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aithorin · 3 years

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A Lesson in Possession - All Smite x Reader (18+)

Summary: When you make the mistake of revealing that you find one of the top ten heroes attractive, Smite wastes no time in reminding you that you belong to him.

Warnings: Villain AU, Villain!All Might, Possessive behavior, Dominance, Vaginal fingering, Possessive sex, Unhealthy relationships, Degradation

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30772664

Very much NSFW!

All Might was ignoring you. Intentionally ignoring you. And you didn’t like it. Not one bit. For the last 20 minutes, you’d tried in vain to get him to finally sit down on the couch with you yet to no avail. He just continued to rustle around in the kitchen, seeming to clang together every goddamn pan in existence while looking for who knows what. At any rate, it was clear your attempts weren’t working at all.

Letting out a huff, you turned away from the kitchen to face the television. Raising the volume to drown out all the fucking noise he was making, the newsreporter babbled on about a battle that had happened earlier in the day. The fight in question was between none other than All Might and a horde of the top heroes. But what else was new?

‘Boooooorrrrring’ You droned out in your head. Picking up the remote, you flicked to the next channel only to be met with the same regurgitated garbage from the last. Sitting up straight, a spark of irritation fired through you as you began cycling through all the channels, going through them faster with each disappointment.

“All Might-” Next

“Earlier today, Symbol of Discord, All Might-” Next

“Top hero Endeavor and All Might faced off-” Next

God, was there nothing else to fucking watch? Huffing in frustration, you hit mute before tossing the remote onto the cushion beside you. Crossing your arms, you settled further into the sofa as a small pout crept onto your face. Glaring at the TV, you gave it a scowl that rivaled All Might’s. However, as you kept your eyes trained on the now silent news report, your glower slowly faded into a wicked grin as an inkling of an idea began to take form. You knew exactly what to do. All Might wouldn’t be ignoring you for much longer.

Sitting up, you swung your legs up onto the couch and schooled your features into the epitome of relaxed and unbothered. Slinging one arm over the back, you kept your gaze glued to the TV and called out, “Your fight from today is all over the news.”

A particularly loud clang was all you got in response. That was okay. It was to be expected. On to phase two.

“They’re saying you destroyed half of Kamino Ward. And with five of the top heroes there too! That’s pretty impressive you managed to make it here without a scratch. I guess even the best have nothing on you.”

This time you got a clang followed by a grunt. Okay, so flattery was a no go. Time to change tactics. But no matter, you had saved the best for last.

“Although…” you began, dragging the word out, “While they may not be a match for you when it comes to power, I do have to say that some of them rival you quite well in the looks department. Personally, I think Hawks comes pretty damn close.”

Bringing a finger up, you tapped it against your lips. Amending your previous statement, you said, “Hmmm, wait. On second thought, I think he might actually be hotter than you. He is pretty attractive, you know.”

At your words, all clanging came to an abrupt halt. This time all that greeted you was deathly silence. Reveling in it, your smirk grew tenfold. Checkmate.

Slow footsteps rumbled across the ground, sending tremors through the floors of your apartment. But you wouldn’t let yourself be intimidated. Keeping your eyes trailed on the screen, you refused to look at him, knowing it would anger him more. With the sole intention of pretending not to notice you had just pissed off the number one villain, you nonchalantly picked at invisible dirt in your nails.

Standing in the doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen, you could feel his glare burning holes into the back of your head, but you held steady to the charade.

“What,” All Might growled, “Did you just say?”

Giving a noncommittal hum and schooling your features, you threw a cursory glance at him over your shoulder before turning back to the TV, feigning disinterest. Once you were out of his line of sight though, you couldn’t help letting the devilish grin return. It was all going according to plan. He was absolutely pissed. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so angry before. Just a couple of words and his aura had darkened so much it cast a shadow over the whole room. With his eyes blazing and his lips curled back in a snarl, his fists were clenched at his sides, trembling ever so slightly in an attempt to keep his anger in check. At any rate, it was clear your comment had gotten his blood boiling.

“Hmmm, what was that?” you finally replied. Looking at the TV, you continued, “Oh, I was just saying that I think Hawks is way hotter than you. No offense.”

Letting out a snarl, he began to stalk towards you. “You’re playing a dangerous game doll. Are you trying to make me mad?”

“No,” you said, giving a small pout, “I’m trying to get your attention. You’ve been ignoring me the whole time you’ve been here!”

“Insolent girl!” All Might growled, “And you thought insulting me was the way to do it?”

“Well nothing else was working!” you said haughtily, crossing your arms, “Besides, from my view, it worked perfectly. You’re certainly not ignoring me now, which is all I wanted in the first place.” Letting the irritation slide off your back, you gave him a cheeky grin and waggled your eyebrows.

Yet your words seemed to have the opposite effect on All Might as his expression grew impossibly darker. Giving you a derisive smile, he sneered. “Fine,” He said, voice sinister yet full of promise, “Have it your way then.”

The change in the air was palpable. Grin fading from your face, you realized that with nothing more than a few words from him, you’d lost all control over the situation. The knowledge sent a wave of nervousness down your spine. There was no denying it. The tables had turned, and while you may have won the battle, you were most certainly about to lose the war. God, you should have just kept your mouth shut. Why did your impatience always land you in such deep shit? Would it really have been so bad to wait another 15 minutes?

You’d played with fire and now you were about to be burned. From the look of All Might’s heated gaze, it seemed you were in for a world of painful pleasure. He’d give you what you want alright, but the bastard would be sure to reduce you to a writhing, sobbing mess beforehand. Yet despite the fact that your head was screaming at you to get away, your body seemed to have other thoughts. To your horror, you realized that the idea of being so completely at his mercy was actually turning you on. Just thinking about it had you shifting uncomfortably in your seat as a dull throb of need began to build in your abdomen.

In a flash, his looming form hovered over you, encasing you with his shadow, and the glow of his blazing blue eyes burned with a smug self-satisfaction at the sound of your breath hitching. Somehow, he’d gotten ahold of your arms, and they lay trapped in one of his hands held high above your head. His actions had caused your shirt to ride up ever so slightly, a fact which had not escaped All Might’s attention. Taking a moment to rake his eyes over your form, you could feel your body heat under his appreciative gaze, tendrils of want slithering through you.

Leaning over you, All Might trapped you with his body, your chests touching. His nearness created a warmth, and with it your heart began to beat ever so slightly faster. Tongue darting out to nervously lick your lips, you waited to see what he would do. With his free hand, All Might came up to swipe his thumb across your bottom lip, getting rid of the moisture you’d just laid there, before tilting your chin up and somehow getting impossibly closer. It was more than enough to unnerve you, and it was obvious he was doing it on purpose. The damn bastard knew you were helpless to resist when he was that close.

Bending down, he pressed his face toward your ear. “You want attention?” He snarled, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear and sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine, “I’ll give you attention.”

Pulling back, he made sure his eyes met yours. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget that bird brained freak even exists. But first, I’m gonna teach you a lesson, doll. Mark my words, you’re gonna regret opening that pretty little mouth of yours.”

And that was all the warning you got. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, demanding entrance. But the brat in you couldn’t help resisting. You met him full force, refusing to give him what he wanted, goading him. In response, he growled against your lips before biting down on your bottom one, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to surprise you. Releasing a tiny yelp at the shock, he seized the moment to push his way through. In an instant, he had his tongue tangled around yours. And there was nothing loving about the embrace. Rough and bruising, it was pure punishment and you were helpless to do anything about it.

As your need for air began to become overwhelming, All Might started to pull away, leaving a trail of saliva connected to your lips, thinning ever so slowly before finally splitting in half to land against your chin. Chest heaving and yearning to feel his lips against yours again, you sought his touch the only way you knew how.

By baiting him.

Sitting up ever so slightly by wiggling one arm out of his embrace, you propped yourself up on it and gave him a roguish grin. “Is that all you got, big guy?” You asked.

At the jab, he let out a growl. “I’m not anywhere close to done with you, girl.”

Leaning down, he grabbed hold of your T-shirt and tore it straight in half in one fell swoop before doing the exact same with your bra. Letting out a gasp, your exposed nipples began to harden in wake of the cold air, and All Might smirked as you rushed to cover yourself.

“Uh Uh Uh” He tutted, waggling his finger at you, “You know better than that.”

Slowly you began to lower your hand, and All Might let out an appreciative hum. “Good girl.” He purred.

Leaning down, he latched onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking it between his teeth and giving it an experimental tug. Your body, desperate for the slightest touch now, responded immediately. Letting out a breathy moan, you arched into his touch, silently begging for more as the sensation sent jolts of pleasure dancing across your chest that headed straight to your core. Smirking in satisfaction, All Might chose to ignore your plea. Grabbing onto your hips, he began trailing his lips down to the waistline of your pants, leaving warm wet kisses with his tongue across your belly while his thumbs stroked the sides of your waist. Arriving at the top of your pants, he reached one hand over to flick them open before sliding them over the curve of your ass, taking your panties with them and leaving your glistening pussy fully exposed.

“Look at you. You’re positively drenched, and I’ve barely even touched you. What an eager little slut you are.” He said, dragging one long finger along your slit.

Gasping at his touch, you watched, entranced, as he pulled his finger away, your juices dripping off of it. Bending down, he held it up to your mouth.

“Suck.” He commanded. Looking down at it, you hesitated just a moment too long, and his face twisted into a snarl.

“I’m not gonna ask you twice, girl. When I tell you to suck, you suck. ” He growled, squeezing your jaw open with one large hand wrapped around your cheeks and pushing his index finger into your mouth.

Tentatively you took the length of his finger into your mouth, wrapping your lips around the base of it. As the back of your tongue touched the pad of his fingertip, the warm, slightly salty taste of yourself met it. Swirling your tongue around the digit, you slowly began to bob up and down on it, thoroughly lubricating it with your saliva.

Letting out a satisfied smirk, All Might purred, “Good girl.” Shoving his finger back in as far back into your throat as he could, you gagged trying to catch your breath as he finally removed the digit, bringing your bottom lip down with it.

“That was for earlier.” He sneered, “Don’t disobey me again.”

And then, beginning from your mouth, he traced a path down your chin with his wet finger, going between the valley of your breasts and the soft curve of your belly. As the wet trail he made quickly dried, you shivered as the dampness met the cold air. Arriving at your pussy, he began to prod at your entrance, easily slipping the digit in.

You couldn’t stop from letting out an immediate moan at the stretch. From one finger, he had already managed to make you feel deliciously full. The mind numbing emptiness your body had been begging for him to satiate was finally being remedied.

Beginning to pump, All Might turned his attention toward your clit. As his fingers thrust inside you, his thumb began to rub slow circles over your clit, pulling all sorts of gasps out of you. Working you open, his pace began to quicken and before you knew it he was slipping a second finger in.

Dissolving into putty at his hands, you could feel your climax fast approaching.

Yes!” you moaned, “Just like that.” You were so close. With one more thrust, you’d be gone. You could feel his fingers pulling out, preparing to send you over the edge, when suddenly they were completely gone, leaving you painfully empty.

Choking from the force of being denied so suddenly, your eyes flashed open just in time to see him climbing off of you. Face sweaty and cheeks flushed, you were an absolute mess. Lost in a haze of need, you could barely even comprehend what was happening. All you could see was that damn smirk on his face.

Unbuckling his pants painfully slow, he seemed to revel in your agony. As he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, a distinct clink floated through the air as his loose belt buckle hit the metal of his pant button. And then in one swift motion, he took his pants off, his cock springing free. Painfully hard and red, it seemed to almost pulsate. Following the line of one thick vein, you saw that the tip was already oozing pre-cum.

Licking your lips in anticipation, you waited for All Might to approach you once more, but he remained standing. In fact, he moved farther away from you, making you want to cry.

Stroking himself, he seemed to completely ignore you as he lifted his other hand to rest on his chin, a thoughtful expression came over his face. “You know, I’ve already been quite lenient with you. Maybe it’d be better to just take care of myself.”

At that you wanted to sob. Nothing in the world mattered more to you than having his cock balls deep inside you at the moment. “Please please don’t do that!” you said, wanting nothing more than to pull him close, but he was just out of reach, and by then, you were too out of it to do anything else but stretch a weak hand toward him.

“Ple-please touch me.” You whined, legs rubbing together, desperately trying to regain even the slightest amount of friction.

Letting out a snort, he taunted, “And give me one good reason why I should. You haven’t exactly been on your best behavior today. Need I remind you that this is supposed to be your punishment?”

“I-I know you want to though.” You said, breathless. Raising your head to look at him through hooded eyes, you purred, “It-It’ll be so good.”

Taking a few steps toward you, he looked down into your eyes. Face becoming almost pleasant, he questioned, “You want this? You want my cock?” As you watched him stroke himself, you eagerly nodded. You wanted nothing more.

In an instant, his face turned dark once more as he growled, “Then beg for it.”

At that, a look of confusion spread over your face. “Wh-What?” You questioned.

“You heard me. If you want my cock beg. for. it.” He said.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve laughed in his face, but, well, being incredibly horny does make a difference. Swallowing your pride, you whispered, “Please. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me.”

And yet, true to the utter asshole that he was, All Might pretended not to hear you. “Hmmm. What was that?” He said, lifting a hand up to cup his ear, “I didn’t hear you.”

“I want your cock!” You shouted, looking up to glare at him, “I want you to fuck me.”

“No need to be so mean kitten,” He said, a mock pout coming over his face, “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Before you could even register that he’d moved, All Might was back over you again, one last self-satisfied smirk being the only warning you got before he buried his cock in you. Moaning from the sensation, tears sprung at your eyes from how far he was stretching you. God, he was so big, yet you couldn’t even find it in yourself to care because it felt so good.

Fully inside, he gave you the small mercy of allowing but a single moment for you to adjust. Before you knew it, he was pulling out only to thrust back into you again, setting an absolutely brutal pace. Eyes rolling into the back of your head from the force, you briefly registered him attaching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave teeth indentations.

Grabbing hold of his neck, you wrapped your legs around his waist to give him better access as breathy groans escaped your lips. Already you could feel the coil inside beginning to wind again.

“You filthy slut. You like this, don’t you? Me using you for the whore you are.” He said, wrapping a hand around your throat and grunting as he bucked into you.

“I’m the only one who’s ever gonna be able to fuck you this good. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. You got that. You’re mine.” He growled, reaching hand down to flick at your clit, never once slowing down.

Lost in pleasure, you barely even processed his words. That is until he leaned down to snarl in your ear, “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours, All Might. You’re the only one who can fuck me this good.” you groaned.

Coming in close, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss, before thrusting in once more, going so deep you were sent flying off the edge. Gasping, you saw stars in your eyes as white hot pleasure wracked its way down your spine sending tremors throughout your body. As you came, your pussy clenched around him, causing All Might to climax as well. Hot seed coated the insides of your walls as you both fought to recover. As your heavy pants gradually became more controlled, he slowly slid out of you.

With sweat coating his brow and his breathing ragged, All Might looked down at you, blue eyes blazing, “Nobody makes you feel the way that I do. Nobody. And you’d do well to remember that, doll.”

Climbing off of you, he began to make his way down the hall, throwing your pitiful form still sprawled out on the couch one last glance. “The next time you want to try something like what you just pulled, I’d suggest you remember our little lesson today.”

#all might x reader #all smite x reader #all might #all smite #toshinori yagi #toshinori yagi x reader #mha #my hero academia #villain all might #villain au #all might smut #all might x you #yagi toshinori #my hero fanfic #all might imagine #smut

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rekiroyalstraightprincemaru · 2 years

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Eye of the Storm

TW: suicide attempt reference, self hate, unhealthy mindset, child neglect/abuse

A/N: I couldn’t concentrate but wanted to write. Keep in mind I wrote this at 1am in the morning with 3 songs playing at the same time and a youtube video at 1.5x speed. No editing, we die like my last shard of sanity

Miya glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the now frozen Shadow. Oh yeah... most people didn’t see that coming. Honestly, what was with everyone? Always expecting and thinking people were perfectly fine and then not knowing how to not cause a ruckus when the truth was unveiled. Why was he the only one who could keep calm?

“This isn’t the time to joke, kid. Reki may be an idiot, but he isn’t that big of one!”

“You’re all idiots for not seeing this coming. How am I the only one that wasn’t shocked! Why do I have to be the voice of reason! You’re all adults so sort this out yourself, I’ve tried this whole thing and was shit. It didn’t work so it’s best if you all just leave me out of this whole mess. If you want to see Reki, he’s with Joe and Cherry. I can walk just fine on my own.” He stashed his switch back into his hoodie pocket and opened the door. Nobody had given a shit about him before and they sure wouldn’t start now.

“Kid, wait minute!” Shadow yelled, yanking Miya back by his hoodie.

Miya growled before his whipped around and began clawing at the flower clown’s face before being held away at arm’s length. “Let go of me you stupid boomer!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you home kid.” Miya could have been hallucinating, but Shadow’s face had seemed to start drooping with a frown taking place of his usual grumpy expression. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Nothing good came when he so much as got out a single word. “I’m not good at words either, but we are going to talk about this tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” Miya huffed, rebuckling his seat belt and reclining in his chair as he had been before. “Looking forward to it, dad number 2.”

He side eyed the man, searching for a reaction but not even finding that his eye had so much as twitched. Not good, he’d give just about anything for a slap, joking or not, in retaliation for his comment. Another person to avoid, then. He’d hold in his rage against him and instead hold it above his head until he finally apologized over and over and... actually, those grudges never went away with adults. At least this bunch had somehow put up with it and still hung out with him despite his attempts to push them away, but it looked like he’d finally crossed the line.

Whatever. Just another friend lost. What did it matter after all in the long run? Everyone and everything left him one way or another.

Silence settled over the car, but Miya barely even dared to so much as breathe. One wrong sound or movement would be sure to set him off. Something was bubbling under the surface of the older man, and negative feelings in others never went well for him, whether it be his fault or not. Who was he kidding? Everything might as well be his fault and it must be with how his parents acted, but he wasn’t about to bow down and apologize for any of it. Either everything was his fault or nothing at all, and he liked the second better. So that’s how he operated, unless it was to guilt himself into doing something. It was a powerful tool after all.

Maybe if he could just stay so still and silent Shadow forgot all about him, he wouldn’t have to bear the after effects. He was good at it, had learnt how to sneak around his home so he only saw his parents at dinner, which was always eaten in silence unless they were berating him. Even then they sometimes forgot about his existence and wouldn’t notice if he didn’t eat a single bite.

“We’re here, kid,” Shadow said, the silence shattering.

Miya sucked in a breath before nodding and bolting out the door as the alarm went off. So they’d still been moving. Oops.

Regardless, he landed on his feet with minimal wobbling. Good enough.

“What the hell, kid! That’s dangerous. Do you really want to get me into that much trouble with your parents?”

Miya shrugged despite his entire body tensing. He’d been hoping the man would just drive off without another word. “Don’t sweat it. They seriously wouldn’t notice or give a crap. Doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, what does that mean-”

Miya turned on his heal and flipped up his hood before sauntering right up to his door and walking in. Maybe his parents wouldn’t care if they found out he snuck out most nights, but he wasn’t about to let them know. He slipped off his shoes and scurried up to his room, making sure to walk on the edge of the stairs to minimize the creaking of wood. Perfect escape.

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 #sk8 anime #sk8 fanfic #miya chinen #hiromu takahashi #fanfic #angst #anime

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the-chicken-or-the-banana · 3 years

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i had an idea i would love to see from your perspective (you're so good at andreil oh my god) if you wanted to write some stuff about it? i always wondered how andrew reacted when he first found neil missing after the binghampton game (starts pg 235 in the king's men). thoughts? (-- the ttyl blog <3)

omg i literally finished re-reading that scene before seeing your ask skjflsj ~ i hope you like this ! (i'm just realizing that i barely followed ur request and just rambled a lot but that's FINE 😬)

read it on ao3 here :)

«««———»»»

Andrew walked in line to the bus with the rest of the Foxes, mind going a million miles an hour behind his impassive expression.

"Thank you," Neil had said, eyes truer than Andrew had ever seen them. "You were amazing."

Andrew wasn't such a fool for Neil Josten that he couldn't figure out there was something more happening under the surface, something bigger than just an Exy shutout, that he wasn't telling anyone. Something forcing truth out of him.

