touched the Demon Conqueror before he left.

“He hates [First Name] [Last Name], huh… Is that true?” He asked no one but himself but unbeknownst to him, there was another god sitting on the big rocks as he glanced down to see what the other was doing.

Morax watched his figure retreat in the vast land and gently dropped down to approach his previous location. He stared down at the stream as it mirrored his appearance, his narrow amber eyes and long brown hair that has been accompanied with a fade of gold on the tips.

His eyes softened and remembered the poor Yaksha.

“It can’t possibly be true.”

—

“Do you think you’re allowed to fall in love with someone?!”

“The one who involved her the most…”

I know.

“Surely, if you didn’t exist, everyone would’ve been happy.”

“I know!” Xiao screamed and covered his ears to get rid of the voice that’s been haunting him after the conversation. The voice of the god won’t stay away, it continues to linger inside his head.

“I know…”

I’m always hurting others.

[Name] held him tightly against her chest, it was so warm and soothing, reassuring him everything’s fine. It felt like a haven for him.

Why didn’t she run away?

She should’ve stayed away from me.

So why doesn’t she hate me for what I have done?

He finally arrived at [Name]’s home. It was quiet and peaceful, the birds were chirping and the sounds of cicadas ringing in the environment. It felt like a good time to enjoy some naps. Xiao opened the door and was expecting a greeting from the female, but he heard none. He waited for a moment but it was still silent.

“[Name]?” He called out. He glanced outside to see the white sheets hanging up to be dried. The winds softly fluttered the clothing making it dance along with the air.

Despite everything, why do I look for her?

“Xiao.” The said male looked at the archon with his cold eyes.

The Yaksha’s amber eyes widened and immediately sprinted outside to find [Name].

“Wait, Xiao.” The adeptus raised his hand to stop him from continuing walking. “Don’t step on the poor flower.”

The male glanced down at the Qingxin flower before his feet. Such a lone flower. Its white petals were so pure, quite amazing it was left untouched as there are no signs of dirt on it.

“Nothing’s going to change by protecting this one tiny flower.” He watched the flower swayed. What a lone and minimal flower, he wanted to crush it.

“What existence is worth a sacrifice, worth more than another’s life?” Xiao asked Morax as he raised his head and glowered at him.

“Taking everything from someone and trampling over them.” He continued.

The God of Contract fixed his gaze onto the poor immortal and said, “Even so, you’re still here because you still haven’t given up hope yet. It’s because you know that not every soul in this world has rejected you.”

Xiao gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “What are you talking about? I killed them all, there’s no way someone out there wouldn’t reject me. It’s obvious I did this all!”

“As if there’s someone who would never reject me.”

“There is—“

“There’s no one!”

The Yaksha stepped on the Qingxin in pure spite. The flower being crushed by his foot trampled on the ground and now laying limply on the earth.

“No one…”

“Even so, even if you don’t have a glimmer of hope now, it will surely come again. However much you resist or trample it, however many times you’re thrown into despair, hope will come again just as many times. Repeatedly, again and again.

It will bloom.”

Xiao ran as he continued to search for [Name], figuring out where she would be at this kind of time. He hopes she’s safe and uninjured.

Forgive me. I understand now. I just pretend I didn’t, but I actually understood.

He looked all around the area and even climbed up to a tree to get a bigger view and search for the petite figure of the female.

I understand that as many in this world reject me, there are just as many people who reach out their hand to me.

“Why the long face?” A woman asked him.

Even though she’ll never come back…

“Here, take this.” Xiao glanced at the unknown woman who gave him some kind of offering.

I couldn’t keep it.

“She’s my treasure.” He observed the image the woman was holding. A young girl with [hair color] and [eye color] donned in a red and white Hanfu. He grabbed the portrait and took a closer look at the person.

But she bloomed before me.

The vision-holder reached the big tree in Dihua Marsh, the place where [Name] tends to take care of the flowers in her free time.

“I feel like I’ve only caused her sadness.” A broken smile was presented on her face. Xiao can see the obvious melancholia in her eyes.

She continued to bloom.

He was standing at the tree’s sturdy branch near the woman’s residence. The window was open and he caught sight of a young girl, her back facing him. She was all alone inside, silently nourishing the meal placed on the wooden table.

A small… small flower.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw the familiar [hair color] head, crouching next to the bushes of Silk Flowers near the bridge of the Guili Plains and Dihua Marsh. Her slender fingers fiddled with the crimson corolla.

A tiny…

She plucked the flower from the bush and brushed one of the petals with her index finger.

Flower.

[Name] held the flower close to her and took in the sweet scent. Her eyes softened as they eased her mind and body.

Precious…

My precious…

“[Name]!”

A small gasp flees from your lips and you whip around to see the male you’ve been waiting for standing before you.

“Huh? X-Xiao?” You stood up and faced him properly, still holding on to the Silk Flower in your hands.

“What happened? You’re back so soon.” Her focus went to his bruised cheek and quickly approached him to get a closer look.

You raised your hand but not touching it so as to not hurt him any further. “Xiao, your cheek…”

The male obscured the wounded skin with his gloved hand and looked anywhere but her. “Oh, I got into a fight.”

[Name] released a confused sound and her eyes widened, quickly asking if he got into a fight during the annex.

“No, it’s from Hilichurls.” He lied.

“Eh?!” Now that was not what she was expecting. Normally, whenever Hilichurls attack him, he’ll sweep them off in a second. She shook her head to erase the thought and deemed that Xiao can still get some injuries whoever fought him whether it be from Abyss mages or other monsters lurking around the world of Teyvat.

“It’s fine.” The Anemo user assured. “I know you were happy for me, but I’m fine if I’m not summoned.”

He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “I don’t really care about it anymore.”

When [Name] gave him an unsure look, he raised a brow at her and bumped her head with his fist playfully. “What? You’re not happy I’m back?”

She flailed her arms around and stumbled on her words when he asked that. “Th-that’s not it! I mean, um… er—“

An amused smile was shown on his face as he breathed a sigh. “Don’t take it seriously.”

[Name] airily laughed, her cheeks were tinted with red as she beamed, smiling brightly at him.

“Welcome back.”

Her warm welcome greeted Xiao for the umpteenth time. She was smiling at him again, her eyes were so gentle and pure of [eye color]— the shine continued to linger in it whenever she saw him.

“Welcome back, Xiao.”

His mouth unconsciously curved upwards. “It’s good to be back.”

The Yaksha felt the unknown feeling come back again. He felt his heartstrings being pulled every time she gave that bright smile to him. It was odd, it felt fuzzy inside. His amber eyes stared with her own [eye color] ones, so kind and passionate.

I love you. I don’t want to take anything else from you.

I don’t want to trample you ever again.

The two walked off and journeyed their way back to their home. [Name] initiated the conversation and Xiao was there to listen to her and enjoy the sound of her pleasant voice entering his ears.

At some point, I hoped we could always be together somewhere far off…

‘I won’t forgive you.’

Xiao’s visage was downcasted when those words echoed inside him.

…but I won’t hope that anymore.

“I’d feel bad to involve her more than you have already.”

I won’t hope that I could make you my own anymore.

I won’t hope that.

[Name] continued to play with the Silk Flower as they walked side by side. Xiao took notice of this and gently held her hand with his gloved ones. The action made the female’s cheeks heat up, she didn’t notice he already took the flower from her hold.

So, please…

He tucked the plant on the side of her head, adoring how well it complemented her beautiful features.

At least be by my side for the time you have left.

The young woman’s cheeks were still warm, speechless of the Guardian Yaksha’s sudden and unexpected gesture. She noticed how he stared at her with fondness and adoration. Her heart was beating so fast and she looked on the demesne to hide her flushed face from him.

Xiao’s train of thoughts was stopped abruptly when he felt a pull on the clothing hanging on his left arm.

“W-what would you like to eat for dinner?” [Name] mumbled still not facing him.

He lifted one of his brows at her and said, “Did you forget again that eating is unnecessary for me?”

She flinched when he mentioned that and her blush darkened even more. [Name] fumbled on her words and apologized to him.

“Almond Tofu.”

She processed what he had said before her eyes sparkled and nodded at him with a grin. “You’ve got it! Time to roll up my sleeves—“

The mortal’s footing slipped and the gravity pushed her down, she closed her eyes waiting for the impact to come but instead, she felt an arm wrapped around her waist.

“Worry about your footing over your sleeves,” Xiao warned her with an exasperated sigh.

“R-right. Sorry.” She apologized to him with a meek smile. He heaved another sigh but nonetheless smiled at her clumsiness.

“What am I going to do with you?”

It caught the female off-guard to see the immortal smile but her attention was then focused when he grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him to march their way to her house.

I want to be with you.

He glanced at her when [Name]’s hold on him clutched back, reciprocating his hold and not going against it. She was smiling to herself, the blush still remained but was eased a while ago.

Until we’re separated far apart…

His gaze softened seeing this side of her. It gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling again.

…Until the last moment

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

First time

Kinktober day 15 - Virginity kink

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

Note - So anon asked for step dad Steve and I can't do that to Steve. This started out as step dad ransom but then me being me couldn't go through with it🤦‍♀️ so he's supposed to be your stepmoms husband which still makes him your step dad, I think.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Warnings - 18+ONLY! smut(m/f), dub conish, painful sex, unprotected sex, implied age gap, loss of virginity, bloodplay.

Pairing - Step dad!Ransom Drysdale x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlists are linked in the bio!

“Oh! Don’t act like you care. I can tell you wouldn’t give a shit if I left for an entire year. I’m not one of your barely legal bimbos you can manipulate however you like,” Karen ranted on and on to Ransom. You didn’t know what they were fighting about today - you didn’t care to find out either.

“God! Would you fucking give me a break? All you do is yap your trap all day long,” he snapped at her.

You looked at the main door, to leave your house you would have to go through the hallway where both of them were having their ‘lively' discussion, which you had no intentions to be a part of.

Karen gave him a deadly glare - which literally gave you chills even though you weren’t on the receiving end of it.

She walked closer to him, until she was only inches away from his face, “For your own good,” wrapping her palm around his chiselled jaw “don’t forget your place. You do not curse at me or yell at me.”

He didn’t say anything back, simply holding her unwavering glare.

She looked at the stairs, her face instantly lighting up into a faux smile upon seeing you. “Darling, what are you doing there? Come here,” she said extending an arm to you. You walked down to her, she engulfed you into a hug, soothing a hand over your head, “Mommy has to go away for a while, to Paris for fashion week. I know that’s not something you’d be interested in.”

You shook your head. No, those events were a bit too stuffy for you. You dared to sneak a glance at Ransom, he was fuming. His jaw clenched hard, his face and neck flushed as he heaved. You weren’t sure if that rage was directed towards you or your stepmother.

“Fuck this shit,” he spit before leaving and slamming the door behind him. You cringed at the loud noise it made. You were relieved that he was gone, given what he had done in his impulsivity and rage, you didn’t want to be around him when he was that angry.

“Well?” Karen’s question snapped you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You better not be going to meet that Jack or John or whatever.”

“His names Jeremy, Karen, and I really like him. If you got to know him - ”

“I don’t need to know him. He does not bring anything to the table. He doesn’t even deserve to breathe in the same air as you.”

“A rich guy can treat me badly too. I don’t know why you think I can’t be happy with a normal person.” you shook your head. She of all people should not be questioning your taste in men.

“His fathers a fucking high school teacher, honey,” she scoffed. “No, I won’t have you dating a nobody.”

“Well, Ransoms a friggin' murderer!” you screamed. “What kind of man conspires to kill his own grandfather?!”

She had married him just months after he was declared 'not guilty' of not one, but TWO murders. Although, everyone knew that he definitely did it.

You begged her not to marry him. But she seemed to be completely smitten with him, besides she had never really valued your opinion or seen you as an adult.

“Say what you will about Ransom. But he has the name - he’s a Thrombey, he comes from old money. As annoying as he can be - he’s not hideous to look at either, I suppose.”

That was the only thing you might be inclined to agree with. You hated that some part of you was attracted to him. Even though, he was a terrible person. He treated ‘the help', the people who raised you and cared for you as if they were beneath him.

He treated Karen like shit - which she may deserve, you knew of her affairs and the one French boyfriend she was visiting under the guise of business.

He was however, completely indifferent to you. He never got in your way, sometimes you could feel his eyes on you, following every move you made. Sometimes you wondered... if maybe... some part of him found you attractive as well.

You knew you weren’t much to look at, especially compared to your stepmother, but then why else would he be staring so much?

Was he plotting to OFF you as well? To get you out of his way. You’d be inheriting most of your late fathers estate.

***

You closed the door behind you, as quietly as you could so as not to wake anyone. You got home a little later than midnight. You weren’t used to staying out that long but it was one of your best friends birthday.

“What were you doing out so late?” You yelped as you heard his voice.

“Ransom! Oh my gosh, you scared me,” you tried to catch your breathe.

“It’s after twelve. Who were you out with?” he raised a brow. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Huh?” you looked down at your bodycon dress. You weren’t used to wearing clothes that tight but this one just seemed so pretty and perfect to capture Jeremy’s attention. “It’s Karen’s design,” you shrugged. It was provocative but classy and respectable which was your stepmothers brand.