Neil looked scared.

Apparently, no one else received the memo, because behind him, Matt Boyd kept kicking at Andrew's heels and Andrew could nearly see the nosy smile on Reynold's face. Boyd's voice was drowned out by the cacophony of both jeers and shouts of approval coming from all around them, but he had no doubts that Boyd was fishing for information surrounding his and Neil's "not this" to settle a bet of some sort.

Andrew didn't really care. He was more focused on leaving Binghamton, getting some answers out of Neil, and then kissing him senseless.

Of course, Andrew had no plans to tell Neil of that last item on the list, but he was sure he (and everyone else, apparently) knew anyway.

Maybe not Nicky, though. For all his cousin boasted about having an "incredible gaydar," he tended to be a bit clueless about Andrew.

Andrew's eyes were unfocused, gazing at the bounce of Neil's red curls while his thoughts wandered around nothing at all.

Nothing? his mind mused unhelpfully. Or Neil? Or is that one in the same now?

Shut up, he huffed internally. I hate him.

Lost in his head, it was only until he heard a pained curse from Aaron that he jerked straight and saw the world burning around him.

«««———»»»

Andrew's vision went red.

He nearly would have broken out of line and straight into the tidal wave of rioters had he not noticed the police trying to push back the crowd. He had never trusted the pigs, but Andrew supposed he could let them handle the mess until he'd gotten a chance to check on Aaron at the bus.

He had nearly fooled himself with that thought when an ice cooler sailed through the air and missed Danielle's face by an inch. An enraged shout came from Andrew's right, and he could feel the familiar heat of adrenaline in his stomach that always came when he and Renee sparred.

There was going to be a fight.

No sooner than he had that thought, the crowd around him exploded into madness, nearly running the Foxes over. Andrew may have been ready to throw some punches, but he was not at all prepared for the onslaught of unfamiliar bodies piling on him. Moving around him. Touching him.

Andrew couldn't breathe.

He lost sight of Neil's head in the mess, hoping one of the security guards would bring Neil to safety while Andrew tried to ground himself. What had Bee taught him?

What is your name? Andrew Minyard.

How old are you? 20 years old.

What is upsetting you? Hands. Everywhere.

Can you do something about it? Yes. I can move now.

He felt the glancing blow of someone's elbow on his face, nearly hitting his eye. It was sure to bruise later, but for now, the sharp pain mixed with Bee's words were enough to shake Andrew out of his stupor.

He ducked to the left, neatly missing a thrown shoe and was grateful to his limited stature for once. He kept an eye out for a flash of red, the glint of blue eyes, but seeing that Neil was nearly as short as Andrew himself, the effort was futile.

He'll be fine, Andrew thought. Find Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin, and get to the bus.

To his surprise (or maybe not), Andrew found Reynolds trading fierce blows with someone twice her size, Renee at her back. He caught Renee's glance and she gave him a firm nod of reassurance.

He nodded back, already swiveling to find the rest of his group.

After a few minutes, he spotted Nicky and Kevin huddled together, slowly moving to the edge of the crowd. He caught up and grabbed Nicky's wrist, who jerked away and reared his hand back for a punch before realizing it was Andrew.

Despite it all, Andrew felt a thrum of satisfaction. A few years ago, Nicky had let people beat him down over and over again. At least now he was learning to fight back.

"Oh thank god," Nicky cried, catching Kevin's attention, before his eyes widened. He reached out, remembering himself at the last second. "Andrew... your face, what happened?"

Andrew shrugged. He'd been through worse.

Nicky looked like he wanted to say something, but Kevin cursed loudly and began pushing out of the sea of bodies with renowned vigor.

"It's getting more violent and more people are joining," Kevin said, voice strained. "We need to get out and regroup at the bus."

"Aaron?" Andrew asked. Nicky glanced around a few moments before pointing to his right.

"There!" he exclaimed, and motioned to Kevin to go in that direction. Kevin nodded and they made their way over to Aaron, who was ducking under beer bottles and was nearly smacked in the face by a PSU banner.

"Aaron!" Kevin called, and Aaron's shoulders dropped with relief as he swerved a growing fight and made his way over to them.

Andrew scanned his brother quickly and, after seeing no visible injuries, motioned to start back towards the parking lot. They made their way over to the bus and found Boyd and Danielle standing, the former looking like he'd just lost a fight with a mountain lion.

Danielle was gripping his arm as Abby tended to his wounds, but Andrew heard her say he might need to go to the hospital for the more serious injuries. Boyd looked pained at the thought, but when he glanced up and caught Andrew's eye, he smiled and waved them over.

"Andrew, here," Abby said, noticing his injury. He took an ice pack from her and glanced around.

"Where's Neil?" he asked, choosing to ignore the suggestive look between Boyd and Danielle. Abby shrugged and opened her mouth before her eyes caught on something behind Andrew and she waved.

Andrew turned around to find Renee and Reynolds walking proudly towards them. Reynolds had a mosaic of bruises all over her, and Renee was holding her wrist precariously.

Abby sighed and began treating them as Wymack rounded the front of the bus and finally found his team.

Not the whole team, a ringing voice said in Andrew's head. Neil isn't here yet.

Which was odd, no? He had a security guard in front of him, surely he would have made it here first? Perhaps Wymack had seen him and taken him somewhere. Maybe he was already safe in the bus and Abby hadn’t noticed him.

Andrew pushed past Danielle and boarded the bus, walking the length of it but not finding a loudmouthed striker in its shadows. His stomach became knotted with a curious feeling he slowly identified as dread.

Andrew was at the door of the bus again. He looked at Wymack.

"Where. Is. Neil." he demanded. He saw Wymack's confused expression and before he even said anything, Andrew felt his heart stop.

"I don't know. I thought he was with you."

Reynold's knowing smirk gave way to uncertainty as the rest of the Foxes quieted. There was silence for a moment. Two.

Then Andrew threw his ice pack on the floor and raced back into the heart of the riot.

«««———»»»

He ignored the shouts coming from behind him, his mind an endless loop of Neil, Neil, Neil, is he safe, has he been hurt, he was supposed to be nothing, NEIL

After a few minutes of searching and more than a few near punches, the police finally regained some control over the situation and Andrew was able to scour the grounds for any hint of where Neil might be.

He saw the racquet first. The duffle bag was a few meters away from it.

Numbly, Andrew picked up both items, grabbing Neil's phone as it fell from the netted side pocket.

0, it said.

Andrew felt a piercing emptiness when he saw Neil's things without their rightful owner beside them.

He slowly walked back to the Foxes' bus, head pounding but unable to really register the dwindling fight behind him. And when the Foxes finally came in view, he saw the confusion on their faces when they saw no Neil walking with him.

Andrew mentally ran through everything that he knew. Neil was scared. He was running from someone, someone Kevin knew about? A zero on his phone from an unnamed number — a countdown, perhaps. He would never leave his things unattended, so maybe he wanted to tell Andrew he had been taken unwillingly, knowing that Andrew would never leave without him.

There was something he was missing, some vital piece of information that Neil hadn't told him that was causing this mess.

The guilty look on Kevin's face told Andrew everything he needed to know. He knew something.

He dumped Neil's things on the ground by Wymack's feet, mentally assessing himself. His cheek throbbed, each breath he took was sticky with sweat, his heart was pounding.

Neil was gone.

Andrew felt such a blind hot rage at that, the likes of which he hadn't felt in so long, the type where he felt like laughing at how cruel the world could be.

And before he could tell his body to stop, Andrew's hands were around Kevin's throat.

«««———»»»

"Shit Andrew! You're hurting— " "Andrew, stop— " "Get off of— "

«««———»»»

Andrew couldn't remember what happened after that, not immediately at least. It was a bit disorienting, going from a perfect recollection to being so overrun by anger that his mind went blank. Was this how everyone else felt all the time? He felt like someone just took out a Jenga piece from his mind, like it was close to collapsing.

Distantly, he recalled being yanked off of Kevin as he gasped some explanation about a mob boss, Kengo's right hand man, Nathaniel Wesninski. But none of it mattered. Andrew had broken his promise. He had hurt the person he had vowed to protect, just like so many had done to him.

And he still didn't have Neil.

«««———»»»

Neil used to make the emptiness a bit fuller, a bit easier to manage, Andrew thought. It felt so impossible to navigate himself now without Neil by Andrew's side.

«««———»»»

There was a hospital. A hotel. There were FBI agents. The news turned on. Off. On. There was another hotel. Handcuffs. Taken away.

«««———»»»

There was Nathaniel Neil. Standing in front of him. Blue eyes, wild hair, bandages unable to hide how irresistible he was, unable to stop the jolt in Andrew's heart.

There was Neil. And everything felt right again.

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

Text

Daisies

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader Words: 2700 Warnings: gambling, swearing, alcohol, rough handling by guards, allusions to prostitution (it’s part of a scam), lighthearted punishment in the stocks Synopsis: Pero seems to always be around at the wrong time to sabotage your scams and join in with your punishments. Enemies to Lovers (sorta)

Daisies: attachment, new beginnings

💐

“Now remember, ten or above wins you double your stake, below ten and your stake is mine.”

The scruffy drunkard sat opposite you let out a bellowing laugh, the nasty stench of his rotten teeth hitting your nostrils. His movements sloshed the tankard of mead in his hand, spilling some of its contents on the table between you. You had to hold back your look of disgust and smile through the uncomfortableness.

“I won’t lose. Throw ‘em, lady,” he slurred. You had to fight off the smirk threatening to show on your face as you shook the two, six sided dice in your right hand. You had nothing to worry about, the dice were weighted, favoring the lower numbers and therefore guaranteeing your win every time.

“Alright, but when you win you owe me a drink!” you winked cheekily at your mark, catching his eye whilst you threw the dice on the table. The more you distracted them the less chance there was of getting caught in your scam.

The dice came to a stop and you both looked down at the same time; a three and a four, earning a groan of disappointment from the few onlookers that had gathered to watch.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned, gathering up your dice and winnings as the man muttered something unintelligible and grumpily left the table, “anyone else want a go?”

“I will.”

You froze at the voice in your ear and saw the figure of a familiar man take the recently vacant seat opposite you. Pero Tovar always seemed to show up in your life when you least wanted him to. He was an annoying ghost and you could never shake off his haunting. You should gather up your earnings and leave but something kept you rooted to the table. And the longer you took to contemplate your next move, the more the drunkards in the tavern wanted to know what was going on. Soon you’d attracted quite the crowd.

“I said, I want a go.”

You looked into his brown eyes, the ones that sparkled with humor, always at your expense.

“It may be too difficult for your small brain to understand how to play,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then let us play a different one. I will throw the dice, and if the total is lower than ten, I win every penny you have taken tonight.”

The bastard. The only reason he would suggest playing it that way was if he knew how you were cheating the game. You clenched your jaw in frustration.

“I think I am ready to take my leave-“

“But we have an audience!” Pero smirked, raising his voice and waving a hand at the tavern full of people who hurrahed, eager for you to throw the dice. You were cornered, physically by the wall of people around you and mentally by Pero who knew if you refused the game it would look suspicious.

“Fine,” you grumbled, faking an over the top smile, twirling the dice in one hand and clenching your other hand into a fist under the table. Stay calm, don’t show him how much he was getting to you, you told yourself. You’d chase him down afterwards and with a knife to his throat take your money back. That would show him.

You dropped the dice on the table and leaned back in your seat to see Pero staring at you. You didn’t need to see the dice to know you had lost, the weights that usually worked for you were against you this time, and the tavern goers yelled in surprise and delight, some were even joyfully patting Pero on the shoulder in congratulations. All the while Pero was smiling at you, self satisfied at playing you at your own game.

You pulled the drawstring bag off your hip and threw it across the table, hitting Pero in the chest.

“Better luck next time,” Pero mocked your earlier words, “would you like a drink to drown your sorrows in?” Pero threw the bag of coins in the air and caught it successfully.

“Oh bugger off, Pero,” you hissed, leaving the tavern in a huff. You didn’t want to see him again this night. You’d get him back next time.

The boy was young, still a teenager but old enough to know better. His clothes were of the finest materials, gold threads held the pieces together and added beautiful patterns to the front and shoulders of the jacket. He even had a long, shiny feather in his cap. He stuck out in the crown like a sore thumb.

You had been scouting the market for marks all morning and he was the only person you thought worthy of relieving of coin. He had a guard with him, who was more interested in looking at the women walking by, and his coin purse was dangling enticingly down by his hip. It would have been much easier for a child to run along and snip the string with a knife but the only ones you’d found were hand in hand with their parents. So you were on your own.

You were hidden down the side of a building, in the shadows and away from prying eyes. Or so you thought until you caught the flash of a grin out the corner of your eye.

Pero Tovar was mirroring your position on the other side of the marketplace, the wealthy man in the middle of you both. Pero moved his gaze to said man and it was then you knew he was after your mark.

It had been only a couple of nights since he took all your money at the tavern and you’d be damned if you were going to let him swindle you of even more coin. You had to get to the mark before Pero did, by any means necessary.

You tried to plead with him, subtly shaking your head but all Pero did was lean against the wall and offer you a warning glare.

The mark was buying a trinket from a stool, handing his purchase over to the guard to carry and looking around for where to go next. This was your only chance.

You untied the string at the top of your tunic, letting it open up to display your chest more than you would usually allow. But you needed a distraction and a way of getting close to the man without suspicion. You pulled out the small scissors from your boot and held them comfortably in your dominant hand, shaking down your sleeve to keep them out of sight.

You tried to ignore Pero but as soon as you slipped out of the alley he did the same, heading directly for the wealthy man.

Unfortunately whilst you were gaining speed through jogging movements, Pero’s purposeful strides were larger than yours, meaning you both reached the man at the same time.

“Sir, could I offer my services-“

“You seem too respectable to want the services of a harlot-“

“Harlot? Excuse me, I am so sorry, this ruffian-“

“Ruffian! You should show some respect-“

Your attempts to get close enough to grab the purse were scuppered by Pero subtly pulling you away with a hand around your waist. And as much as you tried to pry him off you, he was strong and stubborn, rendering your scam completely useless. The wealthy man’s guard dragged him away with a growl in your direction to stop you from pursuing them.

“What was that!?” Those words had been on the tip of your tongue but Pero spoke them first. You looked at him with a confused frown.

“What?”

“What were you thinking? That guard could have killed you.”

“Oh do not pretend you care for my health, you wanted that purse to yourself.”

“I did, but when I saw you were going to get yourself in serious trouble I had to come and save you instead of getting the coins for myself. You are welcome, idiota.”

You stared at Pero in disbelief. Was he expecting gratefulness? You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“I have been doing this for years and I haven’t gotten caught once. I would appreciate it if you didn’t save me again,” you huffed, tying up the strings of your shirt before stomping away from him.

If you never saw Pero Tovar again it would be too soon.

You were mad. But you were mad that Pero was right more than you were mad at your actual predicament.

You had been playing a simple card trick on an unsuspecting traveller, one that you’d played hundreds of times, it had never gone wrong. Somehow the extra card up your sleeve (the one you used to cheat with) had slipped out and fallen to the floor and a guard that had been watching had spotted it and arrested you before you could run.

So that was how you found yourself in the stocks all morning, set in the middle of the courtyard of the castle grounds for everyone to laugh at. A few delighted children had thrown various rotten vegetables in your face, most adults had taken pity on you and walked on by. Your back was hurting from being hunched over, your feet were aching on the hard, stone ground. But none of that compared to the pain of seeing your foe being dragged towards you.

“Please, I beg you, this is punishment enough, do not put that man anywhere near me.”

“Anyone would think you hated me,” Pero grumbled, humor in his voice despite being guided towards his punishment.

You felt the top half of the stocks lifting off the back of your neck, a second of relief, as the guards situated Pero next to you. His hand was so close to yours you could touch him, not that you wanted to. The stocks were dropped down and locked in place and the guards left you alone.

“You bring me nothing but bad luck,” you mumbled, huffing as you shifted on your feet.

“Because I was not there to save you this time?” You could hear the smirk in his voice which irritated you.

“Because I have never been caught, and then you start showing up everywhere I go and I am caught, and to make things worse, I have to be punished next to you!” You laughed humorlessly, narrowly dodging a handful of what smells like horse manure. You shoot a glare over to the man who threw it.

“Carino,” Pero clicked his tongue and you felt his hand sweep against yours, “these rotten potatoes are preferable to your whining.”

You gasped and tried to flick at his hand but it only hurt your bruising wrists.

“When I get out of here I am going to find the biggest vegetable, fresh from the ground, and throw it at you.”

Pero laughed a large, belly rumbling laugh that surprised you.

“Why are you laughing?” you asked, baffled at his sudden turn of emotions, but it didn’t deter him from laughing more.

It was the second plop of manure hitting the top of your head that had you joining in with Pero. The ridiculousness of the situation, the bickering between you, and your damn hand kept knocking into his. It was all so silly.

You spent the rest of the morning in fits of giggles with the man you thought you hated.

You were thrown down the steps of the dungeons, your knees hitting the hard, dirty floor before you were hauled back to your feet to be taken to the cell that would be yours for the night.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” was the voice that greeted you. You saw him sitting in the corner of the cell, a growing bruise on his jaw and stripped of his leather outer garments. He looked softer in just a shirt and breeches, more vulnerable but also kinder. Like any ordinary man, not the pain in the ass you knew him to be. You chuckled at the sight of him.

“Your life would be boring without me,” you teased, but Pero nodded his agreement. You plopped down next to him with a sigh, stretching out your legs and feeling the soreness of your knees as you rested them. You rubbed at the tenderness over your skirts.

“Are you hurt?”

“Some scrapes, that is all,” you assured him, but his eyes lingered where you were soothing your burning knees, “how did you end up in here?”

“Not my fault,” you raised a sceptical eyebrow, “a drunkard started a fight with me.”

“And where is this drunkard?” you asked suspiciously, looking through the bars into the other cells, all of which were empty.

“He passed out. The guards did not want to drag his useless body in here.”

You hummed, clearly not believing his tale. He rolled his eyes at you, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.

“And you?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you end up in here?”

You sighed, remembering what had happened.

“A noblewoman thought I was going to steal her purse.”

“You were not going to steal her purse?”

“No!” You feigned looking scandalised at the mere suggestion, before dropping the act, “I was going to steal her dog.”

Pero guffawed, not expecting you to say such a thing.

“Her dog?”

“It would have been worth more than the coins in her purse.”

Pero rubbed at his tired eyes. You listened to the sounds around you; the guards gossiping outside the dungeon door, a rat squeaking somewhere nearby, the rhythm of Pero’s breathing. It was the first bit of peace you’d had in a long time.

“If we get caught again they will not simply throw us in the dungeons,” Pero whispered ominously.

You couldn’t disagree with him, but there weren’t many other options for people like the two of you. You were wanderers and loners. You had no money, no home, no family. What choice did you have?

You glanced at Pero who was already looking at you. He looked defeated, with dark bags under his eyes and his lips turned ever so slightly downwards, he looked how you felt. Hopeless and alone.

“We keep running into each other. That must mean something,” you claimed, feeling stupid as soon as the words came out. You quickly looked away and waited for him to mock you.

“You think this is God’s will?”

You shrugged and began picking at the dirt on your skirts.

“Perhaps we should do something about it.”

“Like what?” you asked, allowing your tone to lift in hope.

“If we are meant to be, maybe we should get out of this town and find another.”

“Together?”

“Why not?”

You looked at Pero then. There was no teasing in his eyes or smirk on his lips, he was being deadly serious. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of sticking with Pero from now on. However, you couldn’t make it too easy for him.

“Well for one, I’d be stuck with your ugly mug.”

Pero grinned and let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“I would wager my ugly face is better than the hangman's noose.”

The room became sombre once more as you realised what your options were. You had to leave town, but you could either do that alone or with the man whose company you were beginning to enjoy.

You felt Pero nudge your side and you saw he was holding a single daisy up to you.

“Do you carry flowers at all times?”

“No, idiota, they are growing in the walls,” with an amused shake of his head he carefully placed the small flower behind your ear and leaned back to admire his work.

After your initial shock you smiled your thanks and he smiled back.

“Bonita,” Pero muttered and leaned his shoulder against yours as he settled back against the cold, damp wall.

You think you could get used to sticking by his side.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @computeringturtle

#Floriography Series #Pero Tovar #Pero #Tovar #Pero Tovar x Reader #Pero x Reader #Tovar x Reader #The Great Wall #Pedro Pascal

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threadofdestiny · 3 years

Text

Magnolia (Bakugou x f!Reader)

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Warnings: sexual content in later chapters / period-typical-sexism / strong language / violence / Drama / Angst / Fluff / Slow Burn/ political marriage / Reader is Izuku's sister / period-typical-discriptions like vague mentions of longer hair to form typical hairstyles or specific wardrobe / Bakugou is not good at feelings / Bakugou is a mean, explosive boi / third-person perspektive

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know :)

Taglist: @bakugous-mamas, @bnhastories

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Vermilion

The night after (Y/N) found out that she was engaged with Bakugou Katsuki, was immensly exhausting. She had barely been able to find any sleep. Plagued by nightmares, she had tossed and turned in her bed until she had given up trying to find any rest after the first rays of sun peeked through her closed curtains. Her brother had hesitantly tried to describe what he knew about her future husband and although his descriptions remained vague and superficial, the young Miss Midoriya was quite good at reading between his meaningless lines.

„Bakugou is a loyal man of the crown who always act in its interest."

„He is a strong-willed and talented swordsman, who would be able to provide a safe home for you."

„He may be said to be rough tempered, but I am sure he will always treat you well."

It hadn't felt like Izuku had tried to lie to her. In a way, he had seemed to be convinced of his statements... and yet... no matter how many positive words he had used, his face had allways betrayed how worried he had been nonetheless. As if there had been a number of concerns that had slumbered right under his surface, which he eventually had not dared to express. (Y/N) had quickly realized that her brother had deliberately kept his true opinions to himself. She knew that he only had wanted to encourage her, but at night, while she had been all alone by herself, she had not been able to prevent her thoughts from wandering along darker places.

It was said that Bakugou's eyes were tinted in the blood of his enemies he had shed over the years as a Samurai. Those cruel red eyes hunted her within her dreams, followed her no matter which direction she had turned and found her no matter where she had tried to hide herself.

His mercilessness and explosive personality were almost as notorious as his talent with the sword. It was said that he had no qualms about turning his blade even on innocent people. These rumors, created the visions of screaming shadows within her sleep. Their cries echoed like panicked pleas to be spared by him, but the ground on which (Y/N) had stood was flooded in red non the less. Those imaginations had plagued the youngest Midoriya through the entire night, haunting her mercilessly until she had lain wide awake in her bed. With widened eyes she had stared up at her ceiling, while she had tried to imagine the man who was going to be her husband.

When (Y/N) had got up a few hours later, she had been incredibly exhausted. She had tried not to let it show, but she could not prevent her thoughts from drifting away over and over again. She had spent the morning as usual at her mother's side, who, in addition to her usual duties as the female head of the household, had also received several guests. Some of them had been mothers of various bachelors, who had cautiously tried to win Lady Inko over for a potential marriage, but all of them had been discreetly put off by the mistress of the house, without her telling them about the still unofficial engagement between Bakugou Katsuki and her precious daughter.

Now, however, the young girl sat alone with her mother and brother, lost in thoughts, at a richly set table that had been placed in the shade on the roofed engawa of their estate. The young debutante ponderously let her gaze glide over the well-tended garden, unable to fully absorb the true beauty of the scenery which spread out in front of her. With dulled thoughts, (Y/N) contented herself with impassively observing the birds as they bustled about the branches of the flowering magnolia in the middle of their courtyard, while she pondered over the missed opportunities to collect more marriageable candidates for her to choose from.

"I wish I could cheer you up a bit, my dear.", Lady Inko snapped her daughter out of her mopey thoughts after a few minutes of silence, as she carefully set the ornate teapot down between them. Slowly, (Y/N) raised her gaze, only to find that her mother had poured tea for her and her brother, although this would actually have been the youngest Midoriya's task. Swallowing, she bowed her head apologetically before gratefully grasping the warm porcelain of her cup. "Thank you, mother.", (Y/N) whispered, before she carefully pursed her lips to cool the warm liquid with gentle puffs.

"Do not despair. Who knows maybe you will learn to feel deeply for the young shogun. The gods sometimes shape the strangest paths for a person and yet it all makes sense in the end.", Lady Midoriya carefully reassured her daughter as Izuku tried not to choke on his own drink. "Who knows, Izu-chan probably would have introduced you to gentlemen like the youngest son of the Iida family, or the heir of the Kaminari family, who also have their residents in the capital. Both of these gentlemen are known to you. What do you think of them? Wouldn't the gods have led you to them if they thought that they would be the right choice for you?", she asked, knowing what her daughter would think, while gently patting her son's arm in reassurance. "Mother...please! I don't really think that this is helpful.", Izuku mumbled into his teacup as he averted his eyes from the ladies of his household. The latter, however, just waved it off with a soft smile before pushing the plate of pastries in her children's direction. Gulping down the warming tea, (Y/N) suppressed a sigh before engaging in her mother's musings:"Well... ", she began cautiously, taking a deep breath, before she continued: "I'd say one of Iida-sama's greatest qualities is his erudition! He's a very intelligent man.", the youngest Midoriya murmured vaguely, but at the same time she thought of his stiff manners. He was a strict man who did not seem to welcome curious woman. (Y/N) was a passionate reader, who acquired all kinds of knowledge. This would certainly not be a problem, she thought, but with theoretical knowledge often came the need to try out practical skills, and this was not always appropriate for a girl of her status. What would Iida say if he knew that the little sister of one of his best friends, for example, liked to shoot with a bow?

"and... Kaminari-sama's energetic nature is quite contagious and exhilarating!", (Y/N) added after a short pause, having remembered her mother's questions again. Thoughtfully, her mind wandered to the open-hearted blond man, while she remembered how she had often observed him flirting shamelessly with various ladies. Moreover, she had been dismayed to discover in the past that, unlike Iida, he seemed to avoid reading of any kind. It would have made it difficult to have a conversation with him that went beyond superficial topics. When she thought about it, these men would certainly not have been people with whom (Y/N) could have imagined a future on the first sight. Perhaps just like her mother had said, she should actually remind herself once again that not everything had to make sense immediately. Maybe the gods had actually set a path for her. But it was just so incredibly hard to see the positive in her situation and to keep herself open minded. She took it upon herself, but the thought that her mother might be wrong made her skin crawl in anxiety.

"I think it's all a matter of adjustment. After the gods have given me a path, it is up to me to walk along it.", she finished her terse answers half-heartedly.

The debutante's enumeration came to an abrupt end when her personal maid, Mina, announced herself with an apologetic clearing of her throat. When (Y/N) turned around, the young girl was surprised to see another unfamiliar female standing next to her, her upper body almost completely covered by a huge bouquet of colorful flowers. The various blossoms shone in full bloom, some of which normally should not even have been in their actual blooming season. No matter who had sent this bouquet, it must have cost a small fortune.

"Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but I was instructed to lead this young girl to you and your family.", the cheerful servant began, bowing as she folded her arms behind her back. The unassuming girl next to Mina also bowed dutifully, despite the fact that the bouquet certainly did not make it easy for her. "T-This is a gift for Miss Midoriya, my Lord!", the girl explained quietly, while she showcased the flowers with a bowed head. Izuku gave the young girls a gentle smile before raising his scarred hand in a placating gesture. "What a splendid bouquet.", his mother remarked with curious gentleness before turning to smile bittersweetly at her daughter, who had also put on a discreet smile on her lips. "Which of the noble lords had send this bouquet, Mina-chan?", asked (Y/N) with mild curiosity as she rose to take a closer look at the flowers. She knew better than to be lulled by anyone other than her fiancé, but the plants seemed so expensive and rare that it would be a shame not to give them some attention. Even more so when a maid of the local household brought them over personally. It could be taken as an affront against the noble,if she would simply ignore the gift.

"They're from the young shogun, Bakugou-sama, Miss (Y/N)!", replied Mina excitedly, as she clapped her hands together in front of her chest. "He also sends word that he will be visiting Midoriya-sama towards the evening to negotiate the wedding matters.", the unknown servant added. A loud clang sounded behind the girls, who flinched in surprise. Shocked, (Y/N) turned to her brother, whose teacup had slipped from his hand. A multitude of emotions spread across the face of her brother, but his discomfort seemed to stand out the most. The tension in his face clearly showed that Izuku was not happy about the news, but he nodded non the less.

The knowledge that Bakugou Katsuki would enter the Midoriya family estate that very evening had caused an incredible uneasiness in (Y/N)'s stomach. Uncertainty and curiosity tried to gain the upper hand of her shaken feelings, while she had tried to continue her day as usual, but even the surprise visit of her friend, Ochako, had not been enough to successfully distract her. No matter how hard (Y/N) had tried to follow her friend's recounting of her evening last night, the young Midoriya simply hadn't been able to block out the loitering feeling of nervousness.

Izuku had retired to his study some time ago when a servant had informed him that the shogun had finally arrived. The ladies of the house had not yet seen their second guest of the evening, but all present had felt the tension that had settled around them like a thick fog. At this very moment, Izuku and her fiance negotiated about important aspects, which would determine her entire future life. Lost in her troubled thoughts, (Y/N) imagined how they possibly were talking about her dowry at this moment, or setting the date of their wedding, while the young girl did not even know what her future husband looked like. Would he introduce himself to her tonight? Did he even care that they were actually only a few meters and a few thin walls apart from each other at this very moment?

"Hey... (Y/N)... how about we take a stroll through your backyard, streching our legs out for a bit?", Ochako carefully interrupted her friend's train of thought when she noticed that (Y/N) was starting to drift off again. Surprised, the young girl tore her gaze from the bouquet of flowers that had been placed on an ornamental table next to the salon's open sliding doors. "I'd love to.", (Y/N) answered as she blinked a few times, before setting down her cooled teacup, that had rested in her palms unmoved for a few minutes. Followed by the brunette debutante, she entered the gardens of the Midoriya family estate, which directly bordered the salon in which they had sat before.

The gentle breeze that playfully blew around them made the leaves and branches of the plants dance to the music of the birds, while the rays of the late afternoon sun engulfed their surroundings in radiant light. In the midst of a sea of lush green trees, lawns and bushes, the blooming magnolia that her grandfather had planted for her grandmother many years ago as a testament to his true love towards her, stood out in its proud splendor. Since then, it has bloomed every spring with its soft pink and white blossoms in the center of their small idyllic paradise.

Sighing, (Y/N) looked up into said treetop as she arrived at the precious memento accompanied by her friend. "My apologies for being so absent today.", the youngest Midoriya murmured before turning to Ochako, who looked at her with a sad expression on her round face. Shaking her head, the young brown-haired girl put on a smile as she folded her hands in front of her. "Don't worry about it. I understand how you feel. It's certainly overwhelming to be promised by the emperor to one of his subordinates right after your performance the day before yesterday."

Nodding hesitantly, (Y/N) stroked the gauzy white fabric of her upper robe, smoothing it over the lower burgundy wide sleeves. With erratic fingers, she then ran them over the gold threaded embroidered obi, adjusting the decorative ribbons that hung down the sides of her traditional gown. Seeking distraction, (Y/N)'s gaze wandered to the closed doors of her brother's study, which also adjoined the gardens they were strolling through. Knowing that behind those thin walls, hidden away from her gaze, was her fiancé speaking to Izuku, made her incredibly nervous. Quickly the youngest Midoriya turned away to look at her friend again, not able to gaze towards her home any longer. She didn't dare to look into the round window, which was supposed to let daylight into the room behind, for fear of having to face reality once and for all. At the moment her fate was still completely surreal for her, but what if she would see the man she was going to marry soon? It would make her whole destiny so much more real.

"I know it is an honor that the Emperor himself asked for this allegiance, but I must admit that this sudden change of events churn me a bit!" Ochako nodded in understanding before also looking thoughtfully in the direction of the house. "You know... The other side of the coin has its downsides, too. My father can barely afford the standard of living we have to lead as nobles. It will be difficult to find a family that will be satisfied with the little influence and the small dowry I am able to provide...", she murmured gloomily. Briefly, the young Miss Uraraka's expression changed as she looked longingly at the window that leads to her brother's study. How could (Y/N) have thought so selfishly only of herself, when she knew that her friend had it at least as hard as she did. With a fluid motion, the youngest Midoriya placed her hand on her friends upper arm as she stepped a little closer to her. "I wish I could support you somehow!", (Y/N) murmured comfortingly. "You know, you are really very very lucky. Your brother... I mean, Midoriya-sama will definitely make sure that you'll be fine by Bakugou-sama's side! He would never let him hurt you!", assured Ochako again with newfound energy as she confidently turned back to the daughter of the house. The sadness that had previously gleamed in the brunette girl's eyes had vanished without a trace. Sympathetically, (Y/N) smiled at her friend, knowing that she did not want to talk about the subject any further. Just as she was about to change the direction of their conversation, the sound of sliding doors distracted the two girls instantly.

Immediately, (Y/N) looked up to direct her gaze towards the house, only to finally discover her brother in the doorway of his study. When she realized that there were two other unknown figures standing behind him in the shadows of the room, the young Midoriya's breath caught for a moment. Two finely dressed, tall men slowly stepped into the light of the sun and, accompanied by Izuku, headed purposefully towards the young ladies. One of them had ash blond spiky hair, who was followed by a red-haired warrior. The clothes and the traditional katana they carried distinguished them as nobles of the sword, but it was quite clear even from a distance that the blond man stood rank-technically above the redheads. His attire was a bit more finer, than the others, but it was mainly the nature of his attitude that betrayed him the most. He came towards her as if he owned the ground on which he walked. Everything about his aura demanded that they had to submit to him.

Bakugou Katsuki.

At the sight of the handsome, albeit somber looking man, (Y/N)'s heart began to take a few leaps until it finally began to pound wildly against her chest.

"O-Oh, by the gods. Th-That has to be the shogun.", Ochako breathed softly. The young Midoriya could hear the trembling in her friend's voice, but she had to give her credit for standing firm just like (Y/N), trying not to let her intimidation show. A tepid breeze caused the light hanfu robes the two ladies wore, to dance around their legs, while a few petals of the magnolia blossoms rained down upon them. Despite the fact that she was surrounded by fresh spring air, (Y/N) felt like she couldn't catch her breath while facing the formidable gentleman. However, she didn't know if it was due to the unawareness of the powerful man's reaction towards her, or if perhaps this feeling had a completely different origin.

The expression in the gaze that Bakugou Katsuki had directed at the figure of the young Midoriya could only be described as penetrating, attentive and calculating. She had never met a person who was able to conjure up such an aura with only his bare focused eyes. Only briefly did he detach his attention from her to look at Ochako with his sharp gaze. Izuku's posture was tense as he walked up to his sister beside the shogun. Bakugou, on the other hand, looked as if he wasn't the least bit interested in the whole situation. He strode confidently towards his fiance, while his chimney red eyes once again stared down at her warily.

His gaze had been enough to free (Y/N) from her rigidity and ensured that she finally managed to get herself to move accordingly. Just before his arrival, she fell into a deep curtsy, which at that moment was more of a testament to her brilliant muscle memory, than a conscious act. But she managed to remember her manners, chastely lowering her gaze and remaining in the offering position long enough for the gentlemen to come to a stop in front of her and her close friend.

"So, this is your sister? Well, she truly is a lovely creature, Midoriya-san.", interrupted a friendly but unfamiliar voice the emerging silence. (Y/N) attributed it to the red-haired man, because the pitch seemed too friendly to belong to the notorious shogun. With downcast eyelids, she listened how her brother thanked his guest as he slowly moved to stand beside her smaller frame. The youngest Midoriya still hadn't lifted her gaze entirely, knowing that it was not proper for an unmarried woman to lift her eyes without further ado. However, her mind remained by the fact that the red haired men had spoken up before her fiance had said a word. It had surprised (Y/N), after all he was in the company of someone who outranked him. She had rarely seen anyone dare to speak openly in front of those who were above them.

"Oi, lift your gaze and look at me, girl!", growled Bakugou suddenly, without uttering a word of greeting. His companion clicked his tongue softly when he heard how his leader approached his fiance, while Izuku began to tense up in front of the shogun. Immediately, (Y/N) raised her fluttering eyelids and fixed her gaze on the nobleman's handsome face. Did Bakugou want her to look him in the eyes?

Despite her inner uncertainty, the young Midoriya's gaze wandered over the sharp edges of his contours until finally they slowly collided with the young shogun's iris.

Vermilion

His eyes had a vermilion color.

(Y/N) could understand why so many scary rumors circulated about the color of his eyes, but her first association was not the one she had heard from others. She could see why people associated them with the blood of his enemies, but the youngest Midoriya first thoughts were of the deep red of the sky as soon as the rising sun blinked out just a few inches above the horizon. Then, when the world was almost still haunted by the blackness of the night, before it was slowly but surely chased away by the first warm rays of pure light.

With quick breaths, (Y/N) looked speechlessly at her future husband while trying to suppress the nervous trembling of her body. She could sense Ochako behind her, shifting her weight, shocked as she tried to take in the spectacle in front of her as well. (Y/N), however, continued to do as she was commanded and looked bravely into the face of the shogun. It showed the indomitable will which lay dormant in the depths of his body. The will that was able to break even the strongest fighting spirit of his opponents. The youngest Midoriya knew that she should have felt fear at the sight of him, but all she could think of was the envy that arose in her when she realized what a strong character must reside in this man. How much power he posessed at such a young age.

Silence spread like a heavy blanket over the five nobles, all waiting for the highest ranked to speak again, but Bakugou seemed to be in no hurry. Almost testing, he delayed the moment as he looked down at her in a scrutinizing manner.

"Bakugou Katsuki.", her fiancé finally introduced himself impassively after nodding towards her. For a moment she had thought that she saw a positive emotion in the features of her future husband, but after just a single blink, the moment had already passed away. One more time, (Y/N) sank into a curtsy before putting on a shy, shaky smile. "Midoriya (Y/N). It's an honor to meet you, your grace.", she replied kindly. Silence spread out between the present, while the young couple looked at each other closely. However, Bakugou's companion broke it again before it was getting to be too awkward, waving at her with a radiant smile on his lips:"If I may introduce myself as well. My name is Kirishima Eijirou. I am one of the samurai who followed Bakugou-sama's lead. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Midoriya and Miss eh?"

Surprised that the young man next to the young shogun had again simply spoken up without hesitation, (Y/N)'s attention briefly swung to the red-haired, muscular samurai. How was it that he dared to speak even though his superior was standing right next to him? Bakugou, however, didn't seem to mind, as he waited a short moment, while Ochako hastily introduce herself, without taking his eyes off of (Y/N).

After the brown-haired girl finished her introduction, the shogun cleared his throat in desinterest. He paid no further attention to his future wife's guest, clearly intending on keeping the conversation as short as possible as he began to declair in a business-like manner: "The negotiations for our engagement have been completed. After the proper engagement period has passed, I will come back to the capital to perform the wedding with you. Until then, I will travel back to my estate in the north." Overwhelmed by the statement, the young Midoriya swallowed down the rising lump before nodding hesitantly: "W-When will you be leaving?", the young lady asked after collecting herself. "In a week!" "In a week? But...", (Y/N) gasped, before breaking off her sentence. It was not her place to object, but she had hoped to at least meet Bakugou a few times before having to marry him.

Kirishima quickly stepped in again, smiling and trying to lighten the mood a bit, after noticing that his leader would say nothing in reply: "Duty calls, milady. But once we're back in town, Bakugou-sama will certainly be able to take up more time to get to know you before the wedding.", he suggested with a bright smile as he bumped his fists against each other in a confident manner. "Maybe... but now Kirishima and I will have to leave! The negotiatons took too much of my time already.", the shogun gave out without showing any interesest in indulgin any of them.

Surprised, (Y/N)'s eyes widened at the curt statement. Had she done something wrong? Why did he want to leave so soon, if he would be gone within the next week? Was he upset that she hadn't been able to hold her tongue? Swallowing, she searched the man's face for an answer, but could find no clues in his closed off expression. Strangely, a trace of disappointment spread through her as she watched the blond man resolutely incline his head in a farewell. Immediately, the youngest Midoriya and Ochako fell back into a deep curtsy as they bowed their heads in supplication.