“What kind of message do you think you’re sending dressing like that? If you want to be the talk of the town - ”

“Ransom, oh my god! It’s just a dress and I’m - I’m a virgin!” you confessed. It wasn’t something you were ashamed of - why would you be?

“What?” his eyes widened and his mouth gaped.

He had known you were a pretty little thing since the moment he met you. So shy and demure and pure. Of course you’d be a virgin. Like a perfect present waiting to be unwrapped.

You almost smiled at that. Stunning Ransom like that made you feel smug for some reason. “Yeah. I’m saving myself for the right guy.” you replied in a small voice, averting his gaze and looking at the carpet.

He took two long strides and walked over to you, before you knew it he had a firm grasp on your waist, pulling you against his hard chest. “And what’s the right guy like, sweetheart?”

“Someone - uh,” your brain blanked, having him that close to you, feeling his warm breath on your face almost made you black out.

He bent his neck till he was closer to your ear, “Well, don’t lose it to Jeremy or whatever. He won’t even know what to do with a sweet thing like you.”

You gasped, trying to push him away but his stance was unrelenting. “That is so inappropriate, Ransom! You’re married!”

He grabbed at your failing wrists, pinning them behind your back, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. Karen and I have an arrangement. You ever been kissed before?” he asked, his tongue peaking out to kick his plump lips.

“Wh - ” you swallowed a heavy lump of air, looking away from him, “No,” tears streaming down your face.

He chuckled, licking a firm stripe up your cheek, moaning at the taste of your tears. “We’ll fix that tonight, princess.”

You shuddered in his hold, it finally hit you. He intended to have his way with you. “Karen!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

“She’s not home, sweetheart,” he smirked, pushing his knee between your legs, “I thought you wanted this? I heard you saying my name while touching yourself. I’ll do better than your little fingers ever could,” he grinded his knee against your core.

You whimpered, scared out of your mind for your life and ashamed. Ashamed of being caught, of being aroused and getting more and more wetter. Your hips rolling against his knee to seek more friction.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth till it hurt and then releasing it with a pop. “If you keep being good and take what I give you - I’ll make you feel good too.” He held on to your forearm, dragging you up the stairs towards his room.

“No, no... not in your room. In mine, please,” you whimpered, his nails digging in the flesh of your arm. They might have an 'arrangement' but you doubted Karen would appreciate you doing the deed in her bed.

“Fine with me,” he dragged you along, locking your door behind him as he pushed you down on your mattress.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, quickly discarding all his clothes. You couldn’t help but shamelessly ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and abs. He was bigger than any boy you knew. Your jaw dropped at the size of his cock, slapping against his abdomen when he pulled down his boxers.

“Like what you see, princess?” he smirked.

Hovering over you, his hands tearing your dress apart, you feebly tried to stop him, “That was expensive, Ransom!”

“I can just buy you another one,” he winked, rolling your panties down your legs.

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, with my own money.

Your arms flew up to your naked chest and mound, to cover up and save your modesty.

He growled, pulling them away and pressing them on the mattress above you. “These better fucking stay here all night, understood?”

You were too afraid to do anything but nod.

“Never popped anyone’s cherry before... this should be interesting,” he snaked a hand between your bodies, pinching your clit causing you to jerk away from him.

He didn't bother fingering you or preparing you, he knew you'd be tighter without it - he had about enough of foreplay anyway.

“Please, be gentle,” you requested, looking up at him through your doe eyes, pleading him - you had never felt so utterly helpless.

He cruelly laughed at your misery, his lips curled up in a devilish smirk, “I don't do gentle, kitten. You'll take what I fucking give you - ” he growled positioning himself between your legs, brushing his leaking tip over your chaste, untouched folds “and then thank me for it. Like the slut you are.”

You couldn't even begin to grasp or point out the logical fallacy of a virgin slut as his cock plunged into your heat, piercing through your virginity, splitting you in half.

Your back arched off the bed, you slapped your hands over your mouth to keep from screaming. It was painful, that was all you felt - pain. As he held onto your waist, his fingers digging in your flesh, his hips pulling out and then driving into you with an unrelenting pace.

You could not stop crying, or twisting your head from side to side. Knowing it was all you could do - he wouldn’t stop - no matter how much you pleaded. You weren’t sure you wanted him to stop.

He pressed a few kisses and nips to the crook of your neck, sucking on a spot as you held back a moan.

He propped himself up on his elbows to look down at you, your eyes and nose swollen, your make up running down your face - you looked more beautiful than you ever had before.

“You look so pretty when you cry, kitten,” he cooed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

He kept driving his cock into you, searching for that special spot as you kept mewling under him.

His heart swelled with pride, nobody’s ever fucked you before, he’s the first man that’s ever seen you naked or to be inside you.

“Do you want me to stop?” he stilled his hips, “Just say the word then.” He knew you wouldn’t.

You sniffled, shaking your head, “No, keep going, please.”

His lips curled up in a grin, taking some kind of twisted pleasure in your misery, “You’re something else, kitten.”

“Oh,” you closed your eyes, your toes curling, your legs holding onto his waist as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you.

Ransom leaned over you when he felt your heat convulsing around him, pulling your earlobe between his teeth, “This is the tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked,” he grunted, driving each word home with a powerful thrust. “You like that, kitten?”

All you could do was nod, the pain was well as much more subdued now but you were still sore and exhausted. “Yes, I like it.”

“We’re going to do this every night from now on.”

He pulled out fisting his cock over you - he wasn’t going to impregnate his newest plaything - his white, hot spend painting your stomach and titts.

Your fingers swirled the sticky substance around on your skin, you were curious to see what it tasted like. You clenched your legs shut, your pussy still tingly. This was not how you planned your first time to go but you had no regrets.

You knew you were absolutely wrong to think so but being desired by Ransom gave you a strange kind of pride.

You gasped when you heard a click, sitting up on your elbows you looked at Ransom clicking pictures of your pussy with his phone.

“Wh - what’re you doing?” you tried to close your legs but he kept a firm hand on your knee.

“Just need a souvenir,” he responded, taking some more of his cum on your body and then putting his phone in his pocket. He swirled a finger around the blood on your inner thigh, bringing it up to paint the crimson on your mouth, “Go clean yourself up. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

You smiled as he kissed you, “Okay, Ransom.”

Even with your pussy freshly fucked - you couldn’t wait for his next visit.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

#kinktober #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x reader #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale #knives out fanfic #berrys kinktober #berry writes

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canadian-riddler · 3 years

Note

idk if tumblr ate my ask but. if it did, 30 (obsession) for the riddler or scriddler?

Tumblr says, ‘your other ask was delicious, nom nom nom’

I says, ‘even if it hadn’t this is taking me a really long time because the music I’m listening to has made me too hype to write with any speed at all’

AO3 :D

‘Obsession’

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma [Scriddler]

The first time Jonathan saw him was on the front page of the newspaper. He could say with absolute certainty that was the day it started.

Before that day Jonathan would have been first in line to declare there was no such thing as a human being that was so attractive that one could not control themselves. It was poppycock, he insisted. Anyone who allowed something as primal as hormones to waylay their every thought was a weakling and a fool. Jonathan had looked upon a lifetime of people and had never so much as done a single double-take.

The newspaper was in a browbeaten metal box next to a bus stop. It was locked and the only access was either by key, vandalism, or coin. Jonathan obviously did not have a key, the location made it difficult to vandalise, and he was loath to pay for absolutely anything. But one of those three he needed choose, and he justified the third by telling himself it was a small price to pay to get the newspaper into his hands and thus have physical evidence that the man pictured there really was not so beautiful as his memory was bound to recall him. He tucked it under his arm and did not look at it until he was safely home, and he discovered he was correct: he was not so beautiful as he recalled. He was even moreso.

Jonathan put the newspaper into his desk drawer and failed not thinking about it. Every single minute of every single day was haunted by the image of the beautiful man printed upon its face. He could not sleep for the thought of it. His lectures at the university, already marred with his general disinterest with being there, were now riddled with pauses and repetition as his thoughts unravelled even while he was speaking them. He was well-known to the staff as a solitary and unpleasant creature, so his constant inquiries as to the man in the newspaper were met mostly with confusion and dismissal. He was disgusted in himself for the asking but he could not stop.

Until the night he no longer had to, for he entered his apartment to find Edward there within it. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom motionless and thoughtless and directionless.

“Well,” Edward said, his voice beautiful and direct from his lips to Jonathan’s ears, “you wanted me. Here I am.”

Jonathan had never put a single neuron into concluding what Edward must have smelled like, but all of the ones available were thinking about it now. He had no name to put to the man’s subtle scent other than ‘perfect’. And he was draped casually across Jonathan’s desk, which would doubtlessly cause it to sink into the wood and remain there long after he left as an olfactory spectre which Jonathan would find himself unable to escape.

His hair was in that god-awful tousled style that Jonathan would now never be able to see on another man without thinking of him. It was that certain colour that was achieved only by maple leaves only on one day of the year and some of it was visible from the top of the shirt of which he had not done up the top few buttons. Jonathan had a nearly visceral need to see the rest of it, and whereupon it ran down his torso, down towards his artfully concealed genitals. Jonathan’s own were filling with a steady heat it was already too late to hide. Not even the rare shame threatening to wash through him was enough to convince his barely used equipment to settle back where it belonged. For all his former conviction, it turned out he shared this carnal similarity with all those he had debased after all.

Edward laughed. It was condescending, and Jonathan hated that he deserved it. Edward swung himself to sitting with his knees spread and Jonathan hated that he had done it. “Surely you haven’t been stalking me all this time just so you could stare at me,” Edward said. “What was your aim, hm? Did you mean to lock me up in your basement, perhaps?”

Jonathan had indeed fantasized many times about that very thing. About restraining him, naked, to the wall with manacles which would chafe and bruise and ruin his beautiful skin. He would leave him down there until he was emaciated and weak and then this would all end for he would have been made ugly as all of humanity was.

Edward shook his head and twitched his wrist up to eye level. “I’m out of time, I’m afraid. Good talk.” And he simply stood and left as Jonathan stared after him, his entire body rigid and unmoving.

The obsession somehow escalated from there.

His room was soon plastered with every newspaper page which contained any mention of Edward. Any and all news stories about him were preserved on video tape. He dreamed and he dreamed and he dreamed of Edward, and he had never before been one for masturbation, but it did not matter how often or in what way he did it for the intense sexual desire Jonathan had for him never ceased. In the dreams Edward was always beautiful, always enticing Jonathan to come to him, but when he did his hands could not feel the shape of him nor could his mind conjure up any image of what he may have looked like beneath his clothes and he knew it was because whatever he managed to think up would be so far inferior to the real thing that it was not worth the effort to visualise. He lost hours sitting at his desk, the scent Edward had left behind erasing all notion of time or purpose.

Then Edward began to turn up in Jonathan’s daily life.

Jonathan did not ever have to look for him. He would simply appear at places where Jonathan was already fated to be. Some of these places were common sense and some of them were not, but Edward appeared in all of them nonetheless. Jonathan could not leave his apartment without scanning every person he passed for Edward. He could not remain inside of his apartment without scanning every person who passed the window for Edward. Night was the only time he could continue his work, and continue his work he did for he had concluded it was his only way out of this. Edward had stolen his body and so Jonathan would steal his mind.

When next Jonathan saw him the toxin was ready. He approached, which he had never done before. Edward’s smile implied he had anticipated such a thing and Jonathan hated the thrill it sparked in his stomach.

“You have something in mind today, I take it?” Edward said. His words were the lyrics to a song no one had the skill to write. Jonathan nodded.

“I have a truck parked out back.”

Edward hummed in satisfaction and followed him. Jonathan did not want to take his eyes away when he lifted himself into the bed and leaned back in it as though it were his own and not Jonathan’s, but he had to. He had to stop this now. He removed the needle from the glovebox and concealed it behind his back.

“What have you got there?” Edward asked. Jonathan did not answer. He instead climbed onto the bed and straddled Edward and pressed his left wrist above his head, at which time he -

They were so close together. And he knew. Jonathan could tell that he knew, but he had come anyway. All of this together stole Jonathan’s breath and his thoughts and replaced it with the violent need to grind his body against Edward’s until the ever-present ache between his legs was relieved at last. He glanced downward to find that Edward’s bulge was no more present than it had been before, but his was firm beneath Edward’s knowing fingers. He turned his head aside, into his right arm, in an attempt to dissipate the ensuing moan into his sleeve, but he knew the moment he did so it had not worked.

“Something tells me,” Edward said with accursed playfulness, “that drug isn’t going to be one of the ones I like.”

Jonathan could not answer because his ability to form words had been lost with a motion of Edward’s free hand.

“You know, if I wasn’t certain that was a lethal dose of your little fear experiment, I would have gone for it. But as it is I’ll have to refuse. No hard feelings.”

Jonathan bent down and pressed the point of the needle against the side of Edward’s neck. Edward did not flinch. Sweat was beading along Jonathan’s hairline and underneath his arms and the place where Edward’s hand was still bewitching him. “If I kill you,” Jonathan murmured into his ear, “then this will end.”

“Why would you want it to?” Edward whispered. His breath seemed to caress Jonathan’s skin. “Tell me, Jonathan. When was the last time you felt this much excitement? This alive? You never have, have you? That’s why you’ve fallen into this so hard and so deep. Your work gives you purpose, but it does not give you life. Not like I do.”