Before (Y/N) could straighten up again, however, she felt a small oblong box being pressed into her hands. For a brief moment, rough, long fingers brushed against hers, but when she looked up in surprise, she realized miserably that Bakugou, who gave her the gift, had already turned away from her. With a wildly beating heart, she pressed the wooden box to her chest as she watched how Bakugou, was walking away from her without any hesitation in his steps.

How could she face her destiny and fight for her happiness when she was given no choice to do so? If she let him go without another word, wouldn't she have already failed in her purpose? She had to use the time she had left and pray that the gods would lead her graciously. On impulse, (Y/N) took a leap forward despite her intimidated self, before trying to build a bridge between Bakugou and her, even if it meant that she had to use her voice:"T-The spring Festival!" A shiver ran down her spine as the youngest Midoriya saw the shogun pause and turn to face her. "The festival to celebrate the cherry blossoms. The day after tomorrow evening in the emperor's gardens. W-will you be there, your Grace?", she asked, after having scraped together all of her courage. She could see Kirishima turn around as well and look at her with another radiant smile, while her brother looked like he was about to faint. Bakugou, on the other hand, looked at her appraisingly for a few moments before raising his shoulders in a vague gesture. "I'll be busy with the preparation for the following journey!", he replied impassively as he spun around again. Dejectedly, (Y/N) lowered her gaze, before she suddenly heard how her fiancé continued to speak: "I'll see if I can spare some time."

Eyes widening, (Y/N) gazed after Bakugou as she tried to comprehend what he had just uttered. A shaky smile spread across her lips before she bowed again, though the Shogun could not see this while he headed to the entrance of the estate. "Thank you. I look forward to eventually meeting you there."

#bnha #mha #bakugou x reader #Bakugou x female reader #bakugou x yn #Bakugou #Bakugou Katsuki #midoriya izuku #deku #Shogun!Bakugou

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elowenp · 3 years

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Dan Powell is seven years old and if he’s certain of one thing it’s that he loves stories.

Not quite the same way as Mark. Mark prefers his words drenched in the mud and grit of the reality he thinks is true.

“Doesn’t it make the stories taste bad?” Dan asks, “Doesn’t it make them grind against your teeth and cut against your tongue?”

Mark just laughs. “I can stomach it. It’s way cooler than all that unreality fluff you like.”

Dan laughs but inside he’s frowning. The stories he likes are real. It’s just that what he counts as reality and what Mark does must be very different things.

Dan likes stories about odd things. He likes stories about monsters and cults and old, old gods. He likes weird. The stories don’t have to have a hero either, Dan is perfectly happy without a happy ending, just so long as there is an ending. When Dan starts a story leaving it unfinished has never been an option. When his parents read him bedtime stories, always a chapter at a time, he picks the book up once they leave and gets through as much as possible before passing out with the book falling wide open over his face.

Dan like stories and he likes endings and he likes weird. So when he overhears some people on the subway talking about the Visser Building and the odd happenings within, he can hardly not go searching for the endings of that tale.

The next day he walks down seedier streets than any seven year old should really be walking down to get to the Visser Building. He wonders if it’s odd that he didn’t need to look at any maps before coming here. It’s probably normal, he decides, I’m just good at finding odd things.

Dan is good at finding all the stories at the school library that probably shouldn’t be available to children as young as him and no one finds that strange. This is just more of the same.

As he walks into the Visser Building an overwhelming feeling of rightness comes over Dan. This is where you’re meant to be, it whispers, stay here forever and all will be right, right, right, it sings. Dan thinks the whispers make a very good point but he has to be home for dinner otherwise his parents will worry. So he won’t stay. This time.

He walks through the corridors. Some of them feel like mazes. Some of them tilt downwards so harshly that they feel like slides. All of them are new and interesting and definitely full of stories. Dan turns on the tape recorder he stole from his Dad. Mark is always going on about how a journalist needs a good record of everything that happens and this feels like the sort of story Dan is going to need to replay to fully understand.

“This is Dan Powell recording.” he says into it, trying to sound as serious and adult as he can. There isn’t really anything else for him to say after that since all the things he’s feeling are too new and unexplainable to put words to so he just lets the tape recorder go. The whirring of it is nice background noise and Dan likes the way the machine feels in his hand. Almost as if it’s a part of his hand.

Something about that thought may be significant, but before Dan can examine it too thoroughly he’s rounding a corner and face to face with a woman about to knock on a door and holding a tape recorder just like his own.

She looks surprised to see Dan. As if Dan isn’t meant to be there. Dan thinks this is a bit unfair as the woman’s presence doesn’t sing to him like the rest of the building does so she definitely isn’t meant to be there. She looks like she’s nice though and she hasn’t shouted at Dan for trespassing yet so Dan doesn’t say that. He just stands there, listening attentively to the twin whirring of two tape recorders.

“Hello,” the woman says after a moment, cautious. “I’m Melody Pendras, do you live here?”

“No. I’m Dan Powell.” Dan holds his hand out for Melody to shake since he’s sure that’s what he’s meant to do. Melody smiles as if this is a little funny but bends down and shakes Dan’s hand seriously enough that he forgives her.

“Then why are you here?”

Dan frowns. “The same reason as you.” He gestures towards her tape recorder. “I want to know the story.”

Melody starts frowning as well. “That’s a very dangerous thing to want.” she says.

“I know. It’s okay though. Getting to the end is worth it.”

Dan feels Melody re-evaluate her opinion of him. He feels the way her eyes land on him shift until it’s a lot more like how she looks at the rest of this strange, strange building. “I think you would fit in here very well.”

Dan nods in agreement. “Thanks. You wouldn’t.”

Melody laughs lightly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for finding that to be a good thing.” Dan shrugs. It’s not a good thing. It’s not a bad thing. It just is. “I need to get back to work but it was nice to meet you, Dan.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Melody. I hope your story doesn’t end badly.”

Melody looks at Dan very oddly but before she can say anything the door she had been stood in front of swings open and she becomes too caught up in greeting the occupant to notice Dan fading back into the shadows of the Visser Building.

Dan ends up having to leave to get home for dinner before finding anything else important. Then he has a playdate with Mark the next day. Then he goes to his school’s very small creative writing club the day after that. Then there’s a disciplinary meeting between his parents and his teacher about the somewhat disturbing story he wrote and Dan gets grounded for the rest of the week.

When Dan finally gets a chance to return to the Visser Building all that’s left is rubble and the odd blood splatter and something else.

The something else is calling to him. The whirring, crackling, spinning of a tape recorder with nothing left to record is loud in his ears despite the fact he know no one else can hear it. His hands are too small and his body too weak to lift the rubble but he aches to do so.

“You lost, kid?” a voice asks from behind Dan. He turns to see a woman who definitely doesn’t care if Dan is lost or not.

“No.” Dan pauses so that he doesn’t sound too demanding or rude. Then, “Can I have the tapes?”

The woman’s eyes narrow and Dan is struck by how unlike Melody she looks. Melody had a kind face, all arranged in the most welcoming shape. The whole time this woman has been looking at Dan she’s kept her face twisted into something mildly disgusted.

“What tapes are these?”

Dan points to the rubble. “The ones in there. They have a story on them, I need to know how it ends.”

“Huh.” the woman says, looking at Dan like an artefact in a museum. “If you were a little older I would know a lot of people who would be interested in employing you.” She tilts her head to the side as if considering Dan. “Do you like cities?”

Dan hasn’t thought on it much before but the concept of living anywhere less full of stories than New York kind of makes him want to tear his skin off. “Yes.”

The woman’s eyes gleam with interest. “Do you have friends?”

Dan thinks to how Mark can make him laugh hard enough to snort milk out his nose and yesterday he fixed the plaster on Mark’s knee just right when the school nurse did it wrong. “Yes.”

The interest in the woman’s eyes dulls a little. “A pity. Still, far more useful than most people will ever be.” She reaches into a pocket and pulls out a card with the letters LMG on it and a phone number. “My name is Iris Vos. Once you’re old enough to be useful, maybe get a degree or something, call this number and tell them that I sent you.” She turns away from Dan a little. “That should give me some credit with the bastards.” she mutters to herself.

Dan looks down at the card. It’s in pristine condition, just like he supposes everything of Miss Vos’s must be. The numbers have an odd shine to them though and Dan finds himself wondering if there might be something interesting there. “Thank you for the opportunity.” he says, because he’s certain that someone said that after receiving a job offer in one of the TV shows his dad watches. Miss Vos nods so Dan guesses he probably said the right words and she walks off towards people in suits holding official looking clipboards.

Dan wants to know how this story ends. He needs to know how this story ends. The curiosity burns in his stomach like acid and fire and hatred and wonder and Dan isn’t sure how many years he can last before it finds a way to destroy him. He’s always loved endings after all, perhaps a little too much.

So Dan tucks the card very carefully into his pocket and spends a moment hoping fervently that one day he’ll be old enough to be useful.

#archive 81 #a81 #podcasts #this doesn't work with the timeline but shhhhhh #making dan Weird is honestly my favourite thing #writing

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iamdeku · 4 years

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Broken Ribs and Whole Hearts

Description: A Deku x Reader where the reader is a nurse who finds an unexpected guest in her emergency room. A continuation of this post.

Warnings: Descriptions of injury/some light gore. Talk of painkillers administered by a medical professional. Fluff.

It was safe to say that when you woke up this morning you weren’t expecting to find the life of the number one hero in your hands.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t worked with heroes before. You had plenty of experience with them, since they had a way of getting themselves hurt. That being said, you’d never worked with this particular hero before, and you were a little bit starstruck.

You wouldn’t call yourself a fan of Deku, but you weren’t not a fan. You saw him on the news all the time, but that was virtually impossible to avoid since he seemed to find his way onto every crime scene. If there was someone who needed help, Deku was there.

Right now though, he was here, bleeding out.

You had heard about the fight from your coworkers. It was hard to avoid hearing about a battle on that scale when you worked in a hospital. You had already been getting civilians in for treatment, but the heroes came last and were, naturally, priority since their injuries tended to be far more severe. Deku was no exception to this rule, and when he was rushed through the doors you were quick to fill your empty hands, not even realizing who he was until you went to assess the patient.

You jolted back a little bit in surprise, seeing the shock of green hair and bleary green eyes peering up at you. In your moment of surprise leaning over him, he cracked a blood-smeared smile.

“Are you an angel?” He asked softly.

“He’s delirious from the blood loss,” you declared, quickly getting to work surveying the rest of the damage. “Several cracked ribs, and I think he may have punctured a lung.”

As you continued to rattle off instructions and commentary, Deku continued staring at you. You, unwittingly, had become his lifeline. He kept his eyes open out of sheer desire not to look away from you. You were so capable, not faltering once after your initial shock. He was in awe of you.

Eventually, Deku was rushed into the operating room, and then he had no choice but to go under. When he woke up though, lo and behold, it was you there, checking his vitals and adjusting some things.

He opened his dry mouth, preparing his cracked voice to speak. “Well if it isn’t the prettiest nurse in all of Musutafu.”

You jump slightly, not having expected him to wake up. You fidget with your hands, a nervous habit.

“Oh, hello Deku. You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.” Deku would have shrugged, but he knew from experience that would make things worse.

He turned his eyes to the rest of the hospital room, taking a look around. He was in a standard hospital gown, which he joked was his “back-up uniform”. An IV fed drugs into his arm as necessary, and he knew he must be on some pretty good pain killers if the slightly hazy feeling in his head and the warm confidence in his chest were any indication.

“So, any chance you’ll go out on a date with me?” he asked.

You stiffen in surprise, but then grin teasingly at him. “Wow, the morphine is talking pretty loud today, huh? Who knew the number one hero was such a light-weight? Maybe I should lower your dosage.”

Deku winced. “Please don’t. I have a high pain tolerance, but not that high.”

Your beautiful smile turned to a look of concern.

“Are you in any pain right now?”

Deku quickly shook his head, which actually did cause him some pain from the force of the movement.

“I’m fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing. It’s working great.” He smiled encouragingly at you.

You visibly relaxed from where you stood by his bedside.

“Okay, well just let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m sure you know the drill, but you can just press this button right here for help.” You showed him where it was.

“Any chance I can get your number before you go?” He asked hopefully, unwittingly throwing you into cardiac arrest.

“I will take away your painkillers, Mr. Midoriya,” you threatened over your shoulder as you walked out.

Little did either of you know it, but Izuku was going to be spending a lot more time with you. His tendency to get injured on your shifts almost made you believe he was doing it on purpose. You asked him once when he was drugged up, but he would admit to nothing, only giving you a slightly loopy smile before falling asleep.

Once he was settled into his hospital rooms though, he made no secret of it. He would blatantly request you, or rather, “the prettiest nurse in Musutafu.”

“You know I have a name right?” you asked, looking at his chart like you didn’t have it basically memorized.

“Yes, I just happen to think this more fitting. I can stop if it bothers you though.”

Suddenly your confident hero had turned into a Christmas tree, whole face from the neck up turning red as a cherry. Feeling a desperate need to sooth him, you hurriedly corrected yourself.

“No, this is fine! I mean, I can’t really complain, can I?”

“Pretty sure you just did,” he teased.

You two continued on in this way until you would nearly consider yourself friends with the hero. In fact, you had started a routine of eating lunch with each other after an incident where you had both been in the hospital cafeteria at the same time and had sat together. Since then you had repeated the encounter a few times, though never exactly on purpose. You had even gone to dinner with him once, just as friends, to some fancy new restaurant he claimed to need a date to, since eating alone was ‘boring’. You had grown into a comfortable rhythm with him over time, and then it happened.

It was the first rain of the season, and you had your window open to let in the smell. You were peacefully making some soup in your kitchen on your night off. Your gray sweats clung to your hips, comfy t-shirt wrapping you up under the warm lighting of your cozy kitchen. The cheerful paint of the walls beamed at you as you swayed softly, humming along to the song on the radio.

All of your peace was shattered the moment Deku fell through your window, hand clutching his side, at the exact same moment your tea kettle screamed at you. You quickly moved it off the heat, nearly sloshing water onto your usually steady hands before rushing across the room to your fallen hero.

“Izuku!” you gasped, turning him over on the floor.

He smiled up at you, not looking nearly as concerned as he should be.

“Hi.”

“Why are you here? You should be in a hospital.”

“I just wanted to see you.” He reached up to cup your cheek in his warm, broken hand.

“You can’t be here Izuku. You’re hurt.”

“You’re my nurse. You’ll take care of me.”

He smiled at you with so much faith it cracked something in your chest. An overflowing font of affection for this man, this hero, welled up in you, begging to be let out. You thought of every time you had seen him broken, the implicit trust he had in you to piece him back together. To take care of him.

You swallowed down your tears, mirroring the smile on his face, trying to be as brave as he was. “You have a stab wound in your side. It doesn’t look too deep, but you still need serious medical attention.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

He was staring at you, those deep green eyes brushing up against your soul, flirting with your deepest secrets, dancing around the unspoken truths weighing down your tongue, things you both knew. Things neither of you could say, as far as you were concerned, but Izuku Midoriya had always had an open heart and a loose tongue, and so he said them slow and easy, honey slipping through his teeth and coating his cracked lips.

“Kiss me.”

“That...that wouldn’t be very ethical of me.” Despite your words you are leaning in, nose brushing his.

It is not a demand, not a question, not a request. It is a gasping, haunting, wavering plea, he is begging and you are teetering on the edge of a cliff you wouldn’t admit existed until you were borderline tumbling off of it.

"Can I...?"

This time it is a question, and you find yourself drawn into him. He is the Jupiter to your Io, and you are lost to a constellation, entwined in your own milky way. Your shadow blends into his, pressed flat against the grain of your wood floors, as your lips whisper against his. It is barely a touch, just a taste of what is to come, but it is all the permission he needs.

He surges forward to kiss you, and it is something foreign, something incomprehensible as he catches you with his chapped lips. He tastes of bitter, salty blood as the rush of his breath fills you, slipping down your throat and curling through your lungs. You have never done this before, never felt whatever is warping the planes of your chest and the contours of your heart. It is as though you have met yourself in him.

It is a ravaging sort of feeling, even though the kiss itself is achingly soft, heartbreakingly slow. He is so gentle with you, as though you are the breakable one here, when in fact you have had to put him back together too many times to count. You allow it though, you allow it because you have seen firsthand how Izuku Midoriya’s large, scarred hero hands touch everything with this sort of gentle kindness, a piece of his heart slipping through the spaces between his knuckles and digging into the pads of his fingertips.

When you pull away it is slowly, reluctantly, a smile taking over your face. Izuku's smile matches yours, his eyes sparkling as he reaches up to brush a thumb across your lip, a light laugh escaping him. It is this action that brings you back to yourself, snaps you out of your haze as his thumb streaks blood across the swell of your mouth. Your body jerks back away from him suddenly, and worry flickers over his face.

"Izuku Midoriya! How dare you distract me like that! Did you think I wouldn't take you to the hospital if you kissed me?"

He has the nerve to look a little guilty.

"I don't need to go, really. It will just inconvenience them."

You grind your teeth. "We. Are. Going."

And over time, Izuku learns that eventually, all roads lead to the hospital. Because all roads lead to you.

#bnha #mha #deku x reader #prohero!deku #nurse!reader #deku #izuku midoriya

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ga-yuu · 3 years

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~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 21~

Before reading this story I suggest you read Kurama and Ibuki's past. Also I’m sorry for not putting any screenshots of the chapter, I accidently deleted it.

Chapter 20

-------Part 1-------

After bathing, we returned to the temple in the mountains and started preparing for bed. Kurama: "Sleep well tonight. We have to leave early, tomorrow." Yoshino: ".....Mm." (It's just the two of us in the same room....now, I'm starting to get nervous....) I started blushing as I recall our time at the lake. I lay down in the corner of the room and used my haori to cover up. Yoshino: "Doesn't Kurama ever sleep?" Kurama: "You know, right? Demons don't need sleep, unlike humans." Yoshino: "I see...." Kurama: "Why are you making that face?" (Ah......) Suddenly Kurama came to my side and kneeled down to turn my face towards him. Kurama: "Is that an invitation to sleep together? Or...is it a plea to make love to you." As soon as I heard those words, my heart started beating fast. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. What if, it is.....(+4/+4) 2. I don't care.... 3. Not at all... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yoshino: "......What if, it is?" I was so excited that I almost forgot how to breathe and pretended to be calm... Kurama: "Then, I'll fill your head and body with more pleasure than you can possibly imagine." Yoshino: "You know what, forget it." Kurama: "Then what do you want? What are you thinking?" Kurama's fingers caress my cheek in a compassionate manner. (You're not teasing me, right.....?) The touch of his palm that has the power to kill me in an instant was terribly gentle. That's why my heart is beating faster and faster because I can't get rid of it. Yoshino: "I was just feeling anxious." Kurama: "Anxious of what?" Yoshino: "It's just....Kurama will be awake while I'm sleeping, right? So I was anxious about embarrassing myself in front of you when I'm asleep. Like, what if I sleep talk or snore loudly...?" Kurama: ".........." Yoshino: "Oh, you're probably thinking, 'What a load of rubbish,' aren't you?" A hint of dismay flashed across Kurama's face. Kurama: "Ohh, I see you've learned to read my thoughts." (I was right....) Yoshino: "Of course, I know that Kurama isn't interested in seeing me asleep....But even so, it's embarrassing to know that you were watching me sleep." Kurama: "Stupid woman." Yoshino: "Stupid...?" I lightly looked at Kurama. Kurama: "Why do you think I'd be more interested if you went to the trouble of saying so?" (Ehh...) Yoshino: "No no way." Kurama: "Don't worry. I'll tell you tomorrow if you were drooling or not." Yoshino: "Hey!!!" (Wow!!) He gently pushed me down to the bed when I tried getting up. Then, his big hand covered my eyes. Kurama: "Sleep now." Kurama's deep voice was gentle in the darkness created. Kurama: "What I see of you now will never swoon me. I've seen you scared, in tears and.....also you're sultry face when I play with you." (...What are you...) The embarrassment never went away, but the mystery was compelling. Yoshino: "Indeed, I have always been my true self to Kurama." Kurama: "You're the only woman I've ever known who could be so brazen in front of me."

-------Part 2-------

Kurama: "You're the only woman I've ever known who could be so brazen in front of me." Yoshino: "Hehe...really? But..." (I feel like I can express my feelings more honestly now that I can't see Kurama's face.) Yoshino: "I just couldn't complete with Kurama, who was so much stronger and different than me. First I didn't want to be killed, then I wanted to be recognized.....and finally, I wanted to be equal." Kurama: "-----I see." Yoshino: "Mm....." I felt Kurama's other hand gently stroking my hair. (It feels good. I wish you would do it all the time.) I know that my wish wouldn't come true. We sharpen our awareness of the feeling that we may never be given again. Kurama: "-----Yoshino." Whether in a dream or not, I heard Kurama's voice calling my name. That was the last thing I remembered that night. When Kurama sees Yoshino starting to breathe slowly, he stops stroking her hair. Kurama: ".....Yoshino? You're already asleep." Her face was more innocent than usual. Kurama was sitting in crossed leg position, leaned forward, and looked at her with an insatiable gaze. Kurama: "What I see of you now will never swoon me" is what I said....why did I lie?" The smile on her face when she looks at something trivial, the peaceful look on her face when she sleeps. Those moments always touched Kurama's heart and will probably never go away. Kurama: "What is this...feeling?" (It's called love, dumbass!) Kurama put his hand to his chest in the darkness and raised an eyebrow.... ..................... ------Next day, early morning. Yoshino: "We're going to join up with the Rebel reinforcements, aren't we?" Kurama: "Yes." I was walking along with Kurama into the mountains. Kurama: "In half a day or so the reinforcements will arrive on the battlefield, and we'll make our way to a point where we can join them. It's a circuitous route, but it's easier to deceive the enemy if you go through the mountains. If we should meet any assassins, I will destroy them myself. If the Rebels and the Shogunate are to assemble, the Imperial Court will have gathered a number of pawns to oppose them." (There's no one more reliable than you to have on my side. But....) Kurama: "What? If you have something to say, say it." Yoshino: "Of course, I agree with the plan, but I thought it was a surprising decision for Kurama." (From what I've seen so far, Kurama could fly through the air and join up with the reinforcements at once and....) (He also said, he is going to find the enemy and beat them up...) I didn't have to explain myself to everyone, that I understood what he's trying to say. Then Kurama opens his mouth annoyingly. Kurama: "In the shadows of the marauders of the court are at least Yasuchika and Ibuki."

------Part 3------

Kurama: "In the shadows of the marauders of the court are at least Yasuchika and Ibuki. We don't know what they're up to, but it's easier to fight after making sure your safe." (You mean you've changed your normal ways because of me....?) Kurama, who is not stained by anyone else, is working for me. I didn't even know whether to be happy or horrified, so I just kept quiet. Kurama: "Wait!" (Hm?) Suddenly his hand blocks my way and my body stops. The air around Kurama was tense at once. Kurama: "Come on out----Ibuki!" Yoshino: "!!" In an instant, a blade of wind blows and cuts through the depths of the grove. Ibuki: ".....My my, that was scary. I could have died, you know." (Shuten Doji, Ibuki!) Ibuki walks towards us with a relaxed expression on his face, and despite his words, he is unharmed. Kurama: "How did you find out where we were?" Ibuki: "I was having a hard time because I lost the traces of your magic. I had no choice but to cry and beg Yasuchika to help me. He used some kind of astrology or something and here I am." (Yasuchika-san can do that too....? That guy is unbelievable.) Kurama: "Do you really think I'll believe that?" Ibuki: "You're right. You're the third person who I can't trick. But more importantly, what's your deal with her?" (Me....?) I squeezed my fingertips together and stared back into Ibuki's amused eyes. Kurama: "I don't have any business with her." Ibuki: "Really?" Ibuki raised one hand in the air as if it were an extension of small talk between friends. Ibuki: "Then, you won't mind if I take her, right?" Kurama: "----!! Come here." (This is!?) Something like a thunderbolt is running around Ibuki. The next moment----- Yoshino: "Kyaa!!" The roar was deafening and the light dazzled me with its intensity. At the same time, my body is already flying in the air, held by Kurama. Kurama: "Hold on tight." Yoshino: "Yes." I looked back and saw that the ground where we had been standing was scorched by the bolt of lightning. (This is Ibuki's power!?) Ibuki: "Oops, I missed." Once again, a bolt of lightning shot through the air, which Kurama avoided with me in his arms. We tried to go further up, but.... Kurama: "-----A barrier!" As if sensing an invisible wall, Kurama swooped down and clicked his tongue. Ibuki: "The only way to trap flying birds is to put it in a cage." (You mean, we're trapped in here, forever?) Ibuki: "Well, it won't last long---I'm afraid we'll have to settle for a short game, Kurama." Kurama: "I don't need to be told that I'm not going to have a long game with you." The air swirls and distorts noisily, and countless transparent blades head towards Ibuki. Ibuki: "Heh.....Hahaha...." Ibuki jumped to his feet, pulled out his greatsword, and thrust it hard into the ground. Then the sands of the earth flew up like a shield to protect Ibuki. (What is that!?) Yoshino: "I thought your power is thunder....how can you...?" Ibuki: "It is a simple application. The iron in the sand is attracted by my lightning power."

-------Part 4-------

Ibuki: "It is a simple application. The iron in the sand is attracted by my lightning power." Kurama: "Clever as ever." A flash of a fan sends a gust of wind so strong that it is impossible to stand properly and breaks the wall of sand. Ibuki: "...!" Behind the dust, blood trickled down Ibuki's shoulders and arms. (So much power....!) Ibuki: "I'm impressed you're this strong even after making a deal with a human. As expected of the Karasu Tengu, the quality and quantity of his abilities are far different from those of any other ordinary." Kurama: "Don't try to flatter me. The same goes for you too. But----" His red eyes sharply narrowed. Kurama: "Ibuki, you are sharing your power with someone. With whom?" Yoshino: "Eh..." Ibuki: "You're as intuitive as ever." Kurama: "I was wondering what you were doing with all that power...there's something wrong with the quality of your powers and the smell." Ibuki: "..............." Yoshino: "No way, Ibuki also made a deal....?" (However.) -----Tamamo told me that it was very rare for a demon to make a deal. (Because it halves their power by sharing it with humans.) (He said they don't make a deal with humans unless they like them very much.) Yoshino: "Maybe, Yasuchika-san.....?" Ibuki: "Wrong. Making a deal with an Onmyoji will cancel out each other's powers and we'll both destroy ourselves." (Then who....) Ibuki: "There's one more interesting person." Kurama: "Interesting, huh?" With me behind him, and Ibuki at a distance, Kurama continued calmly. Kurama: "Your powers had been subtly altered. I've never heard of anyone influencing the quality of the power cast by a demon." Ibuki: "You'll both meet each other soon enough. For now, watch me....okay?" Holding his greatsword above his head with one hand, Ibuki smiled wryly. Kurama: "Yoshino, get down." Yoshino: "I'll fight too. I can use my powers...." (I want to be an equal----because I want to be strong.) Kurama frowned but tried not to stop me anymore. Ibuki: "You two are so cute. But there's nothing more frightening than an impromptu fight." (Ah.....) A white flash of light comes from the sword, which is swung with ease. Kurama: "Yoshino!" I raised my hand towards him and Kurama holds me. (I'm scared, but.) (If we can't fight here, everything we've been worrying about will be for nothing!) (Please, lend me the power of the nine-tail fox!) Ibuki: "Let's see what you got."

-------Part 5------

Ibuki: "Let's see what you got." The golden dew rises and the palms of my hands become hot. But a series of thunderbolts were aimed at me again. Yoshino: "Nn...." (He's too strong. I can't take him on my own!) I was on the verge of being scorched and Kurama was quickly holding me and kicking the earth. Yoshino: "T-Thank you." Kurama: "You stay focused. I'll dodge and counterattack." Ibuki: "So you've changed your mind about making her as your toy? Kurama." The blades of the wind are caught and dodged one by one. Moving too fast for his height, Ibuki unexpectedly lifted a rock from the ground. Kurama: "...!" (Ngh.....) Ibuki: "Here we go." Without saying a word, Kurama hits the thrown rock with a tremendous wind and reduces its momentum, but----- The impact of the rock, which just barely missed the path of the direct hit, knocked me off my feet and sent me stumbling. Kurama: "Yoshino!" Ibuki: "There there." Kurama: "Nn...ha..." A flash of lightning burned Kurama's arm as he brought me to my feet. Yoshino: "Kurama!" Kurama: "It doesn't matter..." (You got hurt because of me...) I bit my lips when I see Kurama covering me up with his bleeding hand. Ibuki: "You can counteract the ability, but you can't prevent a direct attack. A mixture of powers and brute strength will be enough to counteract it. Too bad, huh? Yoshino." (I know....the weakness of my fox power is that I can't fight alone. But....) Yoshino: "I can't believe this..." I look at the rocks on the ground and mutter. Ibuki: "There's nothing to be surprised about. Demons are known for their strength." Kurama: "If you

want to show off, do it somewhere else." Ibuki: "Don't be so sure, Karasu Tengu must also have things to be proud of, right?" Ibuki grumbled as a wall of sand barely blocked the deadly wind. Ibuki: "Karasu Tengu is not only powerful, but they are also fast and use their wings to attack in all directions. But Kurama, unfortunately with Yoshino in your arms, you've been denied that advantage." (Ah.....) Kurama: "..........." I looked up Kurama without thinking of the strong wind. Ibuki: "Is this your first time fighting for someone?----Boy, you look like you're having a hard time." Kurama: "Shut up." (....I knew. I knew I was slowing down Kurama.) Ibuki's shield, a wall of sand, collapsed with the blade of the wind. Ibuki kicked the ground in spite of this. Ibuki: "I love to hear you calling me 'Oni-san' again..." A whirlpool of wind flies in pursuit of it, and the dust again stands in the way, moving as if trying to swallow it up. Ibuki: "You're weak now, Kurama. In the old days, you had a chance to win against me." (Be careful!) In a single breath, Ibuki's sword swung down on Kurama. Kurama: "----You don't get to tell me about my past." The heavy blow was caught by Kurama's iron fan. But he was pushed by the great force----- (It is because he got hurt earlier....?) Ibuki: "Didn't I tell you? Kurama. The weaklings are destined to die at the feet of stronger ones. I'll remind you of the humiliation of being taken from you by force." Kurama: "Nn...." (What!?) The sword and the fan touched each other with a crisp sound, and blue-white sparks flew from them. The impact created a momentary gap and Ibuki slashed Kurama across the shoulder. Yoshino: "Kurama!" Fresh blood dripped down and stained Kurama's kimono. (......I can't believe that Kurama is so hurt.) Kurama: "----A different kind of power wrapped in the golden air. Depressing as ever." Ibuki: "You know me too well. Well, I did raise you with these hands. Oh, by the way, Kurama....do you remember a promise I made a long time ago? That, one day you'll have someone you care about, and I'll break them with my own hands." The tip of Ibuki's sword, raised in laughter, was suddenly pointed at me. (Eh....) Ibuki: "That time has come." Kurama: "Stop! Ibuki-----" Yoshino: "......!!" Kurama pushes me and I fall to the ground. The next moment, I felt a splash of blood on my face. I realized it was Kurama's blood. Yoshino: "Kurama...what..." Kurama: "Nn.....Didn't I order you not to get scratched by other men?" Chapter 22

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

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jflashandclash · 3 years

Text

Tales from Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced III

That was how they spent the days: composing songs, learning instruments (he the harp and she the guitar), splashing in the ocean and the freshwater lake, lazing in the warmth of the beach, composing ballads about the clouds—he would sing one verse, then she; the next, until they had a full heavenly court composed of fluffy monsters.

Jack assured that he would stay to heal for three days and nights, but time in Ogygia didn’t move right. He counted. He’d stayed out the second night, watching the stars and the silver slit of a moon. There was an epoch he’d written for Flynn (she hadn’t heard it yet) that lasted thirty minutes when sung at the correct tempo. It was designed to cycle between Mandarin and English, so it would take an hour in total. Calypso came to join him in the garden.

The stars and moon never moved throughout the song.

Time does not have the same meaning here.

Did Calypso have any control over it? Was Jack experiencing more per second or did Ogygia have a different sun, ticking away on its own orbit exterior to the rest of the world? Would he leave in three days and Flynn be old? He didn’t mind her being old, but it broke his heart to think her worrying over him for or their time together stolen by old age.

Memo to self: find way to spend entity with Flynn. Jack reasoned they could, whether or not the war was won. Either they’d end up in Elysium together if they won or the Fields of Punishment if they lost. That’s where Greeks went when they died, right? Jack didn’t mind either way, as long as he had Flynn.

***

Jack found the body on the morning of the third day.

Calypso went to bath. Jack learned not to be easily stumbled upon when she bathed, so she had plenty of space or time to find items she may have forgotten—combs, jewelry, soap, shampoo, clothing.

The morning was pleasant, though everything had been pleasant, like the weather itself didn’t want to leave an impression that could indicate the passage of time.

Jack hadn’t explored the island yet. He had wanted to spend as much time working on Calypso’s feelings for Odysseus, but she avoided the topic. The Greek hero must have hurt her bad. She asked uncomfortable questions about Flynn—ones that grew more uncomfortable once she discovered that Flynn’s face was scarred. Jack loved her scars. Calypso had used a word he didn’t like: disfigured. Disfigured and barren, she mused. As though Flynn wasn’t beautiful because she had marks from living life. Jack had never known Flynn without those markings. There was no figuring to disfigure. It was just part of Flynn.

That was their talk over breakfast, then she’d gone to bathe. He just hadn’t wanted to be easily found, but not wanting to be easily found quickly turned to the realization that he could continue out of the hiding spot.

At Camp Othrys, there was always someone to make sure he was in the right place, at the right time. Someone checked to make sure he did his voice exercises before breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Someone walked him to his monster meditation sessions, his band practice, his room. Life was a continuous carousal of Flynn’s, Luke’s, his boys’, and the titans’ faces. Before that, the riders had been switched out for his family, teachers, pastors, and youth directors.

When was the last time he’d been alone?

Stepping alongside the cave, gliding his fingers along the rough, chilly exterior as a guide, he jittered with terrified delight. Hollowness fogged him for the first step: he missed band practice; singing with Calypso made him nostalgic for it. He missed Phil and the other monsters; recounting stories to Calypso conjured up their memories. But…

Everything was sharper here. Maybe he was allowed to explore.

There was no schedule. There was no “someone.” He had some time before Calypso would come looking for him—whether if she paused half way through a bath to come find something or finished off completely.

There seemed no badness on this island. No monsters. No death. He didn’t need to fear the walls screaming nor the ocean coming to eat him. This world felt less dangerous. Emptier. Sadder. Ethereal at times. But less dangerous.

With the excitement of calculated fear, Jack traced his fingers along the exterior of the cave.

***

He did not expect to find a groove in the façade and a second three feet after: a doorway tucked tightly behind aspen trees and foliage. When he sang to it, mimicking the gentle trill of Calypso’s voice when she called her invisible servants, he did not expect the stone to give way to a passageway. Peering inside, he didn’t expect to find a naturally-lit cavern, a mirror image to the one he’d been enjoying.

Winged creatures—birds?—exploded upwards from the hideaway, into some unseen escape above.

For a heartbeat, Jack wondered if Calypso had been wrong: maybe he did need his medication on Ogygia. This felt too fairy tale, too much like a demented stumble into a rabbit’s hole. This cave eerily reflected Calypso. Here, the harp was abandoned in the corner, wood warped and strings broken. The ingredients and herbs in the shelf looked rotted to black dust. Mold and moths crumbled the white linens of the bed into a green moss. The crystalline ceiling caved to allow gentle, pleasant sunrays to golden the center of the room, where Jack saw the unmistakable shape of a skeleton.

He froze, staring. Sometimes, if he looked long enough, things would go away. Sometimes, they were a trick of the light. His therapists and counselor told him to wait before panicking.

His chest hurt. Had he been holding his breath? Jack leaned forward, his hands still trailing the wall. There were more grooves, these much closer, much more systematic.

Upon checking the markings on the wall, Jack’s stomach dropped. There were numbers. The same kind some of the titans and monsters used: ancient Greek. They were carved into the walls—all of the walls. They twisted around the room, growing into longer numerical values. All of it was disrupted by one massive word, something that someone must have written in desperation or obsession:

Πηνελόπη

Jack knew enough Greek to read it.

PENELOPE

He took another step in.

More birds fluttered up through the hole in the ceiling. Jack flinched. No matter how many times he looked away, no matter how many steps he crept closer, the skeleton didn’t disappear. Jack knelt on the grassy mattress to inspect it. Judging from the size, he guessed it was a child or a very small person. There was a hole in the top back of the cranium, sending spidery fractures around it like rims of embroidery. It could have been broken when the roof caved in or maybe it was a death infliction—Jack didn’t have the coroner background to say.

Someone inhaled behind him.

Jack shrieked. He jumped, almost stumbling onto the skeleton. Instead, his legs buckled on a nearby box—a funerary box.

Calypso stood in the passageway. Her hair was damp, tinted to a deep brown. Its ends brushed her white dress, making sections semi-translucent. Wetness clung to her cheeks, but he doubted that came from her bath. Despite her eyes being shadowed, they were too wide.

Unless Jack sprouted wings to sore with the startled birds, she was in the way of his only exit.

Her voice was thick with emotion. “All ancient versions of the story have Odysseus leaving me with a child. Did new variations forget to mention that?”

Jack swallowed, horrified. He hadn’t found a mirror world of their little relaxing paradise; he’d found Odysseus’. His prison and his child’s tomb.

“You made it sound like the stories lied about you keeping him here against his will.” Jack scrambled off the funerary box, glad it hadn’t crumbled into a heap of rotted children’s toys. His skull hurt—he was tugging at his hair too tightly. He removed one hand to gesture at the walls. “Are these—are these markings about how many days he was here?”

She laughed: bitter, dark, heartbroken. “It’s not my fault he couldn’t keep track of how much time passes on Ogygia,” she whispered, “I gave him everything. Was kind and gentle. I offered him everything…” The wetness spread down her cheeks to drip into the increasing dampness of her dress.

Jack’s hand trembled. He forced himself not to curl into a ball, to rock, to banish the reality of the situation with thoughts that Flynn would come to save him. “B-but, he had a wife to go home to—”

“He had a terrible fate to bear!” she snarled.

“But he didn’t! After he left you, the Phaecians crafted him a marvelous boat, and sure, Poseidon destroyed it, but he fights off all of Penelope’s suitors, and he—and they—you—you kept Odysseus prisoner from his wife for seven years for no reason! You are an evil witch! A ‘terrible fate…’” Jack’s mockery died to horror. He took another step back, so the waterfall of sunlight and the child’s skeleton lay between their two spaces of shadow. Jack pressed against the cavern wall, feeling Odysseus’ scrawling, the numbers of days he’d desperately clawed out before he was allowed to return to his love. “‘A terrible fate…’” His memory whirled in the alarm. “That’s what you said about me… Oh titans—Oh Flynn! How long have I been here?!” He racked his fingers across the grooves in the wall, as though Odysseus’ ghost had kept a record in Jack’s absentmindedness.

How many other caves did Calypso have hidden? Ones with corpses of other lover’s children and other lover’s imprisonments.

“Jack…” Calypso’s voice chipped with emotion. She opened her hands towards him, as though for an embrace. “Come here. Let’s get away from this tomb. Let’s go sing on the beach or collect fruits and vegetables for breakfast…”

Something made Jack’s skin tingle. Hands, gentle but firm, clamped around his arms and dragged him forward, towards her. Her invisible servants.

Jack squirmed and fought, but each heartbeat glided him past and away from the dead child, from where Odysseus carved his days and the name of his love, and towards the outstretched arms of a spider in a woman’s skin.

The invisible hands released him at the edge of her fingertips. The warm, soft skin graced his neck.

Jack wrenched back. He ducked under her arm and out the tomb. Tree branches and foliage lashed his face and arms as he stumbled outside. The ground felt warm against his bare feet, the ocean breeze as soothing as a tranquilizer. His heartbeat pounded in cacophony to the easing whisper of the incoming tide. He kept running until he found the beach.

“Jack… you can’t leave.”