Jonathan prayed that his grip upon Edward’s wrist would not weaken and that his thumb on the plunger would not falter.

“If you kill me,” Edward went on, the sound of his voice making Jonathan helpless, “you will never know the part of yourself that I have awoken. And you can’t have that. Can you.”

Jonathan’s breath stalled. Edward’s eyes glittered knowingly in the dark and Jonathan could not stop looking at them.

“Drop the needle and do what you should have done when I laid myself out so nicely for you on your desk.”

Jonathan’s body obeyed against the panicked protestations of his mind. He was kissing him at long last, hard and desperate. His hand had released the needle and was clenching as much of Edward’s buttock as it could grasp, and Edward was laughing but Jonathan did not realise it until he ran out of breath. He lowered his head to the breast of the man who had broken him and left it there. Edward’s free hand was in Jonathan’s hair, at once reassuring and condescending, and he did not want for him to ever move it.

“Oh, Jonathan,” Edward fairly hummed into his ear, “you have been fun.” And his hand, still holding Jonathan’s crotch, clenched and twisted it with sudden violence. Jonathan saw white and that was all he was able to perceive for a good few moments. His resumed awareness told him he was curled against the side of the truck, and once he had regained enough of his breath he scrabbled his hand up the bed until he could push himself to sitting. He looked over his shoulder to see Edward sitting atop the other side, and as soon as their eyes met Edward smiled and swept his legs over the side and disappeared. Jonathan could not get up fast enough to chase him and he noticed with a start that the syringe was gone.

Days went by. Days, and then weeks, and then months. Edward had gone. He had vanished. Jonathan tore through newspapers for mention of him in between glances at the ever-on television for a hint towards his whereabouts. He scoured the Internet to the best of his limited ability and glowered at the publicly viewable footage and photographs and words describing the man who should have been his and only his. He fantasized about storming into the places who thought they had the right to publish anything about him, inflicting upon them their worst fears and watching as the building burned to the ground before him. He did not purposely sleep, and the occasions he found himself doing so he woke with clothes both sticky and sweat-soaked, driven by dreams of all the things he could have done when Edward had been beneath him but had not.

It was seven months and twenty-five days later when Jonathan received the postcard. The photograph upon the front contained nothing he recognised, but the words upon the back froze his very blood:

You want me. Here I am.

Jonathan learned then there was something worse than lust. The rage that rose up in him was blinding and numbing and deafening, and a scream of fury tore a strip into the back of his throat that would echo for days. His hands, divorced from any thought at all, tore the postcard asunder into a hundred jagged pieces and his eyes did not watch himself do it. When vision returned to them his breath shuddered and his legs weakened. He found himself kneeling on the floor amidst the fragments, and after a moment he began to gather them together in a panic. “No,” he whispered to himself with a horror he would never learn how to inflict upon another. “No!”

He tried for hours to reassemble the card, but to no avail. The pieces were too small and too many. He held the scrap which contained the most of the words Edward had written and clenched it tightly within both hands. And then Jonathan knew something which was nearly as horrible as the rage had been, and that was sorrow. His body was a rigid inward curl and he cried hot and bitter tears into his own knees, his forehead pressed into his clasped hands. Edward’s laugh was echoing in his ears. Even now Jonathan could not find it ugly.

The sleep that came to Jonathan then was of a sort he had not known in years, deep and black and dreamless, and when he awoke and looked upon the evidence of what he had spent months upon months buried inside of he felt nothing. He felt nothing at all. Edward was still beautiful, but whatever part of him had cared was no longer there. His eyes fell to the paper scattered upon the floor.

“No,” he said to it. “No, I think I will wait until it is you who wants me.”

And he rose to his feet and laughed and began to think of what he would do when finally that day came.

#I think you are going to like this #Riddler #Scarecrow #Scriddler #fanfic from Indy

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shnuggletea · 3 years

Photo

This is my entry for the Inuparents Day 2021! I was paired with a lovely and talented artist @kirrtash. She'll be posting this fic with her art on her AO3 account for us. You can also find her Ko-fi account here! Make sure you check out her page for the AMAZING art that goes with this fic! I'm so glad I got to work with her; this was a true collab as I really felt she was working with me the entire time. I enjoyed every minute of this event! Thank you so much @inuparentsday for hosting and sharing with all of us!

Link to AO3 HERE!!!

If you want more from this event (and trust me, you totally do) here's the Tumblr page! I would post the AO3 page buuuuutttt yeah I deleted mine lol! But there is one as well!!

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Chapter One

“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It was a cold night. The kind that made your skin tense as soon as you stepped out into it. It also had a tendency to make a man’s scrotum shrivel and seek warmth. Not something they liked to talk about… usually.

“God damn it’s cold! My balls are up my ass!” Toga said at a level that made it even more inappropriate.

Miya shook his head, the image of Toga dancing on his toes to stay warm filling his brain. “How unpleasant that must be for you…”

“No, seriously! And those are big balls…”

Sitting back from his scope, the Monk pulled his shoulder-length black strands back and tied them there. “Just because we’re on comms doesn’t mean you have to talk so loud. No one is supposed to know you’re there, remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Toga was silent save for his huffing, warming up his hands with his breath, “still fucking cold though…”

“For fucks sake, aren’t you a demon? The temperature shouldn’t bother you!”

Pulling the sight around, Miya zeroed in on the loud mouth, shifting on his toes just as he knew Toga would be. He lifted his gold eyes right at him, somehow knowing Miya had turned his sights onto him. “Yeah, I’m a dog demon. I’m just as if not more sensitive to cold than insensitive humans like you!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think the old lady across the street from you heard it.”

“She needs new batteries in her hearing aid…”

“You couldn’t possibly know that!”

“I do, she just told the Shopkeep when she went inside.”

“Can you focus? Use that extra sensitive hearing to find our target?!”

“Can’t find what’s not there, Miya.”

“Then keep searching, Toga!!”

It was silent again but only for a second. “Now who’s being too loud…” Miya growled, getting to his feet and pacing away to kick something. “Calm down, you’re going to have a stroke.”

“Why the hell do I put up with you?”

Miya didn’t need to see Toga to know he was smirking. “Cause I’m the best. And who else you got? Myouga?” As much as he didn’t want to, a laugh sputtered loudly out of him, one the dog demon would have heard even without their comms. “See? You need me and I need you. Now get back to your post.”

Sighing and groaning, he did as ordered; laying down on the cold pavement of the thirty-story building he was perched on. He wasn’t an idiot, Toga placed him this high to keep him ‘safe’ if they found who/what they were looking for. It had been over an hour but Miya knew better than to question Toga’s judgment. Or Myouga’s intel.

Toga was cursing the inconvenience of it all. Winter was by far his least favorite season and he swore the others knew it too. It was why they waited until the middle of the season and hours after sunset to pull this crap. It was all to mess with Toga and nothing anyone said would change his mind about that. The heat from playing with Miya flooded out quickly so he was back to bouncing on his toes. It made his two blades smack against his thighs but that was a nice distraction from the cold as well.

Black toboggan on his head was large enough to cover his ears and his long silvery-white hair covered his neck. But it was his fucking hands and feet, his fingers and toes numb with cold.

He hated cold feet.

Humans passed and didn’t even glance in his direction. And why would they? Humans had no clue of his existence. Him or anyone similar (like Miya) were a secret from the world. Even though Miya was far from a demon; he wasn’t human either. It was that difference that had Toga placing Miya on the high building and far from the fight. If there was even a fight to be had.

He wouldn’t be surprised if this was all a rouse to force him to stand out in the cold all damn night!

That was until he smelled it. “Miya… they’re here.”

“You’re sure?”

Toga glanced upward towards the tiny dot. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to see the agitation on Miya’s face. But he wasn’t human and it was always there. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He pulled out So’unga and moved to the outer edge of the alley he hid in, glancing around. “Toga, get back! I’m here to scout not you!”

“Even with that scope you still see shit.”

“Toga, it’s an order! Get back!!”

“I’ll be fi….”

Toga was cut off, ice splitting up from his feet towards his heart. Leaping back, he avoided impalement with relative ease. When he found the perpetrator, Toga didn’t hold back his laugh in the slightest. “Good to see you too, Snowflake.”

The cat demon was growling at him and it had just as much to do with the fact that she was a cat and him a dog as it did that he called her ‘Snowflake’. “That’s not my name!!”

“Right, right, right. What was it again?” Toga teased.

If she wasn’t wearing a black hoodie that covered up all her fur, it would be standing up in anger. “It’s Toran, prick!!”

She slung out her arm and ice followed in a path along the ground. Toga stepped to the side to avoid it; making it seem like child’s play. “Well that’s not very nice. At least my nickname for you is a term of endearment. Yours sounds like an insult.”

Toga had his lower lip popped out and Toran roared, pissed. “IT IS AN INSULT!!!”

Glancing around, Toga saw that his little distraction had worked; the street was clear of all possible casualties. They had all seen the display the kitty cat had made and smartly left the area. Which was good because now Toran was tearing up the whole area with her rage; jagged and angry ice breaking up the sidewalk and pavement as it shot upward without warning.

Toga jumped and dodged it all, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Ice. Just had to be ice.”

The already frigid air was made much colder with the glacier that surrounded them. A small arena of sorts, Toga released a slow breath and watched the white puff float away.

Toran broke out of her thoughts of murder for a moment and spun to find him; realizing quickly (but too late) that it was just the two of them now. “What have you done?!”

“Me? You’re the one creating your own ice castle. You know, for an Ice Queen, you sure are hot headed.”

Toga smirked while the cat hissed, throwing out her arm again. Only this time the ice didn’t form on the ground. It shot out of her hand like a missile; long and sharp like a spear. Aimed right at his heart.

He moved out of its way with little struggle. “Careful there Snowflake! Pretty sure your Boss didn’t order you to kill me!”

Toran shuddered and then turned her head back and forth to work out the tension. “No. Not not you.”

The smirk that grew on her face had Toga dropping his. Spinning on his feet was a pointless gesture, they had comms after all. “Miya! Look out!!”

This was why Toran’s attacks were lackluster and easy to dodge. He had thought she was holding back to keep from killing him. But no, it was because her attention and powers were split; ice racing up the front of the building Miya perched on. It shot out of the top in deadly spikes completely destroying the top floors of the short tower. And Miya was silent. Myouga hadn’t told them the target but given the location Toga had assumed it was a human they were after. And he was half right.

“He’s a human with demon powers. Powers that are extremely dangerous for demons; a Black Hole. Why you’ve allowed him to not only live but also stay by your side is a wonder, Fighting Fang. He shouldn’t be allowed to live…”

“Miya has lived just fine by mine and your side for a time. You pick now, of all, times to kill him?!” Toga screamed.

Toran’s smirk grew to a grin and she shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Oh?” They both turned and found the monk, a little out of breath, but with his sniper rifle on one arm and his hand out at the ready. “Good to know my life is worth so little. But I knew that already.”

Toga rolled his eyes at the drama queen. Miya had his fist closed tight but the runes that covered the cursed hand were removed. He was ready to kill.

“You won’t do that! Not with Fighting Fang so close! You don’t have the control to suck up only me!” Toran said while shaking with her fear.

Miya tilted his head to the side at her and glanced over at Toga. “That’s true. But he’s such a pain in the ass…”

“HEY!”

The monk used the small distraction to whip his rifle up and fire. He got Snowflake in the upper thigh and she released a loud whimper mixed with a roar. The shot to the leg didn’t slow her down as she leaped away over her ice walls.

Toga turned back to his friend, a lopsided grin on his face. “I knew you wouldn’t risk it, buddy.”

“I should have. She got away.”

Now at his side in a flash, Toga clapped a hand on Miya’s shoulder. “You got her in the leg! Without aiming!!”

“I was aiming. For her gut. I missed.”

“But not completely!”

Miya pulled away roughly from his friend and surveyed the damage. “Those nosy people are going to have a coronary when they get word of this.”

“Speaking of, we should get out of here. I’m sure they’re already on their way.”

Toga grabbed Miya by the collar and hoisted them both to another high building; one not destroyed and closer to the scene below. It was a mixture of cops and men in lab coats. Toga didn’t know how much Miya could make out from their distance but he was sure the ones in lab coats were the ones that were at the last mess they made. One in particular was hard to miss; his long black ponytail stood out amongst the others. And he was becoming a constant in their lives.

He was becoming a problem.

“Izayoi, take a look at this for me please.”

Setting down her notes and her pencil, Izayoi straightened her lab coat as she made her way to her colleague’s microscope. Quickly, she pulled back and tied her long black locks out of her way and leaned over. Her colleague had stepped back out of her way and said nothing; so there was no bias.

“This can’t be right. It appears… deformed.”

“Right? I thought so too!”

Stepping back, Izayoi took the sample’s file and began reading. “It says here it was taken from an incident on fifth and Topsail last night? But it doesn’t say anything about the incident or those involved.”

The woman next to her nodded in silence and Izayoi handed her back the file, hurriedly leaving the lab to the one down and across the hall. The man she was looking for was directing boxes that looked like they were filled with ice of all things. He glanced up at her and quickly signed the form in his hands and pushed the attendant off hurriedly. “Dr. Hime, how are you finding your new lab?”