Her words came directly behind him, steady, with no indication that she’d run to catch up.

He whirled to find her standing there: perfect braid still dampening her dress, frown dripping with tears, face something he would find on a stained-glass window instead of before him in the planes of reality.

Water lapped up against his ankle. He swallowed down the salty air to quiet his stomach and the panic screaming in his head. “They’ll come for me,” he said, taking another step backwards. The rush of water hit his calf.

She shook her head. “They can’t.”

“I’ll—I’ll try every day!” Something sharp—maybe a shell—split Jack’s heel, but he refused to look away. If he blinked, she might grab him again. “I’ll swim as far as I can swim until I can’t swim anymore.”

Her throat bobbed with a sob. “I will not let you kill yourself in such a way! Besides…” She stared off into the distance, the dawn’s glimmer reflecting off her almond eyes. “Don’t you think Odysseus tried that? Where do you think he ended up as soon as he lost consciousness?”

Jack’s jaw dropped. He shook his head and stomped a foot into the surf. “No—no—there must be a way—”

“Jack, you can’t get away.” All the mirth and sweetness left her voice reduced to a clogged drone. “There is no leaving this place. No matter where you go—”

“No—”

“—all roads lead back to me. And—”

“Shut up!”

“—I’m tired of being alone.”

“I said shut up!” the words vibrated painfully in his throat.

Her lip quivered. “Why must you be so cruel, brave one?”

“Cruel? Cruel?!” Jack laughed until his voice felt hoarse. “What’s cruel is keeping me away from my home—”

“I get you for at least seven years!” It was her turn to ball her fists in a fit of temper, like the pastor’s daughter caught taking ice cream money out of the donation box. “If you stay, you’ll have immorality. You’ll have agelessness. You’ll have your sanity!”

“I don’t want any of those things! All I want is my family—”

“I can be your family—unlike that barren, disfigured whore who refuses to be your wife.”

Jack’s terror and panic twisted tightly in his stomach. Blood thumped against his ears. His fingers trembled as he clutched at the guitar string braided around his wrist. “You can’t assume every person that washes ashore will fall in love with you, you presumptuous—”

“But, that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. You will love me.” That fragile, kindly veneer chipped.

Jack thought about the notches Odysseus carved into the wall, about the other dead children probably hidden in caverns throughout the island. How many times had Calypso been abandoned over the years? He may have pitied her if it hadn’t broken her mind and warped her into the exact, spoiled goddess Camp Othrys sought to destroy.

Sanity. She offered me sanity. Jack didn’t want this ability to reason. Life made sense here and the sense it made was cold, dark, and absurd.

“Ms. Calypso,” he whispered, “I know you’re too old to be acquainted with this, but, Stockholm syndrome isn’t love. It’s exhaustion, compliance, and distorted empathy. Forcing someone to love you by wearing them down isn’t love at all—it’s perversion, it’s defilement—” He scowled, locking his jaw. “Take back what you said about Flynn.”

Calypso’s beauty soured with anger. The island itself seemed to thicken with fog. “I don’t want to hear anymore about Flynn.”

“Why? Because what Odysseus said about Penelope doesn’t apply here?” Jack demanded, reviewing the verses of the epic. Odysseus had complimented Calypso, caved to her, if nothing else than out of fear of a wrathful goddess. Jack snorted, “’I know that my wise Penelope, when a man looks at her, is far beneath you in form and stature.’ You’re not better than Flynn. She doesn’t base her worth off needing a man’s romantic love, you delusional, archaic bitch. And I’m never going to stop trying to get back to her. And if you think you won’t let me go…” Jack’s nails dug into the metal of his guitar chord. “I’m going to make you.”

Calypso’s eyes blazed with rage. The air went static, breeze abruptly dying, and the tide seemed to smother its unending whisper. As Jack had experienced some of the times Luke lost his temper to Kronos, Jack realized he was in the presence of a goddess—an immortal being with powers he could not fathom. And he was about to fight her to go home.

“I’m going to make you sick.” Jack laughed. This wasn’t the overpowering need to quiet his siblings. This was a much more calculated hatred. “And if you still won’t let me leave, I’ll make you sicker. I’ll give you leprosy to rot off your nose and show you what superficial love gives you!”

She may have been a goddess that cornered Odysseus, but he was Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, the Scourge of New Rome, the Shame of Apollo and he was ready to sing.

“Darling, all night

I have been flickering—”[1]

Calypso’s anger melted back to sadness. She raised a hand, and Jack wondered if here, already, was a sign of defeat.

The collar of Jack’s shirt constricted. The strings—so carefully spun on Calypso’s loom—obediently stretched up his neck. Folds of cloth twisted into his open mouth. The song died. He choked on the gag.

Jack fumbled with the material. He clawed where the ridges dug into his cheeks. As soon as his forearms came up, the front of his tunic fused to his shirt sleeves. The material tightened, binding him until he was stuck in the position of Van Gogh’s Scream.

Something tugged at his feet. Jack frantically searched down. Strands unwound from the end of his pants, crisscrossing and weaving. He managed one step backwards before it cinched his feet together.

His choked screams clogged to whimpers. Jack collapsed into the water, thrashing. Salt water splashed into his eyes, mixing with his tears. The material soaked up what had once been a refreshing coastline.

Flynn! He wanted to shriek. Oh, titans, please—Flynn! As Calypso’s wet dress sashayed closer, the pounding in his head increased, encasing him like the full body straight jacket she’d hidden in his clothing.

Calypso’s dress winkled with the layering of stratocumulus clouds. The soothing lull of water resumed, a mocking cacophony to his clashing heartbeat. He wished the ocean would overtake him, that the waves would encircle him like this binding and drag him into its uncaring depths, away from her caring embrace.

Fingers graced his cheek. They were warm to the touch in the iciness of the island. Jack sobbed, thinking about kissing after Flynn’s fingers in the morning, about never getting to feel her calluses again.

These fingers, Calypso’s fingers, were silky, salacious, and knew the methodical patience of a spider feeling its web vibrate. “No, Jack,” she cooed, lifting his head from the sand and water. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay here.” She curled the strands of his hair off his forehead. Her dress—more suffocating material—pressed into his cheek as she lay his head in her lap. “And we’ll be happy together forever.” Or for seven years. Or at least until a god came to save him.

They sat on the edge of the beach, staring off into an eternal sunrise with the sound of her hums and Jack’s whimpers in euphony with the tide.

Seven years. Or until a god saved him.

Jack had forsaken all gods and time didn’t pass in Ogygia.

***

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! and thank all of you for your patience at this time and your continued interest despite my hiatus! I hope you enjoyed!

Footnote:

[1] Silvia Plath.

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #TOO #Traitors of Olympus #Jack #Calypso #AND THE REVEAL

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tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

Text

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 5/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be the best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible.

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was normal, even if Eddie wasn’t skating.

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his life, without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin.

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — really listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen.

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks through him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to this place?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways.

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know why they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting married, Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He does stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go big, creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like this, never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re rooting for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too.”

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he needed to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his family, and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove right for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to be.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, really good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — right again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him.

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable.

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it.

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really want to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s everything to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else.

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he knows this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is great, actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck is happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a relief — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it:

[from: Eddie] I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s good, that he deserves all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth.

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better.

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s really not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe from himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win.

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share.

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows exactly what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows now — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just stays with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t deserve this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I still do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You are good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, I do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s everywhere, his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that he put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t want to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything but Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to know he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a lot of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is Eddie Eddie Eddie.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“We’re stupid?”

“Okay, I’m stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to convince you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, really want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers.

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #fs au #ficcery #there's still so much figure skating drama left i hope y'all are psyched

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omgkalyppso · 3 years

Note

i request kiss prompt 37 for m!byleth and yuri :D (is anyone surprised lol)

I AM! lol. I’ve never yet written Byleth. So. I hope this turns out alright. But thank you so much for the ask. <3 (＠＾◡＾)

37. Write a Kiss ... without a motive.

Yuri was no stranger to distribution of labor, but he did feel there was something inherently ridiculous about Byleth preparing food for their numbers. Here stood the church’s highest authority while Rhea was missing, in so far as Seteth was concerned, and they had him cubing beef for stew; not to mention Byleth was their greatest hope against the empire, and a recent amnesiac to boot, or ... whatever had happened to him. If he’d been in Byleth’s position he’d have used any number of these excuses to pursue more pressing work, or his own aims, perhaps even recovery. Their company needed to eat, but there was no shortage of hands when it came to menial chores.

“Not too thin now,” Byleth requested, unjudgmental and focused, and apparently attentive enough to watch Yuri’s meal prep, despite finding all the right angles for his knife to kiss through to a cutting board with soft, satisfying tocks.

Yuri hissed, looking down at his potatoes. He was being a little enthusiastic. He put down his knife and took a breath, taking in the sight of an old friend, returned from the dead. A name in his book to be crossed out. A miracle. A horror. A friend.

“Why are you doing this?”

The question came out sharper than he’d envisioned. Yuri was so accustomed to dancing around the issues, to interpreting half-meanings and the intentions of others, but there was something painful about the past few months since Byleth’s return. They’d shared laughs, or, as close as Byleth came to laughing, secrets, victories, and now this, this quiet kitchen two days before they would depart for more uncertainty and death.

Byleth looked at him, flat, for just a moment, before tilting his head back to his precise work. “I am afraid.”

Yuri felt his brow twist in confusion, and realized he may have been too harsh, especially since Byleth neither feigned ignorance, nor asked for clarification. There was too much honesty in his answer. He collected his knife and three new potatoes, and to his surprise, Byleth continued.

“Everything’s changed. Everything’s... I feel like everything’s lost. I feel as though I was a mercenary under my father ... so recently. And now they want me to lead. Which is very different than working for the Academy, though so many seem to act as though it is the same. Cooking... This is the same.”

That Byleth felt so out of his element should have been alarming, with so much faith put in one person, so much pressure on one man, but Yuri found himself ... elated. To him it signaled that Byleth was paying attention, to the meetings and battlegrounds, as well as their personal conversations and their noncombatants.

With a click of his tongue, Yuri conceded, “It’s good that you see that. The changes.” He smiled, feeling Byleth’s eyes drift over him again. “And you know, you being back, well, that’s a very positive change for us.”

Their eyes met, and the attention of Byleth’s glassy, green gaze almost distracted Yuri entirely from the pink on his cheeks.

“I hope so,” Byleth said quickly, as he returned to task.

The meal was made with little conversation, and enjoyed with less still between them, what with Byleth sitting with the more public players of the war and the Monastery, but afterwards, when the night was dark and warm, Yuri found Byleth again. He was in the library, pouring over maps and missives, both recent and historical, and at first Yuri didn’t bother to greet him, simply sitting by his side, leaned back upon the table, letting Byleth learn, and work, and catch up. He knew that if he waited, Byleth would not simply ignore him.

When Byleth opened his mouth to speak, Yuri sat up straight and extended a finger towards him with a wink.

“Ah-ah! Don’t speak. You’ll ruin the serenity.”

Byleth closed his mouth, but otherwise seemed unfazed and Yuri couldn’t help the way his lips curled in amusement.

“This could be familiar, couldn’t it?” he suggested. “You always did like the library.” He gestured with one hand with his opposite fist below his chin, to dissuade Byleth from contributing. “Not like dinner tonight,” he smiled at him, taunting, “you never made anything so good years ago.”

“I understand you saved many of the books,” Byleth said, tapping on the one in front of him with the flat of his hand.

“Yes, well, can’t have all that time go to waste. A book like that is worth more than the hours put into it, it’s its years used in reference.”

“You didn’t have to bring them back,” Byleth observed, and Yuri tossed his head aside with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, of course I kept the best ones in the Abyss. Never know what could happen up here. Things do change so fast...”

Byleth’s lips pouted and receded as he took a deep breath through his nose, and the action sent an interesting tingle down Yuri’s spine.

“If things are changing,” Byleth said, and the way he spoke was as if he were holding his breath, but if anything he was doing the opposite, breathing deep, nervous, though his expression was the same.

“Yes?” Yuri prompted, very aware of the movement of his own lips.

“If things have changed,” Byleth said, and Yuri couldn’t tell if it was an amendment on his previous statement, but encouraged him anyway.

“Yes?”

The bench creaked beneath them, and Yuri let his eyes dart around to confirm their seclusion as Byleth leaned towards him. “Then can I...?”

“Yes.”

They were very close now, and Yuri could feel the heat off Byleth’s face, or count the shadows in his eyes. He wondered, distantly, if this were why he’d been so upset earlier, as guilty, desperate, unfair affection set his heart to beating as though this could mean something.

“Can I kiss y—?”

Yuri closed the distance, unable to handle his companion’s suspense.

Byleth melted, his shoulders falling and his lips going soft and pliant in hopeful little movements as his left hand found the front of Yuri’s right shoulder, pulling him closer in a silent plea. He was vulnerable, but still Byleth, and Yuri took pleasure in scaring a soft squeak out of him with a bite upon his lower lip.

Slowly, Yuri removed his gloves, chuckling deep in his throat as Byleth bumped against him. He pressed the back of his left hand upon his cheek, and cradled his neck with his right palm, absorbing a little more of their connection, before allowing Byleth to slip away.

“Not bad,” Yuri teased. “Although we may both be out of practice.”

“Hm,” Byleth huffed, swallowing as he straightened his coat.

“Would you want that?” Yuri asked, spinning his left hand around, fitting some hair behind Byleth’s ear and deciding he didn’t like that and setting it back. “What do you want?”

“I hadn’t thought ahead that far,” Byleth confessed, curling his hands over Yuri’s wrists, and Yuri scoffed.

“Then think about it. And if I like what you decide, maybe I’ll let you know what’s on my mind. How does that sound, friend?”

“Only fair,” Byleth agreed, catching Yuri’s left hand to leave a kiss on his wrist as his hands retreated.

Yuri stood with a bounce, dizzy with affection. He thwapped his gloves against his thigh, straightening them for no reason except to take a breath before excusing himself. “Then I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight, Byleth. Don’t sleep too long.”

“Goodnight.”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #yuri leclerc #yurileth #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #<333 #i hope it's alright. and looks. SOMETHING. like what you might have been interested in #it was meant to be considerate of your ace yuri headcanon

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icanshouyoutheworld · 3 years

Text

Bakugou x fem!reader // ch.1

This is a style of fanfic I'm experimenting with - please let me know if you want more! Also, my inbox is open for haikyuu and bhna requests!

It’s been years since you’ve seen either Bakugou or Midoriya. You can’t help but think of them now, as you pedal down the street towards U.A. It’s your first day of school, having gotten in through recommendation, and a roiling mix of excitement and nerves rolls through your stomach.

You bet Bakugou will be there. At U.A, you mean. Back when you were all kids it’s all he went on about, wanting to be a hero, wanting to be the next All Might. Which, really, would have been all well and good if he wasn’t such a bastard to everyone he met. To Midoriya, in particular. You can clearly remember, even now, the way he’d kept himself on a pedestal above Midoriya at all times. Never taking an offered hand, never stopping to consider the weight of his actions and the damage they left behind.

You’d lost contact with the both of them during middle school after having moved away. It was only to the next city over, but it was far enough that you’d had to go to a different middle school. At first you’d kept contact with the both of them, willingly with Midoriya and grudgingly with Bakugou. You’d tried to put the two of them in a group chat with you but Bakugou wouldn’t have it and left immediately. Not long after that, you completely lost contact with him.

You always wondered how he was doing, but you weren’t sure if it was out of nostalgia for times-gone-by or genuine concern. Either way, Midoriya hadn’t ever really said more than the standard kacchan is doing just fine!! and not long after that you lost contact with him, too. You later heard from a friend who knew people at their middle school that Bakugou had broken Midoriya’s phone and, though you didn’t believe that the boy who kept a note of everything hadn’t thought to take a note of your phone number, you didn’t push it and eventually let it go.

That’s just how life goes really, people come and go.

Until now anyways.

You’re almost certain that Bakugou is somewhere beyond the giant, gleaming doors to the entrance of U.A.

You release a slow breath; nervous but unable to fight the wide smile.

You’re finally here, afterall. After dreaming about U.A for so many years, dreaming of entering the hero course, you were finally about to live the reality.

By the time you’ve made it to the sliding door of 1-A your heart is thudding in your chest. From the stairs or from the apprehension? You don’t really know. You’re not sure you care, either. The elation of actually being here trumps everything else.

“I can do this,” you murmur under your breath. You place a hand over your chest, above your heart, feeling it pound and channelling that fear into excitement. I’ve got this, you think. I can do this.

You curl your fingers into the handle and slide the door open.

Bakugou is there. You were right.

But thinking he was going to be there is one thing, actually seeing him is something else entirely.

He looks exactly how you remember him. Older, sure, but he’s exactly the same.

Your stomach bottoms out, your throat goes dry. You don’t know what to think, what to feel. You know you should be pissed off. Pissed off for how he treated Midoriya over the years, pissed off for how he refused to keep in contact with you.

But you aren’t. If anything, you’re a little taken off-guard by how good-looking he is.

As soon as the thought registers in your mind, Bakugou’s eyes meet yours.

They’re a burning red, and the intensity of his stare startles you for a second. A tall boy with glasses is lecturing him, clearly unperturbed by the fact that Bakugou is no longer paying him any attention and continuing to rant about Bakugou’s obviously-unchanged bad attitude.

Bakugo is sitting leaned back in his seat, his right leg thrown haphazardly up onto his desk, his hands stuffed low in his trouser pockets. He isn’t wearing a tie, his shirt is untucked and unbuttoned at the top, looking the absolute picture of disobedience.

Though, you can’t help the way that your eyes are drawn to the rounded points of his collarbones that are framed in the V of his open collar.

Bakugou still hasn’t spoken, neither have you. The students in the room continue talking, the world continues spinning, but you and Bakugou are frozen.

He slowly lowers his leg off the table, leans forwards and opens his mouth as though to say something but is immediately cut off.

“y/n?” A voice says behind you. You jolt in surprise, not having expected anyone to come up behind you, and the voice immediately registers. It’s deeper than you remember, but there’s no mistaking it.

“Midoriya?” You say, with all the incredulity you were trying desperately not to show. You definitely hadn’t expected Midoriya to be here. He didn’t even have a quirk! Unless… unless, he’d lied to you? But… No. Midoriya wouldn’t lie to you like that, would he?

“Deku?” Clearly you weren’t the only one in shock. “How the fuck did you get in?” Katsuki yells, his voice as gruff as it is in your memories of him.

“I-” Midoriya starts. Bakugou’s desk squeals across the floor as he stomps to his feet and shoves it away in a burst of power. Whatever haze of surprise had come over his face when he saw you was long-gone now, replaced by blazing fury and gritted teeth. The skin between his eyebrows pinches as he furrows them in anger. Midoriya squeaks as Bakugou grabs him by the front of his shirt.

“You don’t even have a fucking quirk, stupid Deku!” Bakugou growls.

“Y-yes, I do!” Midoriya shouts back, standing his ground despite the tremor in his hands and unsteadiness of his voice. “You saw it!”

“You-”

“I earned this!” Midoriya continues, cutting Bakugou off. “I can become a hero!”

Bakugou sucks in a sharp breath, up close you don’t miss the flash of hurt across his face. He feels betrayed, you realise. The same as you do. You don’t hate Midoriya for it, you don’t even know what his quirk is. Maybe it just materialised late? But you can’t shake the uneasiness lodged in your gut.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit?” You snap at Bakugou, sucking your teeth with a sharp tut and yanking Bakugou’s arm from Midoriya’s uniform.

“What’s it to you, y/n?” Bakugou says sharply, shoving Midoriya away with a deft movement just to show he can. Midoriya stumbles back into the corridor for a moment, before righting himself and sheepishly fixing his clothing.

“Ah, right. So you do remember me, then? I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.” You cross your arms over your chest and glare at Bakugou. Though, on the other side of the corridor sunlight is catching the swirling motes of dust, making them glitter the sort of gold that seems to set them on fire. Bakugou’s hair is caught in the light, in the gold, fly-away strands of his already unruly spikes glowing with it. It’s distracting, for a second you half-forget you’re meant to be angry.

“Ah! You got in! I knew you would!” A girl has come up behind them, her bag bouncing against her back as she jumps up and down, cheering for Midoriya. As frustrated as you are with him, you’re glad at least Midoriya seems to have made a decent friend.