Izayoi shook her head. “It’s fine, Dr. Setsuna, but I’m here about the samples you sent us?”

“What about them?”

“Well… what are they?!”

He chuckled at her and she felt her blood rise to her temples. “That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?”

“Sir, all science aside, it’s difficult to ascertain much from a few drops of blood when we know so little about it…”

“Run it through the database and see if you get a match.”

She squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Izayoi liked her job, she really did, until it started to become some kind of cloak and dagger operation and Takemaru got promoted. “We already did that and it came up with nothing.”

“Of course it did.” Takemaru mused quietly.

“Excuse me?”

Izayoi’s attention shot up to her boss but he shook his head with a fake smile. “Nothing. Just mark everything that you find in what you have, Izayoi.”

She turned and left quickly; part in frustration but also because it bothered her greatly when Takemaru spoke informally to her. Just because he was her boss now didn’t mean it was appropriate. Quite the opposite. With so much more going on, Izayoi let it go. For now.

Back in her lab and feeling safe, she looked over the blood sample again. Five had been taken and although they all looked the same they had different locations marked in their file. Izayoi looked again, taking the sample her colleague had away from her (and she was gracious to have it off her plate too). Switching back and forth, Izayoi looked over the DNA results again. They were inconclusive; the only recognizable strands reminded her of feline DNA while the rest were mutated or something. But she noticed one thing; although from different locations the blood was from the same person.

“Maybe the cat DNA is the answer?” She asked herself. The lab was empty as Izayoi got lost in her task.

Even though all the same, she didn’t want to risk any more contamination, taking each sample and amplifying them. Polymerase Chain Reaction took a few hours so Izayoi left for the small cafeteria (more like a break room with a coffee maker and vending machines) for a cup of coffee. She had taken a seat at the small table in the middle when bodies hustled hurriedly past the door.

Leaving her cup behind, Izayoi leapt to her feet and followed as fast as she could behind the small group of overly excited Scientist. They went to the loading bay which was odd in itself. The loading bay was for supplies like chemicals and printing paper. Nothing exciting came through here except when her new genetic analyzer arrived. Izayoi doubted this many were excited over something like that. It was also far too late for a delivery; already nearing ten pm.

Standing off to the side, she hid as she watched the large armored car as it backed into the loading dock. A few men in police uniform hopped out; Izayoi’s confusion and curiosity increased at the sight. One opened the back doors while the other stood right behind, his weapon up and armed.

Everything that Izayoi could have possibly imagined dropped to the floor and shattered as a man walked off the truck. His long silver hair was pulled back and swung as he looked around at the group of men that surrounded him. It was pretty.

Izayoi shook her head of the thought, focusing on the man. His red jacket and dark jeans hid his body from her but he looked normal otherwise. He had drawn purple streaks on his face just under his eyes for some reason. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she hid or make out many details of his face but the purple was hard to miss.

Her eyes traveled down to his hands; cuffed in front of him. He had long, sharp looking nails. And they looked thick and dangerous even from a distance. Her thoughts were interrupted when the man lifted his joined wrists and held his hands up. Everyone jumped except her as she watched with rapt attention; intrigued to just what the man was going to say.

“I come in peace.”

Her eyes rolled instantly and she let out a loud huff. What the hell was this guy even doing here? And why was the staff of Takemaru’s lab about to wet themselves with excitement?

She hadn’t seen him the entire time, too focused on the ‘specimen’ on the truck, but now Takemaru stood before the strange man with a wicked looking grin. He looked over the man in cuffs but said nothing to him, turning to his men who salivated behind. “Take him to the lab.”

They didn’t take the usual hallway. Instead they took the man the back way designed for deliveries. Izayoi stepped back and completely out of sight; sneaking down the hall and back to her lab. When the noise from Takemaru’s lab reached hers, she slowly left hers again and snuck down the hall. When she peeked inside, there was nothing out of the ordinary so she straightened herself and walked right in. Only to be stopped by Takemaru.

“Dr. Hime? What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” She said plainly. “I’m still working on those samples you gave me…”

“Oh there’s no rush. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.” He said, waving a hand at her like it was no big deal.

“I don’t need to worry?! Sir, I spent all day running them. I’m not about to drop them…”

“Fine, Izayoi, you do what you need to. In your lab.”

He was kicking her out and she resisted the urge to run from the informality; stretching on her toes to look around him instead. “Did you get a new project?”

Takemaru swayed and moved in her way more, blocking her view completely from spying the back of his lab. “It’s ‘need to know’.”

Izayoi seethed. Ever since Takemaru got promoted (over her) he acted like it was some kind of ‘boy’s club’. That’s what it was, all the men in the room moving around without issue while she was stuck in the doorway. She was sure that was how Takemaru got promoted instead of herself. Even with a few women on the board it was very much a ‘man’s world’ in the lab as of late. As much as it pissed her off they did give her a nice raise. And she loved her work as well as those who worked in her lab.

She would put up with it for now until a better offer came along. As it stood, this was the only lab in town that could handle her caliber of study. Didn’t mean she had to pretend she was okay with it, huffing as she turned on her heel. “Whatever, Dr. Setsuna. Enjoy your new toy.”

Let them think they’re keeping their secrets. Izayoi was sure she would figure them out soon. She hated secrets. Secrets and liars her two main pet peeves. It was the reason she became a scientist. To discover all the secrets the world held and to uncover any lies. This was all just another mystery for her to unravel.

And unravel, she would.

#inuyasha fandom #inuparents day #izayoi x toga #cell mates prequel #cell mates universe #inuparents day 2021 #how to make a hanyou

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nerdywriter36 · 3 years

Text

Sleep So Long Awaited

taken from a post by @behindthemirrorofmusic on tumblr: 'apparently in one of the millions of Love Never Dies drafts, it was Erik who died. The final scene was very different with Erik pushing Raoul out of the shot's way and subsequently getting hit himself. As Erik lays dying in Christine's arms, Raoul assured Erik he will be a better father to Gustave and raise him in his honour and Christine tells him she loved him. Then Erik sings his last words to her: "Christine, don't weep, for I can finally sleep...I have heard you sing...once more..."

@phannah--montana asked me to write this, so blame her for the pain that follows. i cried multiple times writing this, so...my apologies.

AO3

FFN

Erik's heart was pounding. Over the course of his life, he had been in countless terrifying situations that had made his heart race and adrenaline course through his veins, but none compared to the way he felt as he rushed through a crowded amusement park, knowing that his only child was missing.

The roar of rollercoasters and giddy squeals of children did nothing to calm his anxiousness; every young boy he saw made his heart skip a beat, but none of them were his Gustave.

Despite all of that, though, what pained him the most was seeing how distressed Christine was. The panic on her face and the tears in her eyes made his heart ache and his nerves fire off more than they already had been.

"Erik, what if we don't find him?" she asked as she turned to him, taking a shaky breath before she looked away to scan their surroundings again.

"Don't say that, we are going to find him," he immediately replied. He tried to be gentle but kept his tone firm to reassure her. He refused to let her believe that they'd lose their son for good, and he didn't want to believe it either.

"But what if we don't? Or if we do, what if it takes hours? He could be anywhere out here in the dark, surrounded by strangers. What if someone has unsavoury intentions? They could just...just take him! Oh, and the water; Erik, he can't swim, what if he falls in?" Christine said, her rapid-fire questions finally ceasing as her tears overflowed.

With a quiet sigh, Erik pulled her into his arms and held her head to his chest. "Don't think of such things, my darling. We will find him and he will be alright and we will take him somewhere safe," he said, gently rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her. "We must keep searching, though. Go with Madame Giry and search over there, by the concession stands. I will stay here and do another close look before we move on."

Christine nodded, taking his hand and squeezing it before she hurried off with Giry, leaving Erik to hurry the other way to continue the search for his son. As much as he had been trying to reassure his angel that Gustave would be found, he was beginning to realize that the exact same fears were running through his own mind. His son simply having gone missing was enough to terrify him, but what Christine had said about him being alone in the dark, taken away, or falling into the rough bay surrounding the island made his stomach twist in a way he had never felt before. He didn't even want to consider his one and only child being scared, possibly hurt, and god, if something worse happened, then-

"Mister Y!" someone called.

Erik stopped in his tracks at the sound of his pseudonym, knowing that almost no one could pair that name with him. As he tried to consider who it could be without looking, he heard the same voice use his birth name and finally turned around, only to frown right away.

"R-Raoul?" he stuttered out, too surprised by the man's appearance to use his formal title as he usually did. "What are you...I thought you left?"

"I did, but I couldn't get to the docks. Christine deserved more than a letter, so I came back to talk to her about everything. Explain my decision," Raoul replied, only to frown slightly when he noticed how frantic the man in front of him was. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no, n-nothing is wrong," Erik said immediately. "Christine is, um...she-she's not at the hotel."

"That's fine, I can wait, but something is clearly wrong," the Vicomte said with a sigh. "Not that I'm particularly concerned about you - I'll sleep fine tonight, - but it's inhibiting this discussion, so you may as well just tell me."

"Gustave is missing."

Immediately, Raoul's frown deepened. "What?"

"Gustave is missing, my-my son is missing," Erik repeated, running a shaky hand through his hair as those simple words made the situation all too real for him.

"Wh- how? When did this happen?" Raoul asked, pushing aside his past with the ex-Phantom to try and get to the bottom of the matter at hand, and while the truth of Gustave's parentage stung, he could see Erik's distress plain and simple; he was a villain no more, but merely a frightened father instead. "I saw him at the theatre before I left, he was meant to stay there."

"Yes, I know that much, but when Christine and I returned to her dressing room, he wasn't there. At first, I thought you had taken him, but it was confirmed that you left alone. Madame Giry isn't to blame either, so now we're trying to track Meg down."

Raoul thought to himself for a moment, only for the blood to drain from his face as a realization dawned on him. "She goes swimming every morning, near the bar where we spoke."

"Suicide Hall, oh my god," Erik breathed, exchanging a panicked glance with the Vicomte before he bolted towards Christine, who stood not far away, with Raoul right behind him.

"Raoul?" Christine said with a frown, turning to Erik for answers. "What is he-"

"Meg!" Erik yelled as he ran down the pier, his heart leaping into his throat when he saw his son held in the woman's arms. "Meg, stop, please!"

"He's going to help, but we think we know where Meg took Gustave, come," Erik immediately replied as he took her hand and started running towards the seaside bar and pier.

He immediately skidded to a stop, though, when he watched her pull a gun from behind her back to point it at him. "Stay there! I'll shoot if you don't! Or...or he'll end up in the water!" she threatened as she shuffled Gustave closer to the edge of the pier despite his efforts to squirm away.

"No, Meg, please! Leave him out of this!" Erik pleaded, sighing shakily when he heard Christine crying quietly behind him. "Please let him go, Meg, please don't hurt him."

"Why should I listen to you?! That's all I've done for ten years, only for you to refuse to even look my way!" the young Giry retorted. "And why does his safety matter to you so much? You hardly know him!"

"Meg, he is only a child, he should not be caught up in something like this," Erik said calmly, his eyes locked on Gustave, who was looking right back at him with distress painted on his face. "Just leave him be and keep this between us."

Meg shook her head, still holding Gustave tightly. "He is involved because he ties you to her! You couldn't just leave her behind, and then you had a child with her!"

Erik's heart sunk when he heard her and watched a frown form on his son's face. "What?" the boy quietly asked.

"And he didn't even know! The secrets never stop with you, do they?" Meg snapped, adjusting her hold on the gun still pointed at them. "The family resemblance is rather strong, though; he would have figured it out soon enough."

"Meg...Meg, please let him go," Erik said quietly, fighting to keep his voice steady despite the tears starting to well up in his eyes. "He hasn't hurt anyone, leave him out of this fight."

His fingers twitched as he waited for any sort of response or reaction from Meg, feeling Christine's hand on his back, gripping his suit coat, her anxiety palpable even though he couldn't see her.

What made the situation all the more heartwrenching, though, was what he heard his son quietly say with tear-filled eyes: "Papa, help."

"Oh, Meg, please let him go," Adele Giry piped up to say. "Let the boy go to his father, he has no part in this."

It was another moment before Erik released the breath he'd been holding when Meg pushed Gustave forward and the boy ran right into his arms. "I've got you, Gustave, you're alright," he whispered, holding his son tightly when he felt how he was shaking, then turned around so Christine and Raoul could comfort him as well.

As Gustave hugged his mother, he turned to look up at Erik. "So...so you're my real father?" he asked quietly.

Erik sighed and gave him a weak smile. "I am. I'm sorry you only just found out and that it happened this way; the situation is very complicated. Still, I'm glad you had Raoul to take care of you until now."

"So am I," Gustave replied, smiling back at him. "But I'm glad I have my real Papa now too."

"As am I, Gustave." Erik reached out to hesitantly smooth down his child's hair and simply stood looking at him for a moment, ecstatic that he was safe, but even that didn't keep him from noticing the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back from behind them. Whirling around, he had hardly registered the weapon aimed at them before he shoved Raoul out of the way just as a shot rang out.

Then all he could feel was the searing pain in his abdomen.

There were screams as he stumbled and collapsed, that much he knew; two women - Christine, undoubtedly, and Meg along with her - as well as his son...oh, his son. The boy he had only just discovered, yet loved with all his heart, and was at the risk of leaving forever before even getting to know him, raise him, love him even more or-

"God, what did you do that for?" the Vicomte demanded, interrupting his train of thought for the second time that night.

Erik managed to find the energy to focus again and looked up to see both Raoul and Christine hunched over him, both looking rather worried, though that was more true of the latter, naturally.

"She was going to shoot you," Erik replied, stifling a groan as the Vicomte held his suit jacket to his wound to apply any pressure he could.

"So her shooting you was a better alternative?" Raoul retorted. "You...you have a family here."

Erik sighed quietly as he glanced up at Christine, who had moved to rest his head in her lap, then back to his former rival turned associate. "As do you."

He noticed the Vicomte seemed to pause at that; he looked up from the gunshot wound to his face and the pressure on his abdomen lessened momentarily. Erik wasn't surprised that Raoul had seemed caught off guard; earlier that very day, they had been at each other's throats, fighting to call Gustave and Christine theirs. That said, neither of them could have foreseen the way the night would go, so quick decisions had to be made, that much Erik recognized.

"Papa?" he heard a familiar, quiet voice say, which made him turn his head slightly to see Gustave next to his mother, fear all over his face and tears in his eyes, a few having already fallen onto his cheeks. "What's going to happen?"

Oh, how badly he wished he could say that all would be well, but he could tell that wouldn't be the case; he could already feel his strength waning and his breaths becoming more laboured with each passing moment.

"I'm sorry, Gustave. I wish you and I had had more time together," Erik said quietly, his heart aching as he watched his son simply shake his head in response.

"But I don't want you to die, I want you to stay here with us," Gustave said before he leaned over and much to everyone's surprise, hugged his father.

Erik winced slightly when he did but waved Raoul off when he began to tell Gustave to move. "I'm so sorry, my boy," he whispered, slowly moving his arm so as to avoid any extra pain and wrapping it around his son. "You're going to be alright, I promise."

"Please stay, Papa. I don't want you to go," the boy replied just before a quiet sob escaped him and he buried his face in the crook of his father's neck.

"Shh, no tears, Gustave. I'm sorry I cannot stay, but your maman has plenty of stories about me. I will never really go away, I promise you that."

"And your Papa will never break a promise if it is in his power," Christine quietly added as she gently pulled Gustave up and held him close while she fought back tears of her own.

Raoul sighed as he looked at his wife and her son, then glanced back at Erik, pulling his jacket away and feeling his stomach twist slightly at the amount of blood stating his shirt and soaking through his waistcoat. One look at Erik's face and seeing the expressions of pain that he was trying and failing to hide told him enough; the man was dying and unless help arrived that very moment, there was nothing to be done about that fact.

"They're going to be alright, Erik," he decided to say as he set his jacket to the wound again, even though he knew the ex-Phantom was well aware that it was pointless. "I am going to take care of them and I am going to do it right this time. Gustave deserves better than what I gave him, and if you can't be the one to do that, then...then I'll do it on your behalf."

Erik managed a weak smile and nod in response. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. "I...I trust you."

Raoul returned the nod and took Gustave into his arms when Christine leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Erik's forehead, then his lips. While a slight spark of jealousy flared up in his chest seeing that, he managed to smother it; the man was dying and deserved a moment with the woman he loved, the mother of his one and only child. Even someone with all his faults and flaws deserved that.

"I love you, Erik," he heard Christine say as he gently smoothed down his hair, no doubt trying to soothe him in his final moments. That was her way, after all; gentility and kindness whenever possible.

"As I love you, my angel," Erik whispered, lifting a slightly shaky hand to brush his knuckles against her cheek. "Thank you for...for all you've given me."

When his wife finally allowed a sob to slip from her lips, even Raoul found himself getting teary-eyed seeing her in pain. Still, he gave the pair their space, settling to hold Gustave close and wait for the inevitable end to the situation at hand.

"Oh, Christine," Erik said softly, a tear falling from his own eye, the Vicomte noticed, before his voice lifted into the weakest song he'd ever heard, which was undoubtedly all the man could manage: "Christine, don't weep, for I can finally sleep... I have heard you sing...once more."

All was silent and still at that, and Raoul hugged Gustave even tighter as he noticed the rise and fall of Erik's chest had stopped, the hand that had been resting just above his injury slipping to fall onto the deck of the pier.

"Papa?" Gustave asked quietly, lifting his head and looking over at his father's body as he started to sniffle again. "Papa, w-wake up."

"Shh, Gustave, he's gone. I'm so sorry," Raoul whispered, cradling the boy's head to his shoulder and shuffling closer to his wife to wrap an arm around her while she hugged Erik's head against her chest. "I'm sorry, Christine."

His wife simply nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Erik's head before she turned to him. "Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" Raoul queried with a frown.

"For everything you said. You brought him peace when he needed it and I can never thank you enough."

With a small smile, the Vicomte leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Of course. He wanted his family to be safe and I wanted to reassure him that that would be a reality. He deserved to know that you two will be okay even when he isn't here to make sure of that himself, and I intend to ensure that happens."

#poto #phantom of the opera #lnd #love never dies #e/c #r/c #erik #christine daae #raoul de chagny #gustave #erik and gustave #oneshot #my writing

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grimweathers · 3 years

Text

tagged by @shmazarov ! honestly enjoying these v much, thank you for the tag

rules: answer 30 questions and tag others

name/nickname: river—was initially just trying it out but i think i will be sticking with it!

gender: nonbinary baybieeeee

star sign: sagittarius sun / capricorn moon, i tend to identify more with my cap moon tbh

height: 5′7″

time: 1:48 pm

birthday: dec 9

favorite bands: taking a look through my music and wow i actually... do not listen to a lot of bands anymore! a tribe called quest and talking heads are the ones i listen to regularly though. i will also have a place in my heart for fall out boy til the day i die probably lol. i imprinted on them when i was like 12, it’s not my fault!

favorite solo artists: otis redding, nina simone, mitski, whitney houston, hozier, st. vincent, janelle monae, etta james, maggie rogers (etc. etc.)

song stuck in your head: lmao it’s a song from a tiktok actually—https://www.tiktok.com/@tomcardy/video/6942336772818980097

last movie you watched: in the heights! what a delight

last show: loki—i have designated it as my “dinner show” because i simply do not have the attention span to binge things anymore

when did you create this blog: oh boy uh... probably 2010 or so?? yikes

what do you post: it really comes down to: the magicians, cute animals, and art

last thing googled: ao3 floating comment box extension thing (i can now use this because i have an actual laptop now!)

other blogs: i went through a whole Thing in the early 2010s where i made a buuuuunch of sideblogs to save usernames that i thought i was gonna use but i never did. and now i can’t delete them because i do not remember the password lol

do you get asks: only when i do one of those ask memes!

why you chose your url: it was before i came back to tumblr for the magicians... i was mostly into captain america at the time but could not find an available cap-related username lmao so i went with something from one piece. i have been trying to change my url to my ao3/discord name but tumblr claims it is taken (it is not)

following: i don’t know and i don’t feel like checking lmao. i’m fairly certain most of them are from my earlier tumblr days and are now inactive though

followers: honestly, same as the above

average hours of sleep: ever since i got my dog (who promptly gets up around 5:30am everyday), maybe like... 6 :( i need ~8 to properly function so it’s not good!

instruments: the only one i currently own is a guitar, but i can play piano and i played flute in middle school. was also part of the percussion section in high school marching band (love me a good marimba)

what are you wearing: tank top + underwear lol. it’s hot!

dream job: ugh god i don’t know. tattoo artist maybe? that could be cool.

dream trip: hmmm i’d love to hit up korea as an adult! the last time i went i was in kindergarten lol. japan would be neat too

favorite food: i think i gotta go with galbi (korean short rib bbq). but i am always down for pad thai or bolognese pasta

nationality: americ*n 😔

favorite song: uhhHHHH “i shall be released,” nina simone’s version is my go-to answer

last book read: currently reading “detransition, baby” (i am very behind the book club schedule because i got a little overwhelmed), but the last one i actually finished was “winter’s orbit” by everina maxwell. i liked it a lot! i was expecting a sorta frothy gay romance with some vague sci-fi plot in the background, but the main focus was actually like a sci-fi political intrigue mystery, and the romance felt like a b-plot a bit. not what i was expecting, but enjoyable nonetheless

top three fictional universes you’d like to live in: this is difficult! maybeeee harry potter post-voldemort but all the other ones that i can think of are... kinda terrible!

tagging: @tothevines @yourtinseltinkerbell @akisazame @jessalae @honeybabydichotomy @highkingpenny if you want!

#good lord this took me forever #i am slow #about yours truly #tag meme

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Fear in Friendship (is an ugly trait)

Heehoo, this oneshot is short enough to crosspost on Tumblr instead of just linking to my AO3

Length: ~5k Premise: Percy Jackson AU/Fusion Characters: Roman, Remus, Janus ships: N/A Content Warnings: PJO-typical violence & injury, potential very very light ableism vibes (more info in the beginning notes on AO3)

Read on AO3

"Janice?" Roman asked, tilting his head at the new student Remus had brought to meet him. He was about to be late for after-school rehearsal, but Remus had come trotting up dragging the newcomer by the hand, and he'd looked so excited that Roman just couldn't bring himself to blow his brother off.

The new student glared. "Jan-US," he said, with an incredulous look at Remus, as if to say 'this idiot is your brother?' "Like the Roman god." He said it like it was obvious, like Roman was some kind of moron for not knowing. The sneering tone made Roman's blood run hot with anger and shame.

"I don't know all about that nerdy shit," Roman said, waving a hand dismissively.

Janus rolled his eyes. "Really? I would never have guessed; you seem so smart."

He was almost handsome, Roman thought, trying to study Janus' face without giving away that he was staring. He really might have been good-looking if it wasn't for the look of irritation that had been glued to his face ever since he'd entered Roman's field of vision.

A field of scarring spanned the left side of his face and traveled down his neck until the painful-looking swirl of pink and white disappeared under his high-collared shirt. The scarring itself was not necessarily unusual, just standard burn scars. What caught Roman's attention was how they just stopped, all in a straight, uniform line directly down the center of Janus' face. Almost like… Roman tried not to shudder as the thought came to him. Almost like someone had done it on purpose.

He swallowed hard and tried to get himself back on track. "Least I don't share a name with our librarian, Miss Janice."

"God, you're such a dick." Remus ran a hand through his unruly hair, shooting Roman a dark look. Roman stuck out his tongue. "Forget it." He took Janus by the wrist again and turned away. "Come on, let's go see if we can hack the vending machine."

"Oh, no you don't." Roman lunged forward, irritation coursing through him, and grabbed the top of Remus' backpack. "You're coming with me so I can keep an eye on you."

"No way!" Remus squirmed, but Roman kept his grip tight. "I don't wanna go to your stupid rehearsal."

To Roman's surprise, Janus chimed in with a keen and interested, "Rehearsal?"

"He thinks he's hot shit because he's playing Danny Zuko." Remus rolled his eyes, still trying to wiggle free of Roman's grip. "News flash, anyone can memorize lines and prance around in a leather jacket."

"So why don't you try out?" Roman asked rhetorically, starting to pull Remus down the hall.

Remus went along with it, though Roman knew full-well that he could have slipped out of his backpack and made a run for it at any time. "'Cause I'm too busy bangin'! Ba dum ch!"

As they made their way down the hall, Janus walked beside them in silence. Roman watched him out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the way he continually glanced over his shoulder like he was expecting to get in some sort of trouble. It was a look Roman was well familiar with. He had seen it on Remus and he had worn it himself far more times than he was comfortable with. Roman and his brother seemed to attract danger wherever they went, from stalkers to muggers to one stranger's memorable attempt at running them over in the crosswalk. It was never the same person twice, and each isolated incident could be chalked up to an accident. Roman didn't like to think about it for too long and worked hard to keep Remus from talking about it. After the first mugging, Remus had sworn for weeks that their assailant had had a tail. Roman had denied it out loud, but he couldn't lie to himself. Something wasn't right.

If Janus was equally as twitchy… Was he part of it? Did he know something?

"I understand the compulsion, since I am quite good-looking," Janus said, in a tone so dry it could have drained an Olympic swimming pool, "but you'd better quit staring at me before you walk into a door."

"I spaced out," Roman said, unable to think of a snappier retort. He couldn't help but shoot Janus suspicious looks out of the corner of his eye as they continued toward the Main building. "Where'd you transfer from, anyway? How old are you?"

Janus put his hands up like a cornered criminal. "You caught me," he said, affecting regret. "I'm a 43 year-old police officer trying to track down a drug ring. Promise me you won't tell?"

"Little does he know, I'm the distributor," Remus said, finally yanking free from Roman's hold. Roman let him go, knowing that if he had stayed this long, he probably wasn't going to run off.

Roman rolled his eyes. "Very funny, J Jonah Hill. But seriously."

"I'm 16," Janus said. "I transferred from a school in New York."

"All the way from New York? How'd you end up in Florida?" Roman yanked open the door to Main and held it for Remus and Janus. He was tempted to let it drop on Remus just to watch him stumble, but found himself distracted by a gold keychain on Janus' backpack. It was nothing special, just a shiny metal Gemini symbol, but the way it caught the light made Roman pause.