With a loud huff, Bakugou turns away. He shoulder barges you, very obviously on purpose as he returns back to his seat but you don’t give him the satisfaction of stumbling to the side. He’ll need to try harder than that if he wants to get you off-balance. You’re nothing like the girl he treated like an underling when you were kids. Given the right opportunity, you were more than confident that you could kick his ass, knock him down a peg. God knows he needs it.

“This isn’t a place for socialising,” another voice drones from behind you and, really, you need to stop letting people creep up on you like this. First Midoriya, then his friend, and now… Ah. The teacher. Well. You can’t really fight with that.

Although, teacher may be a stretch. You recognise Aizawa immediately, even through the mess of black hair covering his face in mussed clumps from where he lays on his side in a bright yellow sleeping bag. He looks like some sort of overgrown larvae.

“This is the hero course,” he says flatly, pointedly sucking a pouch of juice empty for emphasis. “It’s taken you far too long to quiet down.” He slowly peels himself out of the sleeping bag and gets to his feet. “Time’s precious, you lot are wasting it.”

Aizawa pins you with a dry look and you hurry to take a seat. Which unfortunately turns out to be the one right behind Bakugou. All of the other’s are taken, though. Midoriya and his friend had rushed for a seat at the same time, and managed, somehow, to seat themselves before you.

Bakugou’s eyes follow you as you walk around him to your desk. His lips are pursed in a scowl, his nostrils flaring slightly as though he’s restraining himself from something. His shoulders bunch tensely as I sit behind him.

“I’m your homeroom teacher,” Aizawa continues. “It’s nice to meet you. Now, put your gym clothes on and head to the grounds.”

Bakugou’s back jolts with a scoff you don’t hear.

Then, he turns his head. His profile catches in the light, catches the red of his eyes, giving them a rich, liquid quality. A shadow accentuates his sharp jawline as he speaks.

“You’re going fucking down,” he threatens, not once breaking eye-contact.

You stand from your seat and, before you can even question where the confidence has come from, you slap his shoulder as you walk past him.

“You can try.” You wink.

#bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x fem!reader #bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou katsuki #mha fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bakugou imagine

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 11) Friend of Justice

Caesar has HAD IT with EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE!

You glanced at the lit number on the freight elevator. There were about two more minutes before this elevator would reach the mural hall, which meant Chu Zihang had to stall for at least two minutes. Caesar busied himself filling his Sten submachine gun one by one, he had to do something to stay calm at a time like this.

Chu Zihang was now engaged in physical combat with these extremely dangerous deadpool. It was a fight both he and Caesar already admitted was unwinnable. And that was one on one. Now he was being chased by dozens of burning Deadpool. Caesar inserted the magazine with force.

"I looked up information on you and Chu Zihang. I was told that you are rivals at the academy." Chisei leaned helplessly against the door.

"That guy annoys me. He’s nice on the surface but he’s actually a very egotistical person. Once he’s decided to do something no one can change his mind." Caesar whispered, "Just like just now, he acts as if he is the leader of our group. That's the kind of person I can't stand."

You take a few deep breaths but you still feel winded no matter how much you breathe. It reminds you of the Trieste, when you were only on minutes of oxygen, floating in the ocean in a sealed tube. Now you were running out of oxygen because of the fire.

Despite it all, you’d seen Caesar reload to fight. You might be exhausted and close to losing consciousness, but you were still awake. If your guns were loaded, Caesar could use them at least.

Chisei was saying. "It does sound like an unpleasant personality, but you don't seem to have as strong an ill feeling towards him as the legend."

"It's just annoying, no one would really loathe someone who is similar to themselves, right?" A pause. "I'm also very egotistical. No one can change what I've decided. If not for that, how could we be rivals? If you have a good opponent who understands you, and always plays fair… that makes them irreplaceable. But you will never understand this, you are the emperor on high. You are invincible!"

A loud clatter wakes you up to tell you that your mind just went black. You stare down at the dark squarish shape next to you. It was the ammo clip you had just been reloading. You’d dropped it.

You look up to Caesar who’s blue eyes were like lasers focused on you. He moves away from Chisei and now he’s over you. Without permission he turns you over to examine the wounds on your back. “You’re still bleeding!”

There was a dense clanging sound in the field of fire. You don't know if Chu Zihang was chopping the bones of the deadpool or was chopping with the living snake man with the blade. Caesar took some of the remaining ammo, cracked open the cylinder and poured it over your wound. Then he removed his cigar and pressed it to you, just like he had to Chisei.

Searing, obliterating pain was like the shockwave of a bomb going off. You didn’t just flinch and bare it like Chisei. Your voice was a shrill, long, shattering and constant scream. You were paralyzed by it and helpless.

Caesar didn’t try to stop you. Your voice served as the signal to order Chu Zihang to retreat. The freight elevator is about half a minute away, but Caesar can't wait any longer. Chu Zihang was getting farther and farther away from them and looked to be in a tangle. Caesar looked deeper into the fire and could not see Chu Zihang at all. Chu Zihang would not be stupid enough to do that. The only explanation for him doing so is that he was surrounded by a large number of deadpool. He may have lost his bearings. Caesar was showing him the way with the sound of your voice.

"Damn it!" Caesar yelled, the sound of intense sword strikes were still coming from the flames! Apparently, Chu Zihang has not been able to get away. In this situation, the Sten machine guns that Caesar had prepared were completely useless. If he haphazardly strafed, he may hurt Chu Zihang.

A drop of liquid falls on you. You were sweating and moaning from agony, but a cold sweat flowed like an open floodgate over Caesar’s face. Caesar's eyes twitched at the corners and looked grim. One more second of delay is one more second of danger. Soon, the fire would incinerate the 15 pounds of C4 explosives!

"Ding.” The elevator arrived. The moment the door opened countless pieces of paper flew out. The elevator was empty of people with Lu Mingfei’s full 50 boxes of files. The pages rolled into the fire wind, swirled and fluttered into bright ashes. Not long ago, the temperature in the fire had reached something normal people couldn't endure. And Chu Zihang was in an even worse environment. Where he was, the oxygen may have run out.

"Chu Zihang!" Caesar yelled.

A strong shockwave slapped Caesar and Chisei against the wall. Had he not been holding you, then you might have been more seriously hurt than you already were. In an instant, the air temperature increased by tens of degrees, and the instant heat set them both on fire. That was Chu Zihang's "Royal Flame"! At the critical moment, Chu Zihang finally used this dangerous spirit of speech, but as he said, the use of "Royal Flame" in the closed space would injure the user. The fire and wind and shockwave would bounce back and overwhelm him.

But Chu Zihang had no choice. This level of "Royal Flame" was not enough to kill the deadpool, but he would, at least, be able to use the shockwave to push them back. Caesar saw the familiar black shadow like a giant eagle over the still-burning corpses of the Deadpool. Chu Zihang was finally out of the trap! Caesar ecstatically leveled his submachine gun and strafed behind of Chu Zihang, and if any of the Deadpool tried to pursue him, then they were bound to run head-on into Caesar's rain of bullets.

"Go! Go! Go!" roared Caesar while shooting.

Chu Zihang running wildly as close to the ground as he could get, scrambling nearly on all fours. The higher in the fire the hotter the air, and there may have been more oxygen closer to the ground. Those deadpool that you paralyzed and incapacited or were burning near to death on the ground actually extend sharp claws to grab Chu Zihang. Even as they are dying they could not resist the temptation of the royal blood on his armor. Chu Zihang while running would slice down to his left and right and cut the deadpool’s arm or throat. Finally, he cut the rope tied to the armor and threw it into the midst of the fire.

"If you can still move, pick up the gun and shoot!" Caesar turned his head to look at Chisei in anger but realized that, like you, he wasn’t able to do it. His Yanling had taken that much out of him.

"Then get in the elevator! Quickly!" Caesar yelled, "Don't stay here and get in the way."

Caesar carried your limp body by your waist like a football while your hands brushed the ground. The pain had subsided to a dull and deep ache and a profound weakness. At this point, you were completely unable to hold your own weight. He rested you against the back of the freight elevator and you could see out.

It was like watching a movie. Chu Zihang powered over a burning corpse only a dozen meters away, while Caesar was shooting and anxiously waving to him. That's when the fishy wind came from directly above and a dancing snake’s shadow slammed hard into Chu Zihang’s back. It flung him into a burning corpse. Chu Zihang’s trench coat was incinerated.

Caesar stared in disbelief. The deadpool had appeared like a ghost, avoiding his barrage. He looked up into the air and suddenly understood that the top of the hall was decorated like an ancient Buddhist temple, with large beams and rafters. Chisei Gen had hidden in this high ceiling and suddenly dropped down in the middle of the group of Death Servitors, releasing Majesty. This one slithered up to the roof from somewhere to escape the flames. No one could believe that they could be as flexible as small snakes with such heavy bodies. The deadpool wrapped his long tail around Chu Zihang and wrenched his upper body back hard, trying to break him in half with physical violence. Chu Zihang's golden pupils became blood red, with the pressure being put on his body. He reached out to feel for the sword Onimaru which he had dropped but his hand kept missing.

Caesar's hand holding the gun was shaking. He didn't dare to shoot. He was expecting Chu Zihang to suddenly break free of that deadpool, then he could put a whole magazine of bullets in that damn thing’s head.

But the burning snake god Naga with the twin swords suddenly appeared behind Chu Zihang. Its red hot sword pierced Chu Zihang's body. The snake man even used his two swords to cut through his companion who was wrapped around Chu Zihang. That snake slumped to the ground. The Deadpool Swordsman reached out and grabbed Chu Zihang's head, lifting him up in the air. It puffed his nose and sniffed the scent of Chu Zihang's body. It did not understand why the delicious smell of blood on the prey suddenly faded. The snake's tail flicked violently, it dragged Chu Zihang to the depths of the fire, Chu Zihang's bloodshot eyes stared dead at Caesar, as if giving orders.

You have to live.

Your mouth moves and your dry lips crack. You whisper. “I would rather die.”

Serpents in your mind wiggle and part, revealing the twin golden eyes that open in your head. You’d been thoroughly warned by Chu Zihang that if you used Blood Rage again, then there would be no going back. You would turn into a monster. But the flames of hell were already preheated and beckoning you. And he wouldn’t have to worry about killing you. Black veins crawled up your wrist and golden scales appeared where your skin should be.

A sharp pain in your abdomen folds you and all your breath leaves you at once. Caesar had seen what you were about to do and had driven the butt of his submachine gun into your stomach. You look into his frigid gaze and croak out a single word. “...why?”

Caesar did not answer. He just set you back on the ground and stood up. His expression was livid. He really did hate the idea of someone giving up their life for him as much as you did. He had decided that you would live and there was no one who could change that. Not you, and certainly not Chu God-damn Zihang!

Caesar ruthlessly grabbed all the Sten submachine gun belts on the ground, put five or six of them together on his shoulder, and prepared to rush towards the fire with a big stride: "You're fucking looking for death! Stop doing it, MC!"

Chisei was next to get up. He limped over to the elevator console and started to press the Close Door button. The elevator chimed and Caesar whirled to look. You hadn’t seen that much fury in his eyes since Ms. Makoto’s panties were in the hands of that man in the striped suit.

"We have to get out of here! We can't get to him!" Chisei said in a weak voice. "The explosives are about to go off! How can you possibly snatch someone from a group of dead soldiers by yourself?"

Caesar looked frozen but inside you could see the boiling lava-like anger rising. You were weak beyond measure but for a moment your eyes rolled with fear at what was about to happen. You were so nervous that you summoned the strength to scoot to the opposite corner of the elevator, putting as much distance between you and whatever was about to happen as you could. You hadn’t done something like this since a boy was caught stealing alcohol in Black Swan Bay and you were forced to watch the whipping.

Caesar lifted his foot and kicked Chisei in the chest, pressing his foot down hard and holding him down on the elevator floor with a fierce face: "You can't leave! If my friend can't leave today, then you can't leave either! Remember! You're the last one to go!"

"Does this impulse work? In the battlefield everyone is expendable! You're the team leader, isn't it the team leader's job to make sure the team survives to the greatest extent possible?" Chisei roared hoarsely.

"No! You are not the team leader! I am!" Caesar said, pointing to himself, his face red. "And I am a friend of justice! Didn't you ask if I was a friend of justice? Yes! I am! Never leave a friend behind is my justice. I live and die for my justice!"

He grabbed Chisei's hair and slammed his head on the metal floor, untied the purple silk rope around his waist and tied him up. “MC! If he goes for the elevator door again, shoot him!”

“Yes, sir.” You whisper and put your hand on your gun.

"I can't stand injustice! If there is really a person who can in the world ...... then I'll be the first to kill him!" He kicked Chisei hard, turned around and shot like an arrow to the fire.

Chisei turned and looked at you, coughing hoarsely. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah.” You say. Your voice is as small as a mouse’s chirp.

#Dragon Raja

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spidersmiceandeverythingnice · 3 years

Text

Just realized I never posted this during LB3 despite the fact that I had some very Thematic Brainwaves about my Mastersona, Yu, Koyanskaya and of course Diarmuid. Under the read more if you are interested -

Koyanskaya savored the looks on their faces as they beheld the vial.

One dose of antidote. The only contingency plan.

It didn’t take long for the realization to sink in, but Koyanskaya quickly added, “Oh, and don’t even think about splitting it between the pair of you. The poison is well-integrated into your system now. You’ll require the full dosage if you even hope to have a chance at surviving.”

Goredolf’s pale, sweating face was a special treat. Either he was a bigger idiot than Koyanskaya had thought, or he was a true mage, who didn’t realize that Zoe Venier would probably let him take the antidote without much fuss if he only had the sense to ask.

Poor girl, Koyanskaya thought, smiling faintly as she watched Zoe attempt to school her features into stoicism. It didn’t come naturally to her, that was for sure. She was a quiet girl, normally, though she’d been known to display quite the temper. But in the face of her own death... Oh, she was frightened. Even after all this time, after all she’d survived. Perhaps she was more frightened than ever before.

But the ensuing squabble quickly lost its spice for Koyanskaya. Goredolf suggested that they duel with rock-paper-scissors. Zoe, with a wry, faint smile, accepted. While they haggled over terms, Koyanskaya decided that she ought not to waste her time. Bound, sitting in the dirt, surrounded by enemies, fresh out of the eternal Shi Huangdi’s torture chambers - it wasn’t like she had anything else to do but gather more intel in her condition. Even if she would inevitably turn against Chaldea later, she should learn all she could about such a valuable client.

There were many Servants with Zoe this time - a surprising number, actually, considering the amount of mana it would likely take to sustain them. Given her present condition, she surely was feeling the strain of it. But of the motley crew, there was only one that Koyanskaya didn’t really know yet.

And just her luck, he stood over her side, guarding her.

Diarmuid ua Duibhne, Lancer. According to the records that they’d obtained from Chaldea, he was one of Zoe Venier’s original three Servants. He was not spectacular, a thoroughly average hero from an obscure legend. Koyanskaya wasn’t in the business of underestimating anyone but even she took one look at his perfect, beautiful face and dismissed him.

But he’d changed.

He had not disappeared, nor had Zoe re-summoned him. He had simply changed at some point, not long after Koyanskaya had left the Scandinavian Lostbelt. Rather than the famous twin spears, he now carried two blades, one of which was nearly as tall as he was and radiated a positively demonic aura. His combat parameters seemed to have expanded somewhat due to the class change, but otherwise, there was nothing different about him. But a normal Servant changing themselves was impossible, and this was doubly true for Diarmuid ua Duibhne, who had been defined by his curses, if by nothing else.

Koyanskaya had been wrong to ignore him, that was for sure.

But she was big enough to admit that. Now it was time to have some fun.

Eyeing him, she spoke with a sweet idleness. “You know, I really have to wonder if she’s feeling the affects of the poison or not.”

Diarmuid kept his eyes squarely on Zoe. It didn’t take a genius detective to know that she was his ultimate weakness, in all the ways that mattered.

“I mean,” Koyanskaya continued, with a smile. “What’s her body count at now? Well, the last one is easy, just ten thousand, but we never did get an accurate estimate of the Yaga population, come to think of it. Does it count if they were technically beasts? What do you think?”

He didn’t even react to her words. It was not in Koyanskaya’s nature to crave attention from beautiful men, but the silent treatment annoyed her. It almost wounded her pride.

“In any case, do you want to hear my theory?” Koyanskaya looked up, putting all her weight into her gaze. “I think that - despite all the blood on her hands - Zoe simply believes that everything she’s done has been completely justified. That’s why she isn’t showing any symptoms. Can you imagine? Obliterating entire worlds, entire cultures, erasing it from existence, from memory. For that not to bother her in the slightest - it’s chilling! Do you think that maybe she even enjoys - “

“It seems to me,” said Diarmuid, “that you fundamentally misunderstand who we are.”

Koyanskaya smiled. “Oh?”

“For example,” Diarmuid went on, still watching Zoe and Goredolf. They were nearly ready to begin their matches now. “When you mocked the Director before, I thought you had simply picked him out to be an easy target. Someone with his disposition must be child’s play for you, naturally. But now you’ve admitted that you don’t understand the first thing about Zoe, either.”

“Why, perish the thought!” Koyanskaya simpered, baring her teeth in a wicked grin. “I pride myself on my information-gathering efforts, you know.”

Diarmuid shrugged. “I would have assumed that you weren’t capable of understanding humanity, given what you are. But if you can’t even grasp the basics about someone like Zoe, then maybe we don’t need to be worried about you after all.”

But this was too good to be true. Koyanskaya tried to think back - had she ever revealed to Chaldea that she was a Beast? Perhaps Holmes had figured it out, or even the little Da Vinci, but this was the first time they had all been together since Shi Huangdi had separated the group, and they were preoccupied with the antidote. There was no way that Diarmuid could have known her true nature, unless he had recognized it on his own.

“I guess that’s true,” said Koyanskaya. “I wouldn’t know her nearly as well as someone like you. After all, you’re her loyal Servant - the perfect knight who services her every need.”

At last, Diarmuid deigned to look at her. His expression was withering. Not outright murderous, but he definitely contemplated the idea of drawing his swords. And in her current condition, Moralltach might even damage her if he really threw his weight into the strike. But naturally, he wouldn’t. His honor wouldn’t allow him to strike a prisoner, and to strike such a powerful blow would drain too much mana from his precious Zoe.

Speaking of which, they seemed to be at the last round. Zoe was patting Goredolf’s arm reassuringly as he blabbered.

“Look! They’re nearly done. Aren’t you going to stop them?”

Diarmuid sighed, and faced away from her again. “Forgive me, but may I ask if there’s a point to this conversation?”

“Obviously, Zoe wants to take the antidote herself,” said Koyanskaya, as if he hadn’t spoken. “She’s a pragmatist. I almost admire that about her, you know. But she’ll give the antidote to Goredolf out of fairness - because it’s the right thing to do - even though she knows as well as I do that Chaldea needs its only Master far more than it needs an oaf of a Director. And what? You’re just going to it back and let that happen?”

Predictably, Diarmuid replied. “In fact, her sense of honor is something that I greatly admire about her. And just because you do not recognize the Director’s value doesn’t mean he has none.”

Koyanskaya clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you’re like a fortress. Don’t you ever get tired of playing fair?”

When he didn’t answer her, Koyanskaya pretended to think about her next words for a moment.

“Hmm... well, I guess you’re not totally out of options. I guess if you’re going to let this antidote go to waste, you could always just take her to your father’s house if you can’t find another dose.”

The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Got him, thought Koyanskaya, and smiled.

“Oh, no, dear me, you’re right,” Koyanskaya went on, barely concealing her elation. “That won’t do. Not really his wheelhouse, I’d say. Well, it’s not as if you don’t have other options. Though, come to think of it, you’ve never really been the type to introduce a girl to your family.”

Diarmuid was staring at her, his mouth a thin line, his eyes unfathomable.

Koyanskaya smirked back. “What? Don’t you think Aengus Og would be just thrilled to have guests? I hear it’s lovely in Tir na Nog this time of year. Well, it’s always lovely, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it?”

The temperature adjusted; Diarmuid’s expression stabilized, and became bored again.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Though I’m not sure what you hope to gain by lording this information over me. I have no power within Chaldea’s internal structure, and I won’t act without my Master’s permission.”

The sarcasm in his voice was simply delicious. Koyanskaya leaned in.

“What I don’t understand is why someone like you would become a Servant in the first place. Why surrender yourself to the Counter Force when you could spend an eternity in paradise? And it’s not as if you could possibly have any reasons to love humanity. You might not have as many curses as our mutual friend Yu, but...”

She waited eagerly for him to respond, but he simply regarded her carefully for a moment. Koyanskaya was thrilled to learn how smart he was. In fact, he suited his Master very well. Quiet and observant. The shadow of the blade. The steady right hand. And he was far less human than he’d allowed Chaldea to believe. Did Zoe even know the truth?

In any case, Koyanskaya hoped that Holmes was listening to their conversation.

“I have no reason to curse humanity,” came Diarmuid’s reply. “Again, you show a lack of understanding. I simply followed the natural course of my fate.”

Goredolf lost the final round of rock-paper-scissors, but Nezha and Mordred held him down so that Da Vinci could inoculate him anyway. While he blubbered thanks and took dramatic, gasping breaths, Koyanskaya watched Zoe Venier. Watched her smile disappear for a moment. Watched her push her glasses up her nose, and twirl a lock of her long hair around her fingers. For a moment, the Master of Chaldea was nothing but a sad, frightened little girl.

And if Koyanskaya had noticed, then surely, so had Diarmuid.

“Oh, what to do, what to do...?” she murmured. A giggle worked its way up her throat, and she had to suppress it. “Now, I say this with all possible manner of feminine delicacy - but you guys are royally fucked. Humanity’s a lost cause, and that’s even if you somehow manage to find a second antidote. Your merry band of heroes hasn’t even gotten to the real Lostbelts yet. If my half-assed assassination attempt can knock you back this far, then how do you expect to face the rest of the Crypters?”

“We’ve faced steep odds before. I have nothing but confidence in Zoe, and in our allies.”

Koyanskaya shook her head. “I seriously can’t believe you. You have a get-out-of-the-apocalypse-free card at your beck and call.”

“That’s not how it works.”

His voice contained a hard edge now. She’d touched a nerve.

“Then, enlighten me. Because you know as well as I do - taking Zoe into the Land of Youth would end all of this. What do you care for humanity’s survival? She would never suffer again. Isn’t that what you wish for?”

She saw his eyes glint, shift for a fraction of a second, and that was how she knew she’d won. No matter how noble he pretended to be, there was still a part of him that had understandable human instincts. Fortunately for his sake, Diarmuid was spared from answering as Zoe herself approached, to engage Koyanskaya in conversation regarding their upcoming plans.

The knight was quiet, and kept one eye on her constantly going forward.

All in all, Koyanskaya considered this a resounding success.

#fate grand order #mastersona #lb3 spoilers #i guess?? idk it's late i'm going to bed goodnight everyone

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Remus x Reader- May You Love Her As I Love You

Can I request an scenario with Remus Lupin having a fiance that disappeared for 13 year because of the Death Eaters but then she came back because she was found. But he was married, so after the war ends and after thinking a lot about it he asks for divorce to be with her again.

Hogwarts had been turned into a battlefield, carnage everywhere. The sun was high in the sky as neither side wanted to give any slack. They had to keep their boundaries while trying to push forward. The Death Eaters were greater in number than Remus had anticipated and he was growing tired despite trying to keep them back.

While dodging spells and trying to save overwhelmed students and cornered professors, Remus had caught sight of someone darting behind a corner with such speed he was certain he’d imagined it. More than that, he was certain the person he’d seen, or not seen, had to be imaginary. You had been dead for years and that was a burden Remus still bore on his shoulders.

Remus shook his head violently right as a bob of brown hair returned into his view. Tonk’s hand was warm in his and she dragged him out of the wreckage and into a momentarily unpopulated space of the castle. “You’ve got to pay attention,” She stressed with urgency in her voice.

Remus took a deep breath and nodded, kissing her forehead in thanks. “I know... Silly as it sounds right now I just felt like I’d seen a ghost rounding the corner of the school,”

“I hate to say it love, but we’ve got ghosts all around us now,” Tonks frowned deeply and Remus stroked her cheek before pushing the corners of her mouth up. “I’d like for you to not be one of them,” She spoke through his poking and it brought a more genuine smile to her face even if it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t the time to smile.

“And here I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” Remus teased, kissing his wife softly- afraid he would lose the chance to do so.

“Oh hush, you old grump,” Tonks poked fun, kissing him back before her posture stiffened and that fiery spirit filled her back again. She’d needed to see Remus, needed to know he was okay. Now that she knew he was, she could go back into the heart of the battle. “I love you,” She reminded him, squeezing his hand before running away.

“Love you too,” He called out after her but he doubted she could hear him over all the noise. Remus clenched his fist, holding onto the warmth a bit longer. Tonks had been his peace of mind and a reminder that there were still good things in the world. James and Lily had been ripped from him in a second. Sirius being sent away had seemed like the worst that could happen. He had spent so many years hating his best friend and believing lies that when Sirius had come back he’d been too relieved to think anything could get worse.

He had been wrong and when Harry had come to him with anger in his heart and tears in his eyes he had known that something had happened. Losing Sirius all over again had caused him to block out the people he cared for most and he had neglected Tonks for months after. It had been his sudden fear that if she stayed with him, she too would lose her life. He’d already lost one wife and losing another seemed unbearable.

It had been nearly two decades since he last saw you. You’d made a gorgeous breakfast while he’d been getting ready for his day and he’d come downstairs to see you setting the table, humming as you twirled about the kitchen. You’d worn some shorts and an old Gryffindor t-shirt of his that was faded nearly beyond recognition. It had always been your favorite and when you snuck into his dorm at night to fall asleep curled up beside him you always requested (demanded) to wear it.

You had both spoken of trivial things that morning, reading the paper and rolling your eyes over the gossip articles. He’d held your hand while he drank his coffee. You’d snuck a chocolate bar into his jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking. When the clock struck seven, he had rose from his seat and you’d followed him to the door.

You’d kissed him like you always had and he had smiled against your lips because no matter how much time passed he would never get tired of the feeling of you pressed against him. Everything had been blissfully ordinary.

Remus hated remembering what had occurred next while he had been away. He’d gotten home to find the door to your cozy one bedroom home wide opened, the wood splintered around the handle and one of the hinges had come loose. He’d gone into a panic, running around your small home screaming your name. He’d found a vase shattered on the ground, drops of nearly dried blood on the carpet. You’d been stolen from him, but worse than that he hadn’t been there to keep it from happening. He’d eaten the lunch you’d packed him, talked to coworkers, done paperwork. All while you’d been dragged, kicking and fighting and afraid.

It didn’t take long for Dumbeldore to come to him with the same pitying look he’d grown accustomed to over the years. His adolescent life had been full of dreams and hopes for the future. He’d dreamed of having a home with you and having all his friends over for dinners. You’d all see each other at least once a week and you’d all grow old together with kids of your own who would befriend one another. Instead, the friends he considered family and the woman he loved more than there were stars in the sky, were taken from him and he was left empty.

He loved Tonks, was happy she could love a man like him, but painted on the backs of his eyelids were the faces of everyone he’d lost and your loss still pained him the most. You had been his soulmate and he hadn’t gotten even a fraction of the years he’d wanted to spend with you. A not-so-distant boom, accompanied by a bone rattling quake through the stone beneath his feet shook Remus from the nightmare he found himself trapped in every time he closed his eyes.

With a muttered curse and the resolve to ignore his ghosts, Remus ran back into the chaos.

You nearly tripped over a slab of concrete when you’d seen Remus. He’d been standing still, eyes surveying the battle as he caught his breath. He looked old, defeated. But he was still the same handsome man you had loved with every bit of your heart and more. You forgot yourself for a moment and when he began to look your way you gasped and darted around the corner, legs moving quicker than you had in ages.

There wasn’t much to do when you were in hiding, you could only jog up and down the stares so many time to cure the boredom and you had read every book you owned four times over in the past thirteen years. You cleaned every square inch of the place to pass time but even that grew difficult as you found you didn’t have much to clean when you did it every day. Alastor Moody had kept you some company when he could, he would bring your groceries and despite the permanently sour look on his face you found a good friend in him.

When he’d stopped arriving, you’d gotten the terrible news that he’d been killed. It was hard losing another friend. Especially when you couldn’t reach out to the ones that were still living, still growing and laughing and smiling and loving... You had so hoped that Remus would be one of them and that he hadn’t forgotten how to love once you’d disappeared. It had been Dumbeldore’s decision to tell him you were dead.

“We cannot know how long you will have to stay hidden... Why give a broken man hope when that hope may be the thing that destroys him? It is, regrettably, our only decision. You will only bring him pain otherwise,” He had told you in the first week of your disappearance when you had grown restless and wished to have your husband by your side. Remus and you had been inseparable since your first year of school and being without him had seemed like hell. It was hell. You thought sourly, the past thirteen years having gone by slowly and painfully.

The headmaster had given your love some time to come to terms with the tragedy that supposedly befell you, and then he had torn the bandaid off the wound that was bound to fester and told him you were killed. You tried to believe that was the best decision. And now, it seemed you were forced to.

You rounded the corner but paused once more as you heard Remus’ voice floating from an empty hall. There was a chunk of the wall that had been blasted out and you could easily hide behind a crumbling slab without being seen. You watched as a pretty woman held Remus to her, love and concern vibrant in her expressive eyes. His smile was small, hesitant even with the current events, but genuine. He was in love. It was hard to see but you knew it would have been harder to see him lonely. Just like you.

As he ran off you righted yourself, grip around your wand tight again as you searched for stragglers who intended to cause more destruction and the wounded. Minerva, Moody and Dumbeldore were the only three who knew you were living and well. With two of your secret keepers dead, Minerva had taken it upon herself to tell you of how grievous things had become.You hadnt taken a moment to think about it, you had gone to her and asked how to help.

Despite her initial upset, it was decided that when a battle began- “and there will be one, I can promise you that Miss. Y/L/N” Minerva had said- you would join and help fight for the children. You were not to approach Remus and it was in everyone’s best interest if you stuck to the shadows. Dependent on the outcome, you’d be free or a dead woman.

Collecting yourself, you weaved through the wreckage with sharp eyes, tuning out the screaming voice in your head that told you to go to Remus.

It was with bated breath that everyone waited when victory was announced. Victory was a bitter taste in the mouths of all who had lost a parent, a child, a friend. It seemed too good to be true that the war was over, Voldemort defeated once in for all. It seemed like a nightmare that the living couldn’t wake from. Many crowded to view the bodies, hidden by white blankets. Some looked peaceful, their expressions like that of someone sleeping. Others died with a scream that had been permanently etched onto their face. Some were missing parts of them, the sheets soaked through with blood.

The wails of mothers and the disbelieving expressions of the students around you were nearly too much to bear as you walked in the shadows. The mourning was stifling and deep and you hid behind it- observing. Your heart pounded with fear as you tried to get a look at the killed and injured. Was Remus there too? You had to know, despite Minerva’s warnings. She’d been the one to tell you when he married again and you loved and hated her for it. You were glad to know he was happy but a bitter and lonely part of you hated that he was happy without you.

You could only feel relief now however as you spotted Remus’ wild hair, his pants tattered and a very obvious hole at his knee. Dirt was smudged against his cheek but you could see a clean trail through it as he cried. Exhaustion weighed him down as he slouched. His hand was intertwined with someone’s and your heart twisted as you recognized the woman as his wife. You hadn’t asked Minerva for her name, not wanting to hate someone who you knew was probably a lovely person.

She was laid out on the ground, eyes closed but you noticed, with a bittersweet feeling, that her chest was still rising and falling with determination. It seemed you had stared a bit too long however, because the next time you went to observe the man you had hoped to spend the rest of your days with, he was staring right back. The blood had drained from his face and his mouth hung open.

You were frozen to the spot as he ran a shaking hand through his hair as he continued to star at you, his wife’s hand falling from his grasp as he rose on trembling legs. His mouth moved, a whisper of your name that didn’t quite reach your ears but you had stared at those lips more times than you could remember and it wasn’t hard to know what he had uttered. He took one step toward you and it caused your chest to restrict with panic.

Run you fool! Apparate! Anything! You aren’t a ghost and he’ll realize it soon if he hasn’t already. He’s happy and you’re ruining it!

It seemed no matter how much you demanded yourself to you were stuck in the same position, knees locking into place and arms stiff. When you failed to disappear, Remus’ steps grew more reassured and determined. He was nearly upon you, you could hear the sound of him breathing and see the stubble dappled across his cheeks and the fuller mustache that he had always been adamant he’d never grown when you’d first been married.

You were so close you could touch him and oh how long it had been since you’d felt his familiar warmth... Your breath hitched and his eyes grew wide at the sound of it. Your time was running out.

You ran.

Remus stared down at Tonks, her face free of wrinkles and worries as she lay unconscious. He held tight of her hand and stroked the skin there with his thumb, wishing she would give him one of her gorgeous smiles. “Please wake up darling....” He begged as a few tears escaped him. She gave no response and his battered and beaten heart ached in his cheat.

It was then that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill traveled down his aching back as he sat up straighter, rubbing the tears away as he searched around the crowded area. Death hung heavy in the air and when his eyes found the source of his discomfort he was sure that you had come to haunt him. You looked as beautiful as you did the day you’d been taken.

Yet, you looked older. Your hair was longer than he remembered, wrinkles apparent on your forehead as you looked the the left of him, your eyebrows knitted together in thought. Your gaze shifted and suddenly he found your eyes staring into his. He thought he imagined it when you went still, eyes wide and lip tugged between your teeth. It couldn’t be. He told himself yet he looked to Tonks and set her hand down gently against her cot.

“Hold on love, I’ll be back soon,” He promised to his wife as he tried to find the strength to go to you. Had he died? He wondered as he walked on autopilot past his mourning peers. Was he one of the dead, buried beneath a sheet and now roaming aimlessly. Had you come to collect him?

It seemed impossible solely because of the ache that permeated his entire being. Surely death would have freed him from his pain, not trapped him within it.

“Y/N,” He tried, the sound of your name odd in his mouth and guilt sunk in his stomach like lead in water.

You stayed frozen and he nearly feared that he was hallucinating until he was only a few paces from you. Your chest rose quickly and he heard your sharp inhale. Y/N, his Y/N, was breathing. The sound knocked his own breath from his lungs and he hesitated long enough that when he came back to the present, you were spinning on your heel and darting from the ruined castle.

“Wait!” He hollered after you, voice cracking like it had when he was a teen. You’d been quick to defend him back then when Sirius’ and James’ teasing had become insufferable.

You didn’t seem to hear his words, or you chose to ignore them, as you continued to escape him. His legs were growing stiff in the joints from endless, brutal full moons. It was hard to keep up with you but he was determined to reach the ghost that had been torturing his sleeping and waking moments for thirteen years.

Your feet carried you all the way to the Black Lake, a place where you and Remus had spent many evenings watching the sun set. You paused, head spinning on your shoulders as you caught your breath, wondering where to run next.

Remus charged forward with renewed vigor and caught your forearm in his grasp. You involuntarily jerked away and he tightened his grip. He had been half expecting his hand to phase through you and now that was proven incorrect, he wasn’t sure what to think. He opened his mouth to speak as you turned towards him with pain in your eyes. Unsaid regrets and untold secrets swam in the depths and he wanted to dive in and learn the truth.

“Rem-” You were the first to speak and the sound of your voice nearly broke him as his knees buckled. Your own legs felt weak beneath you and you sank beside him as he kept a tight hold of you.

“Why?” He interrupted, breaths coming quick as he stared at you. Remus didn’t know if he was furious or crushed or over the moon. Maybe all three. “Why is my dead wife haunting me?”

Your words betrayed you as they got stuck in your throat. Your eyes were quick to well up with tears and you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Why are you alive?!” He croaked, voice rising with his mounting confusion and hurt. How could you be here? How could you be in front of him, living and breathing and wonderful while the woman who had stayed, the one who had picked up his broken pieces was back in the crumbling castle fighting to stay alive?

“I’m so sorry,” You choked out, cheeks glistening with tears. “I so badly wanted to tell you...”

Remus felt like the world had slowed but his thoughts had sped up beyond his comprehension.He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. He was waiting for you to fade away, a distant memory brought on by the battle’s trauma. Yet your hands were warm and strong against his shoulders and it couldn’t be denied that you were living.

“I had to hide, we’d be killed otherwise and I couldn’t risk you!” You tried explaining. “I wanted so badly to tell you, to let you know I was okay but Dumbeldore h-he said it’d only bring you pain if I said anything and I couldn’t do that to you...”

Remus scoffed. “You think I haven’t been in pain? How would you feel being abandoned by the only person you have left? I had no one! James- dead! Lily- dead! Sirius- imprisoned and then murdered!” Remus’ voice was growing in volume and you winced against the painful truth he spat at you.

“I watched the people I loved most die and disappear around me and all I had was you to keep me together. You made it bearable, you made it okay to look forward to another day. And you’re telling me you faked your own death to keep me from hurting? I will tell you one thing Y/N, I never stopped hurting!”

His tears were burning against his eyelids as he let them fall to the grass beneath him. “I never once stopping missing you, wishing they’d taken me instead. I went to your grave every day for months until I couldn’t bear talking to stone any longer. I married the most brilliant, loving, forgiving woman in this world and I still only see you when I close my eyes. Because I love her, but I love you...” He choked out as the truth burned him.

Remus felt sick as he fell apart in front of you, your own sobs mingling with his as you leaned against one another. “H-how am I supposed to face her knowing you’re alive? How am I supposed to go back to her and pretend that you aren’t out there somewhere?”

“No,” You shook your head, eyes startled and so, so sad. “No Remus, you can’t say that! You are going to go back to your wife and you are going to forget this ever happened,”

“I can’t! I can’t forget you no matter how much I wish I could!”

Your heart was being torn in two. You couldn’t be the woman to take Remus away from the life he had built here, yet you wanted nothing more than to be that woman. You wanted to have him as your husband again, you wanted to find another sleepy little cottage to live in. You wanted to make him breakfast in the morning and read the newspaper, you wanted to fall asleep beside him after tracing his scars and playing with his hair. You wanted him back.

Your bottom lip trembled and Remus cupped your cheek in his gentle hand. You let out another sob as you leaned into it. How many days you had woken wishing to hold his hand, how many nights you had fallen asleep wishing his hands were on you. “How can I ever stop loving you-” Remus whispered. “When I know you’ll always look at me like that?”

You gave him a weak smile as you held his hand against your cheek. His nose brushed against yours and you had to bite back a whimper when his lips hovered less than an inch away from yours. “I love you Remus,” You reminded him as you began to shake.

“I love you too,” He mumbled as he connected your lips. You kissed back with all you had held back in the years you couldn’t be with him. Your tears mingled with his and all you could taste was salt and not the normal sugar you came to relate with Remus.

You had to pull away as your breath was stolen from you and another sob wracked through your body. You let out a pained cry as you began shaking your head. “I love you so much,” You hiccuped. “Please forgive me,”

“Of course!” Remus rushed to say, hands cupping your cheeks. "I forgive-”

“Somnium” You interrupted, lips skating across his once more as his eyes rolled back in his head, shoulders slumping as you gathered him up in your arms. You held him tight against you, knowing your time was limited and the sleeping hex wouldn’t last long but you weren’t ready yet. You didn’t think you’d ever be ready.

Despite the longing that was ripping you to shreds, you couldn’t let Remus tear apart the love he’d found. You had been so ready to be his again, to find that cottage and live that dream. But he had been right, she had been there putting him back together and you hadn’t. You’d left him alone and vulnerable. You couldn’t put her in the same position by stealing away the man she adored, and the man that so clearly adored her. “I hope you meant it when you said you’d forgive me,” You cried out, placing a tender kiss to Remus’ forehead.

Closing your eyes, you shielded yourself from the face that would make you hesitate. Your hand shook as you attempted to raise your wand, pressing the tip of it gently against Remus’ temple. “May you love her as I love you. I am only but a ghost to you now,”

Obliviate.

Tag List: @angelinathebook @thehumanistsdiary @cleopatera

#remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #fluff #angst #ask #request #anon #anon ask

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