"Teleported," Janus said.

"Are you allergic to straight answers, or what?" Roman asked, unamused. Janus' mocking demeanor didn't sit well with him, and something about Janus' face didn't make sense. The scars seemed almost superficial, and didn't always move in conjunction with his mouth. Roman felt stupid just thinking it, but it was almost like they were masking something.

"What crawled up your ass?" Remus demanded. He turned to Janus. "Sorry, he's not usually such an asshole. He's probably just nervous about hitting all those high notes. I heard him practicing in the shower last night and it was like someone was skinning a cat."

"I sounded awesome," Roman said, blushing furiously. He paused before the theater doors, turning his back to them so he could directly address Remus. "Go find a seat. And I swear to God, if you cause any disruptions, I'll shave your drumsticks down into toothpicks."

"Not the Vic Firths!" Remus said, gasping in faux-horror. He dismissed Roman with a wave of his hand and motioned for Janus to follow him. "C'mon, let's go see if we can catch a cockroach."

Roman just shook his head and hurried backstage.

He had a hard time focusing during rehearsal, missing cues and tripping over himself on lines he had memorized days ago. But he was too distracted to even be bothered, subtly trying to keep an eye on Remus-- okay, on Janus from his vantage point on the stage.

Roman couldn't help it. He didn't trust Janus. The haunted look in his eyes, the way he was always looking over his shoulder… Something was off.

No matter how hard he tried, Roman couldn't force himself to focus. His thoughts kept whirling until they transformed into an overwhelming sense of dread that demanded all his attention. He barely even noticed when rehearsal ended, hurrying into the seating area to try to find Remus.

He wasn't there. Of course he wasn't there. Roman shouldered his backpack and strode off toward the bathrooms, trying hard not to panic. What if Janus was bad news? What if he had hurt Remus? What if Remus was lying bloody in a back corner somewhere because Roman wasn't there to protect him?

"Remus?" Roman called, checking both bathrooms. Nothing. "Shit." Where else did Remus like to go? Maybe the band room? Roman set off for it at a jog, his backpack bouncing against his back.

Nothing in the band room. Roman tried the handle anyway, just to confirm that it was locked.

"I'm going to kill him," Roman muttered, stalking off toward the football field. He swung by the vending machines on the way just in case, and came up empty. It had to be the football field, then. Remus had been talking about playing with the tackle dummies for weeks. That had to be it.

Roman forced himself to slow down as he approached the football field, not wanting Remus to know how badly he'd been freaking out. Of course Remus was there, doing cartwheels on the turf while Janus sat and watched.

"I told you not to leave!" Roman said, marching up to the pair of them.

"You didn't," Janus said, smirking. Roman glared at him. In the sun, his scars seemed to fade for a moment, revealing only the slightest hint of… green? Roman shook his head. It must have been the light reflecting off the turf. Janus continued, "You only said to find a seat and not cause any disruptions."

"I was gonna release a cockroach onto the stage and see if I could get it to go up your pants leg," Remus said, falling out of a cartwheel and landing on his back. "But Janus convinced me not to."

"You're welcome," Janus said.

Roman couldn't help but stare at him. His scars flickered in and out in the sunlight, the dark brown of his left eye flashing yellow. "Remus, get behind me," Roman said, deadly serious.

"What?" Remus lifted his head. "Why?"

Roman didn't answer, stepping between his brother and Janus. "What are you?" he demanded.

Janus' eyes widened before a look of realization crossed his face. "I'm a friend," he said in a silky, almost crooning tone. "You can trust me."

"He's a friend," Remus repeated. "Why are you being so weird?"

A sense of calm slid over Roman for half a second before he snapped out of it. "What are you?" he repeated, stepping forward into Janus' personal space. Now that he was looking for it, he could see it clear as day: Janus was half-snake. His entire left half was covered in dull green scales, and a slit pupil neatly bisected the sickly yellow of his left eye.

Janus put up his hands. "You're stronger than Remus," he said, almost to himself.

Roman grabbed him by the collar. "You have 30 seconds to explain what's going on."

"Look," Janus said. "You know you're not normal, right?"

"Bad start," Roman said, making a show of cocking his fist back. He'd never hit anyone in his life, save the occasional thrown elbow in wrestling matches with Remus. Should he go for the jaw? The eye?

"You have an absent parent, you get in trouble a lot, you've been in a lot of one-off dangerous situations that you can't really explain," Janus rattled off like he was reciting from a memorized list. "You're dyslexic, you make things happen like magic. Stop me when this sounds familiar."

"Some of those things, maybe," Roman said. Remus was dyslexic and they'd both had their fair share of dangerous run-ins. Distantly, he thought he heard the overlapping thumps of several car doors shutting. "What does that have to do with you?"

"You aren't human," Janus said.

"You aren't human," Roman shot back.

Janus rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Okay, look. You're the only one who can see my real face, right? Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know!" Roman said. Distracted, he let go of Janus' shirt. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to say that-- Okay, you know what? Let's just rip the blindfold off like a Band-Aid, sure!" Janus gave a hysterical-sounding laugh. "You're a demigod. You're both demigods."

Roman scoffed, unsure of exactly what else to say. A million questions raced through his mind, punctuated by that slamming car door sound again. What was that, anyway? He backed away from Janus and nearly stepped on Remus, who grabbed him by the ankle and bit. "You can stop harassing my friend now, you neurotic weirdo."

"Look at him!" Roman said. He bent down and hauled Remus to his feet, and was immediately distracted by a mechanical-sounding hissing and creaking. "I'm sorry, does anyone else hear a broken washing machine?"

"Whoa!" said Remus. "You're a snake!”

"I am not," Janus said.

Roman spun around, still searching for the source of the noise. It came into view a moment later and he froze for half a second, eyes widening. "Uhh, guys?" he said, backing up despite himself. He kept his gaze locked onto the massive copper bull that was striding directly at the fencing surrounding the football field, radiating heat that warped the air around it.

"What the heck is that?" Remus asked in obvious fascination.

"Listen," Janus said, his voice strangely calm. In the corner of his eye, Roman could just make out Janus as he removed his backpack and yanked the gold Gemini keychain off the zipper. "You need to get to my car. It's the blue Kia Soul parked by the main entrance."

In the distance, the bull backed up and smashed its way through the fence with a horrible clanging sound.

"Is that thing gonna try to kill us?" Remus asked.

The bull meandered closer, looking as nonchalant as a massive metal bull could. Roman fought the urge to back up, to grab Remus by the hand and get the hell out of dodge. "Why isn't it attacking?"

"It probably hasn't seen us yet," Janus said. He sounded as calm as ever, but Roman didn't miss the frantic rise and fall of his chest. "Walk off," he said. "Slowly."

"What about you?" Roman demanded.

Janus spun the keychain around his finger. The metal gleamed in the sun and lengthened into something Roman didn't recognize: a long metal pole with a half-moon blade at the end. "I'll hold it off."

"You can't seriously think--" Roman started, but the bull looked up and started to charge and the words died on his lip as raw panic choked out his rational thought

"Run!" Janus ordered. "Blue Kia Soul. Meet me there!"

Roman shrugged out of his backpack, grabbed Remus by the wrist and sprinted.

"Are you crazy?" Remus shouted. "We can't just leave him!"

"No shit!" Roman shouted back, still dragging Remus along. "We need weapons or something!"

"Hurdles," Remus said, veering off to the side.

Roman nearly tripped and was forced to let go of Remus’ hand. He wanted to argue, but there was very little of potential use on the field. The tackle dummies and tires left out by the football team were far too heavy for them to move. The track hurdles were the only things even remotely useful. Remus grabbed one and started hauling it back toward the fray, and Roman was quick to follow suit. He didn't want Remus going in first if he could help it.

The hurdle was unwieldy and made his hands ache, but he barely noticed, too wrapped in not tripping while he watched Janus in a state of adrenaline-riddled horror.

By some miracle, Janus wasn't dead. In fact, to Roman's puzzlement, he sort of looked like he knew what he was doing. More or less. He held his weapon with confidence and kept his center of gravity low. The bull seemed to have no other strategy than to aim itself at a target and charge, allowing Janus to dodge every time. Unfortunately, it seemed he could only dodge, as the long handle of his weapon, whatever it was, didn't allow for quick maneuvers.

They were locked in a stalemate, and it was pretty much a guarantee that Janus was going to tire out. He was already breathing heavily, keeping his moments sparing and conservative.

Then Remus came flying in and Roman could only watch as his brother flung the track hurdle with wild abandon. "Die!"

"I told you to run!" Janus shouted, barely audible over the clanging of the bull kicking furiously to try to dislodge its back legs from the hurdle

"We'll run after we finish saving your ass," Roman said. The bull's head swiveled between the two of them, as Remus was still behind it, and Roman swore he saw a spark of intelligence in its molten-metal eyes. Without any sort of warning, it kicked Remus in the chest and took off at a dead sprint for Janus again.

For a split second, Roman was paralyzed. Remus hit the ground hard and rolled and lay still; Janus stood frozen with guilt written all over his face.

"Move!" Roman shouted, already formulating a plan. If he could get the hurdle underfoot while the bull was charging, it might trip, allowing Janus enough time to… stab it or slash it or whatever his weapon was supposed to be good for.

Janas sidestepped again and dashed forward. He glared at Roman, too winded to speak.

"I need you to draw its attention again," Roman said, glancing at the bull. It left deep gouges in the artificial grass where it stopped, and the rubber smoked from the sheer heat it put out. It turned and pawed the ground. "And I swear to God, if you let it get to Remus again, I will end you."

"Like it was my fault," Janus panted, already in motion. He backed up, careful to step away from Remus. Lacking any spare fabric to wave, he threw his free arm out and shouted, "It's me that you want."

He used the same silken, commanding tone he'd tried on Roman earlier. Roman made a mental note to ask him about that when they weren't in the middle of a death match.

The bull charged. Roman threw the hurdle. Then everything went to Hell.

The bull did trip as Roman had intended, but it had so much momentum that it kept thundering toward Janus as it stumbled and scrabbled for balance on the melting rubber chips. A wayward hoof caught Janus in the ankle and knocked him flat, practically right underneath its massive chest. He gave a shout and dropped his weapon, and Roman realized with a feeling of sinking dread that it must have been too hot to touch.

Well, there went that.

He needed a new plan and he needed it now. Already the bull was finding its footing and turning its fiery glare on Roman.

Roman charged it, feeling more like Remus' brother than he had ever had before. "Die!" He rolled forward and grabbed Janus' weapon, barely noticing the heat that seared into his palms-- He didn't have time for pain or panic. Spotting a crack in the metal plating on the bull's back, Roman aimed the blade and shoved. The bull shuddered and Janus shouted something, but Roman had no room for thoughts more complex than kill, protect, kill, protect. He shoved and shoved until the bull gave a final hiss and went still, until sweat poured into his eyes and he could no longer keep them open, until the metal shaft of Janus' weapon snapped under his hand.

"Remus!" Janus shouted.

That got Roman's attention. He left Janus half-pinned under the steaming body of the bull and dashed for Remus' prone form.

He was already starting to sit up and self-assess, touching the back of his head and studying his bloodied fingers with an unsettling blank expression.

"Are you okay?" Roman asked.

Remus blinked hard, stared at him. "Is it dead?"

"Yeah, it's dead."

"Where's Janus?"

Roman frowned and looked behind him. Janus had extracted himself from the wreckage of the bull and was kneeling and wiping the sweat off his face. "Remus is asking for you," Roman said, trying not to let his bitterness show in his voice.

"You broke my scythe," Janus said, not moving.

"You could thank me for saving your life," Roman shot back, half-forgetting Remus.

"That was my best weapon! Now all I have is this stupid knife."

"Are you coming over or not?"

"I can't." Janus glared at Roman. "Somebody dropped a two-ton Colchis bull on me and shattered my ankle in the process."

"But did you die?"

"Can you stop yelling?" Remus murmured, burying his face in his hands.

Roman stared at him, heart hammering with renewed fear. "Are you okay?"

"I just want to go home."

"You can't," Janus said. Roman glared at him, but he continued without acknowledging it, "It's not safe. The monsters know about you now. You have to come with me."

"And why the Hell would we do that?" Roman demanded. "You almost got us killed!"

Remus peeked over the tops of his fingers. "I don't think it was his fault, Roman."

"Thanks for the backup, bro." Roman rolled his eyes and turned to address Janus again. "Why should we trust you?"

The look Janus gave him could have burned a hole in titanium. "Hm, let's see. Who has all the answers? Who just tried to save your ungrateful ass? Think hard now, Roman, don't be afraid to phone a friend."

"I get it, I get it." Roman got to his feet, surprised at how stiff and sore he already felt. He extended a hand to Remus only to yelp in sudden agony when Remus tried to grab on. He turned his hands over and found both palms bright red and shiny with small blisters on the centers. He offered Renus his forearm instead, and steadied him as he swayed. "You okay?"

"Super," Remus wheezed. "Fucking peachy. I got kicked right in the tit by a steampunk rodeo bull and busted my head open on the single rock in this entire field of soft-ass rubber chips. Can't wait to tell Mom."

"Shit!" Roman said. "Mom!" Realization hit a moment later-- she was out of town for a few days at some big-shot surfing exposition, no kids allowed.

"She's in for a nasty surprise."

"Very nasty," Janus said, "unless your godly parent warned her ahead of time. Is anyone going to help me up?" Roman forced himself to compartmentalize. One thing at a time. Remus seemed steady enough on his feet, so Roman stepped over to help Janus up. He couldn't seem to put any weight on his right ankle and clamped onto Roman's shoulder when he tried to step away. "You have two options," Janus said, "help me walk, or grab my keys and bring the car around-- Oh." He looked away, horror dawning in his face, and Roman followed his gaze to see what he was staring at.

"Let me guess," he said, examining the still-smoking remains of Janus' backpack. "They keys were in there?"

"The keys, my wallet, miscellaneous demigod survival crap. You know, nothing too important."

"I'll go see what I can find." Roman let Janus drop, privately amused by the undignified cry he gave out upon hitting the ground.

Janus' black Nike backpack had melted and fused with the rubber chips on the turf. Roman poked the mess with the tip of his toe and found it cool enough to touch for short periods, so he knelt and did his best to sort through what was left.

The Kia keys had miraculously survived, although the remote was unusable and the lanyard was nothing more than a pile of ash and melted orange polyester fibers. It sent flames of agony all across his palms, but Roman managed to extricate the car key and a few strange golden coins. He ignored the remains of a few Ziploc bags, but examined the orange Hydroflask with a critical eye. It had a hole in it, but whatever it had once held had a peculiar smell that cut through the stench of burning rubber and made Roman feel strangely at ease. It smelled like fresh-squeezed orange juice, and he could have sworn he caught a hint of guava and vanilla, like the nonalcoholic punch his mom made for the kids when she was hosting parties.

"Take your time," Janus called, pulling Roman back to reality.

Roman flipped him off, and it hurt like his hand was on fire, but it was worth it. Now that the adrenaline was well and truly gone, he just felt sick and wrung-out, and not at all in the mood to deal with Janus' ill temper.

"Got the keys," Roman said, turning around. "And these weird arcade tokens."

"Those are drachma."

"That's funny," Remus said, in a voice that was still much too quiet and calm for Roman's liking, "I thought they were ligma."

"Oh my God," Roman muttered.

"What?" said Janus, eyeing Remus with concern.

"Ligma nuts!" Remus said.

After a long silence, that Roman supposed was meant to restore some sense of dignity, Janus said, "Good to know you're not dying."

"So are we leaving or what?" Roman asked, jangling the keys.

Janus nodded, and gestured for Roman to help him up.

Roman was sure they looked ridiculous as they hobbled across the football field. Roman, who was the least injured, had to support half of Janus' weight as he limped along, and Remus kept getting lightheaded and grabbing Roman's other shoulder for balance. At least Remus was able to carry his and Roman's backpacks, though it slowed him down considerably.

Roman was winded when they finally reached the parking lot, his shoulders and obliques screaming in protest at the awkward position he'd held for so long.

"Can you drive?" Janus asked when they'd reached the Kia and he could finally let go of Roman.

"Uh, I have my learner's permit."

Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let me rephrase that: You're going to have to drive."

"Where to?"

"New York."

"New York?" Roman repeated. "Are you crazy? Why New York?"

"I'll explain on the way," Janus said, "but we really need to get out of here."

"Fine." Roman helped Janus into the passenger seat and then lifted Remus into the back so he could sprawl across the seats. His head had stopped bleeding on its own, but since they hadn't paused to apply any pressure, blood had dripped down his neck and dried on the collar of his shirt. "I don't suppose you have any first aid stuff?"

Janus yanked open the glove compartment and rattled off the contents. "Manual, registration, Taco Bell napkins, tire pressure gauge, plastic baggie full of mystery pills, novelty Medusa PEZ dispenser, Mapquest directions to the Lotus Hotel, titanium spork."

"Those are Aleve," Remus said, poking his head between the seats. "Can I have about 20?"

"You can have two," Roman said, snatching the bag of Janus' hands. His own fingers were stiff and clumsy and flared up with pain every time he tried to use them, but he couldn't deny the increasing compulsion to be in charge. He had to fix it for Remus, he had to make it better, he had to keep them safe--

"Like, now, or…?" Remus said.

"Sorry." Roman distributed the pills, then passed around his water bottle. "Okay," he said, struggling with the cap while Janus watched with a cool eye. "So, uh. Now I just have to drive to New York. With messed up hands."

"It helps if you get in the car," Janus drawled.

Roman said nothing, but as he walked around to the driver's side, he made a silent vow to hit as many potholes as he could.

"Road trip!" Remus crowed once Roman was seated. "Hey, Roman, how much money do you have?"

"I dunno," Roman said, trying to focus on backing out while only holding the wheel with his fingertips. "Like 20 bucks. You're the one with the backpacks, why don't you count?"

"I get to go through your stuff?" Remus asked, clapping his hands in delight.

"Just don't steal my good pens or I'll kill you." Roman put the car in drive and lurched forward.

"Accelerate with your toes," Janus said.

"No backseat driving."

"I'm not in the backseat."

"Keep running your mouth and I'll strap you to the roof." Roman turned up the radio before Janus could reply. He'd had enough; his hands hurt, his body ached, he was terrified. He couldn't deal with any more snark and attitude.

He took the on-ramp for I-75 North and started to sing, first to himself and then louder as traffic increased and he got nervous. In the corner of his eye, he could see Janus double-checking all their blind spots, peering in the rear view mirror, fidgeting with his seat belt.

It didn't help Roman's nerves any. He kept singing with the radio, privately grateful that it was already set to a pop station. He noticed two things at once as he switched lanes to let a bright red Maserati blow past him: First, a bone-deep exhaustion that left him so dizzy he nearly swerved onto the shoulder. Second, his hands no longer hurt.

He took one off the wheel and glanced at it, shocked to find the skin as smooth as if it had never been damaged at all.

"Did you do that?" Roman demanded, sparing a glance at Janus.

"What, make you hit the rumble strip? No, that was all you."

"My hands," Roman said impatiently. "They're better. Look!" He showed his palm to Janus, then to Remus.

"Lucky," Remus said. "I feel like somebody pushed me off a 69-story building."

"Nice," said Roman, unable to help himself.

Janus just rolled his eyes and turned back to face the road.

"So how about those answers now?" Roman asked, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

Janus nodded. "But no interrupting. If you don't believe me after everything you've seen, that's on you for being an idiot."

"Who said I was going to interrupt?" Roman said.

Janus looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. "Oh, I just have a feeling."

"We can be quiet," Roman said. He turned the radio off and sat back as much as he could without losing his grip on the wheel.

"Super quiet," Remus agreed. "Silent but deadly."

"Alright," said Janus. "The Greek gods are real. You're the children of one of them."

Roman pressed his lips together, determined not to make a sound. He kept silent as they continued to crawl down I-75 in rush hour traffic and Janus elaborated about gods and monsters and mythology.

It wasn't until the sun was well and truly down, until Janus had gone silent, until it was too late for it to matter, that Roman even realized he had been the victim of reverse psychology.

He scowled and doubled down on his vow to hit as many potholes as possible. Whether Janus was telling the truth or not, Roman didn't like him.

#as i said: the devil works hard but hyperfixating adhders work harder #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #tumblr fucked up my tags so sorry if there's an irrelevant tag on here lmao #spicypost #spicywrites

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aliferous-ly · 4 years

Text

gasp -- a fic?? on MY tumblr??? more likely than you think

this is from an art trade with the absolutely lovely bastard @buddh-art. madlad

here’s a link to the art O.O it’s SO PRETTY. WHAT. (LOOK AT IT BEFORE READING IT WILL HELP INTRO VISUALIZATION I PROMISE)

ao3 link!!

warnings: blood, the girls are FIGHTINgGGG (okay but physical fights fr), swearing

fandom/pairings: haikyuu/gen

prompt: “I’m going to kill them for punching you before I ever got to.” ft kuroo and bokuto, dumbass duo extraordinaire, and akaashi (plus some cameos)

“I’m going to kill them for punching you before I ever got to.” Kuroo cracks his knuckles.

“Oho?” Bokuto grins, teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting. He’s pressing a wad of tissues against his cheekbone and nose, the edges of his lips hidden behind white. “Kill?”

Bokuto’s joking, behind the pain pulsing against his skin, but there’s this look in Kuroo’s eye that he doesn’t quite trust. No, that’s not it. He’s just never seen it before. He trusts Kuroo with everything.

Akaashi says he’s stupid for doing so but lots of people say he’s stupid anyway. Trusting Kuroo has only burned him like, a dozen times, and half of them Kuroo was burned too. Bros burn together.

Anyway. Anyway. Bokuto’s laughing and Kuroo’s not, so there’s something wrong.

Kuroo shoots him a look and Bokuto’s laughter dries up in his throat. The edges of his lips droop. “Bro, it’s fine.”

Kuroo’s mouth upturns into a sneer and Bokuto takes a step back. He’s never had Kuroo’s full frontal disdain directed at him and it’s kindof… it’s not… it’s not nice? It’s really…

Bokuto swallows.

The discomfort must shine on his face because Kuroo’s gaze flickers, startled, as he realizes where his scorn is directed.

“Shit, dude,” Kuroo says. A hand rubs against his face and he sighs, long and loud. “Fucking who punched you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bokuto says. His voice is a little muffled. Next to him, Akaashi releases a quiet huff of breath. Akaashi’s slender, cool fingers brush against his cheek, pulling at his hand.

Bokuto realizes how harshly he’s been pressing the tissues against his cheek, how there’s a numb scratch of pain, how the tissues stick to his face when he tries to pull them away. There’s a slight sludge of blood, since they caught his face, but he doesn’t -- it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. He’s fine. So why’s… “It doesn’t matter,” Bokuto says again, stubborn. He tries for another grin. “Sad you weren’t there to enjoy the party?”

Kuroo is a quiet energy. Bokuto’s known this, it’s why they fit so perfectly together. Why they make such good friends, why every moment is exhilarating and fun. Kuroo is quiet and sharp, the double edged sword to Bokuto’s war hammer. The shield with jagged edges. While Bokuto wears his emotions on the outer edges of his skin, Kuroo keeps it all tucked away behind his ribcage, gradually building a fire. Stoking embers. He has a quiet anger, a soft fury.

Bokuto never thinks too much about it. Not really. Bokuto laughs but it’s not… because Kuroo turns towards him with his quiet anger boiling in his eyes and it doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right.

Kuroo steps towards him, his testy expression juxtaposing his gentle touch against Bokuto’s face. Bokuto lets him trail fingers along his temple, eyebrows furrowing as Kuroo presses the softest of pressures against the wound.

It doesn’t hurt. Well, maybe in theory. Bokuto’s too focused on Kuroo’s expression to feel anything. Akaashi seems to fade into the background, his administration a soothing backdrop to Kuroo’s soft blaze.

“Who punched you?” Kuroo says. He looks like he’s about to punch Bokuto, too, and Bokuto doesn’t know if he would dodge it at this point. Whether for personal reasons or otherwise.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bokuto says. To Kuroo, this is the wrong thing to say, but Bokuto is immovable.

Kuroo glares at him, and Bokuto glares right back.

Kuroo swells up and Bokuto thinks, this is it, hunker down, prepare for a mean right hook. His eyes flicker shut instinctively, shoulders tensing. Bokuto is anything if not solid. He can take it. Throw it at me!

Well. That’s what you said before, too, and they certainly dished out what you could take. Maybe more…

But it doesn’t matter, because it’s over, and Bokuto isn’t going to enact revenge or something. He fought, they fought, it’s over.

Fear flutters against his throat. He can almost imagine the starburst of pain from Kuroo. He knows exactly what it might feel like, he’s seen it often enough. Even if he’s never personally experienced it, it was bound to happen eventually.

Nothing happens. Bokuto’s eyes flick open, and Kuroo is three steps away. He’s staring at Bokuto with this devastatingly haunted expression.

Bokuto frowns. “Bro. Chill out.”

“I’m not actually going to punch you right now, what the fuck?” Kuroo spits. They’re equally startled at Kuroo’s outburst. “You’re wounded!”

“Yeah, so?” Bokuto says. He touches his cheek absentmindedly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a fucking big deal! Akaashi, tell him it’s a big deal,” Kuroo swivels on their third party.

Akaashi, to his credit, doesn’t flinch when faced with fire and ice all at once, Kuroo and Bokuto’s gazes cutting into his soul. In fact, he takes his time answering, seemingly unbothered. “Bokuto does downplay genuine trouble. But you’re not in your right mind, either, Kuroo.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” Kuroo says, each word falling like a bullet. Akaashi stares at him and Kuroo shifts his gaze, lip jutting out.

“Bokuto, sit down,” Akaashi says. Bokuto listens, dropping down on the couch. Akaashi is like water, he muses. If he’s going to make metaphors about all of his friends anyway.

Kuroo’s lava, his heavy burn, settles on Bokuto’s skull. “Tell me so I can pay back the favor.”

"No,” Bokuto says. He sticks his tongue out for emphasis and Akaashi flicks his temple. “Ouch! Akaashi, I’m mortally wounded, and you’re abusing me.”

“Get over yourself,” Akaashi says. Bokuto blinks and knows there’s an undercurrent of worry, even if he can’t quiet hear it. He misses a lot of subtleties. Whatever. It’s fine.

“Akaashi,” Kuroo stretches the name, leaning forward into Akaashi’s space. “You know, don’t you?”

“Well, I did find him first,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto and Akaashi alike quickly realize this is the wrong thing to say.

“Find?” Kuroo repeats. “You found him?”

Bokuto swallows and tries for a grin. “Man, you know me! Fight til I drop.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital--?”

“No!”

The three of them fall silent and Bokuto swallows, trying to sooth his rapidly beating heart. “No. I’m fine. I’m serious, Kuroo, chill.”

Telling lava to chill, understandably, is amusing. Kuroo laughs at him. Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

It strikes a little deeper than Bokuto thinks it should.

“He left,” Bokuto says. He knows it’s a dumb thing to say, he knows. Akaashi doesn’t make fun of him.

But Kuroo…

“Shirt,” Akaashi says. Bokuto jerks as Akaashi tugs at the fabric. Pain pricks as his shirt moves and Bokuto bites back a whine. He’s not weak. Eyes up here, he’d laughed, pointing at his face when they took a shot at his side.

Stupid. Whatever.

“I’m not your mom,” Akaashi says. His fingers are smooth as he directs Bokuto’s arms up, tugging his shirt off.

“My mom hasn’t helped me change in forever,” Bokuto mumbles, like that means anything. Akaashi hums anyway. A short tsk drops from his lips when the plane of Bokuto’s chest is revealed, his spotted sides.

It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all, Bokuto assures himself. He doesn’t bruise easily, so -- wait, no, that means it’s awful, so he must bruise really easily. That’s kinda lame, though, isn’t it--?

A sharp pain pricks from his side, squeezing a hiss from Bokuto’s lips. He avoids Akaashi’s stare, which is somehow harsher than a glare. “‘S fine.”

Akaashi sighs. “Stay still.”

Bokuto feels his mood slipping and grips at it. Akaashi has told him time and time again that his mood swings aren’t a sign of failure. That the spiral of depression is only pushed further when he thinks about how lame it is that he drops. How he can’t do anything. Immovable force in the worst way possible.

Akaashi starts applying a bruise cream. It’s like Akaashi’s touch. Soothing. Comforting.

“Kuroo hates me,” Bokuto says. It’s not what he means. Kuroo wouldn’t get angry if he hated Bokuto.

There’s a beat, then: “Hates that someone else got a shot first, maybe.”

Bokuto snorts, in spite of himself. “Scale of one to ten how jealous do you think Kuroo is that somebody punched me and got away with it?”

“I wouldn’t say they got away with it,” Akaashi hums. “You hit them back.”

“That I did,” Bokuto says. The coolness of pleasure buoys his depression, just for the time being. He leans back, smug confidence oozing from his pores. Then he shoots upright, dislodging Akaashi. “Oh my god! AKAASHI!”

“Mm?”

“I didn’t say you should’ve seen the other guy! Call Kuroo back in here!” Bokuto stands. “I gotta grab him! I missed my chance!”

“Do not,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto doesn’t hear him, searching for his shoes so he can go find Kuroo right now.

Flames dart up his back and he yelps. Akaashi jabbed him right on a bruise on his back. “Akaashi!”

Akaashi has that look on his face, the one that says listen to me right now or you will regret it.

Bokuto groans. “But Akaashi…”

“Just call him.”

“He won’t pick up--!” A second of silence. Then, “Okay, Akaashi.”

Bokuto sighs. He sits back down. Let’s Akaashi continue taking care of him.

He calls Kuroo, but he doesn’t pick up.

---

Kuroo isn’t stupid. When he saw Bokuto’s wide grin, the smile from eye to eye, he knew something was wrong.

Not from Bokuto. Bokuto has a freaky way of covering up his serious pains. Kuroo’s pretty sure the denial just runs so deep he manages to convince himself that everything’s fine, that he’s fine, so everyone else is convinced.

No, Bokuto didn’t tip him off.

Akaashi did.

Akaashi doesn’t mean to, and someone who doesn’t know Akaashi might have missed it. But he read the sharp worry in the crease of Akaashi’s eyes, the wiry tension in his neck, the tightness of his lips. Kuroo knows that Bokuto wasn’t okay when Akaashi found him.

Which is why it pisses him off how nonchalant Bokuto is about the entire situation.

Kuroo ignores the missed call from Bokuto and calls Tsukishima. He doesn’t pick up the first time but does on the second.

“What do you want.”

“Aw, I’m doing great, thanks Tsukki!”

“Do not call me that.”

“Hey, you saw Bokuto today, right? Like, an hour ago?”

There’s a static of silence. “Why?”

“See anyone with him?”

“Just Nakajima.”

“Thanks,” Kuroo says. He hangs up, wincing. He’ll get Tsukishima’s full pissy mood the next time they meet because of that, but he’s on a mission.

Nakajima. Kuroo frowns. Does he know anything about Nakajima?

He gets another phone call and is about to cancel it when he sees second prettiest setter flash across the screen.

He answers.

“Kuroo,” Akaashi says amicably. There’s a quiet wail on the other side of the phone and Kuroo pulls the phone away for a second, staring at it in surprise. Then he sticks it back against his ear, catching the tail end of what Akaashi was saying. “--and you should probably come back.”

“Hm? I have to hunt down Nakajima.”

“You know his name,” Akaashi says. He says it not like oh thank god, let me help, but more like goddamn it, another problem for me to fix. Which offends Kuroo, but just a little bit. “Great. Do you know where he is?”

It’s a challenge. “No, but--”

“Then you won’t find him.”

“I’ll just search the city, it’s not that hard.”

“Kuroo, I know your stubborn streak rivals Bokuto’s--” there’s a thump on the other end, then Akaashi’s voice returns, “--but it really would be in both of your best interests for you to return.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said I would kill whoever got to punch him first,” Kuroo says.

“I understand. But--”

Whatever else Akaashi says is lost in the static of Kuroo’s mind, which whites out the moment he spots someone stumbling down the sidewalk, nursing a bloody nose. He doesn’t know Nakajima personally, but he has seen the little bitch before.

“I’ll call you back,” Kuroo says, and shoves his phone in his pocket, barely remembering to end the call. He’s really getting on a lot of people’s bad side. He’s always on people’s bad side, though, so he doesn’t really care.

Nakajima’s limping, which. In Bokuto’s defense, he does look worse for wear.

Kuroo doesn’t give a shit. He stalks towards him, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stops directly in his path, staring at him down his nose, lip curled. “Nakajima.”

Nakajima looks up at him, gaze flickering with recognition, then irritation. “You’re Koutarou’s friend.”

The name flicks a switch in Kuroo and he loses it, the swing of his arm familiar as he cuts into Nakajima’s jaw. Nakajima jerks to the left, dropping and landing awkwardly on his arm.

“What the hell, man…?” Nakajima raises a hand to adjust his jaw, eyebrows furrowed angrily.

Kuroo doesn’t really know. He just knows that an unrighteous fury took over his soul the moment Nakajima dropped Bokuto’s first name. Bokuto’s first name is important, and only the right people are allowed to call him by name. Especially to other people. Who the fuck does Nakajima think he is?

“Don’t call him that,” Kuroo says simply. The words are acid on his tongue, burning his throat. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Oh, so you’re threatening me, great.” Nakajima pushes to his feet. “Did he put you up to this? Upset he lost a little and decided to sick his dog on me?”

Kuroo’s flaming anger flickers and recedes. He inhales, waits for Nakajima to put himself back together. Watches blandly as Nakajima wipes blood off of his lip. Kuroo’s ire is viscous and glowing, lava sludging through caverns.

“Aw, little bud is angry he doesn’t have friends to back him up,” Kuroo says. He cools his voice off as much as he can, falling into easy disdain. “Frustrated, Jiji?” Kuroo leans into his space, peering at his eyes.

Nakajima swallows, glaring. “The fuck is your problem?”

“You are my problem,” Kuroo says. He looks Nakajima up and down, curling his lip. “Unfortunately.”

“Koutarou got what was--”

This time Kuroo aims for the base of his sternum. Nakajima drops like a box of rocks. He takes much longer to rise than before, air squeezing through his lungs in rasps. He lunges at Kuroo, who side steps easily. “Easy solution. Leave Bokuto’s name out of your filthy mouth and leave him alone, and we won’t have a problem.”

“You realize he made the first swing?” Nakajima says, gasping.

“I don’t give a shit,” Kuroo says. “If he made the first swing then you’re a real shit person. I should take you down right now.”

Nakajima whirls, hand shooting out. It wraps around Kuroo’s neck and squeezes.

Kuroo takes a shot at the inside of Nakajima’s elbow, ducking down and pressing his chin against Nakajima’s hand at the same moment. He swoops Nakajima’s foot too far to the right and drives his knee upwards.

Kuroo winces despite himself as Nakajima groans, falling once again, hands falling lax.

“Leave him alone,” Kuroo says. He thinks about pushing him over, grinding his heel into Nakajima’s throat. The thought passes. “You hear me?”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Nakajima moans.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” Kuroo says. He considers driving his knee against his back, pressing him against the ground.

“Jesus christ, yes, I’ll leave him fucking alone.”

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

But his phone is ringing again, so he turns on his heel and stalks away.

---

“Kuuuuroooooooo,” Bokuto whines, throwing himself on Kuroo the moment he walks in. There’s a dull ache in his side as he nearly smothers Kuroo, but obviously greeting his best bud is more important.

“Aw, miss me?” Kuroo snickers and detaches himself from Bokuto.

Bokuto frowns. “Obviously. I want to go throw some volleyballs around. Akaashi can set!”

“No I will not,” Akaashi says from the couch.

“He will.”

“Bo, you shouldn’t be practicing right now,” Kuroo laughs. He pokes Bokuto in the forehead.

Bokuto stares at him, then lunges forward, knocking their foreheads together with a clack.

“Ow, what the fuck,” Kuroo yelps.

Bokuto grinds his teeth together and wraps his arms around Kuroo and clings like a limpet. “Block for me!”

“No!” Kuroo wiggles in Bokuto’s arms, trying to break free. It’s like trying to move a tree trunk.

Bokuto shoves his face in the juncture of Kuroo’s neck. “Pleasee.” His voice buzzes against Kuroo’s skin. Goosebumps rise along the back of Kuroo’s neck.

“No,” Kuroo says. He groans in defeat.

Bokuto beams, then realizes that Kuroo’s trying to shift in a different way than before, like he’s trying to hug him back. So he relinquishes Kuroo’s arms.

Kuroo hugs him around the neck and shoulders. “‘S fine. Let’s just chill.”

“Mmkay.” Bokuto melts into the hold. It’s so soft and warm. He nuzzles his nose into Kuroo’s neck and sighs. Bokuto’s always warm, but he loves physical contact anyway. It’s like a thousand soft blankets.

“C’mon, bud.” Kuroo tugs him towards the couch, where Akaashi is reading a book. Somehow. Among their loud noises.

“I don’t want to watch a movie,” Bokuto says. Even he can tell he’s being petulant, but he can’t help it. “I’ll get bored.”

Kuroo brings out his phone, waving it in front of Bokuto as he plops them both on the couch. “Let’s play minecraft.”

Bokuto’s frozen for half a second. Then he gasps, feeling a glow starting in his chest and gleaming outwards, shining through his eyes and teeth, glinting off his shoulders. “Yes! Bro, yes!” He scrambles for his phone, pressing his shoulder against Kuroo’s.

Kuroo’s shoulders stiffen. Bokuto is about to move away because he’s not the kind of guy to consciously discomfort his bros, but then Kuroo relaxes, tension leaking from his body.

“Do you want to make a new world?” Bokuto asks, booting his phone up and staring at the screen, already invested. He leans his head on Kuroo’s shoulder, humming.

“Sure,” Kuroo says. He doesn’t move for a few long seconds, fingers lax around his phone.

Bokuto glances up at him and catches Kuroo staring at his face, eyes roaming around. Bokuto swallows, knowing he’s staring at the white bandages. Kuroo’s gaze flicks to Bokuto’s shoulder, a bruise showing through the loose sweater he’s wearing.

“Punch me later,” Bokuto says.

Kuroo snorts in surprise, his vulnerable expression melting into one of ease. He shifts, jostling Bokuto’s head, settling against the back of the couch. “What should the seed be?”

“Bitch,” Bokuto says instantly. “No! Ace. Wait, we did that one already. Middle blocker. Cross spike!”

“Bitch it is,” Kuroo says.

Bokuto laughs. Kuroo smiles, teeth showing. Akaashi turns a page, and everything feels just right. He can barely feel the burn of his scabs with the warmth of Kuroo against him and the quiet presence of Akaashi just a few feet away.

And Bokuto smiles, the upturn of his lips quieter than his normal radiant beam. He knows, then; they’re good.

He’s good.

#wooooooooo YEAHHH BABY #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsuro #akaashi keiji #art trade #buddh-art #brabbles #yessirrrrr #yall ever be like ok im gonna write JOAKS and angst comes out instead #there was an EFFORT i promise

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