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queenofbaws · 2 years

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Hi! Hope you're doing well :) Got another LauraMax prompt for you again😁: How about a role swap with these two, i.e. Laura is the one who was bitten? She strikes me as someone who likes to be in control; being confronted with the revelation that she's gonna turn into a mindless, violent beast would be hard for her to accept, I imagine... Have a lovely weekend! 💕

definitely more than six sentence sat(or)sunday!!!

“I’m just saying…we show up to the camp expecting to find Mr. H…instead there’s something gross waiting for us in the bunker…you get bit by it…full moon…”

Laura took a breath, long and deep and slow, the bars of her cell pressing against her forehead as she tried to will herself to fall between them. When it didn’t work (for the millionth time), she let the same breath out, her eyes falling shut with it. “Yeah?”

There was a pause from the other side of the cellblock as Max chewed at the inside of his mouth. “I’m just saying…what if…”

“What if what, Max?”

“What if you’re, y’know…” He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as he said it, already anticipating her answer. Instead of going the direct route, then, he cleared his throat and abruptly changed his pitch, dropping into the wacky register of a morning radio dj. “When I say wolf, you say…?”

She frowned against the bars. “What?”

“No, where.”

Her eyes opened again. “What?”

“You were…you were supposed to say where. Like…I say wolf, you say where, werewolf, were…wolf.” He let his head loll back against the hard stone wall of the cell. “Now that I’m hearing myself say it out loud, though, I guess maybe that wasn’t super intuitive.”

It took her a second to understand that, doofy delivery or no, he was…he was being serious. Like serious-serious. “Max,” she started, staring intently at the exposed brick in front of her. “You can’t…that stuff isn’t real.”

“Okay, yeah, see, normally I’d be all aboard the insane-train with you – full steam ahead, choo choo – only I saw the thing down there in the bunker, Laura. Y’know, I…” He brought his hands up to rub at his face before sliding them into his hair, hoping if maybe he pressed down on his sinuses hard enough, the image of all those teeth tearing through her wouldn’t have room to take root. “Whatever that thing was? It wasn’t a person. It wasn’t a giant shih tzu either, I’ll give you that, but…definitely not a person. I feel…extremely confident in saying that. People aren’t usually that…” He grimaced. “Pointy.”

She mouthed that to herself once, ‘pointy?’ and then pushed herself away from the bars, doing a half-pace through the cramped space of her cell. As she walked, her eyes caught the strange poem carved into the wall, and as though by magic, she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from that single word no matter how hard she tried: Wolves.

“Laura?” Max called after a minute that felt more like a decade. “You got real quiet all of a sudden…”

She read the poem a third, a fourth, a fifth time, and still nothing became any clearer. Eventually she found her way to the cot (as though there was anything else in there with her) and let her legs go weak, sending her down onto the uncomfortable, lumpy mattress. “Let’s say…” Laura swallowed hard, more to push past the block of doubt tightening her throat than any actual fear. “Let’s say, for the sake of this hypothetical, that I am, a…uh…”

He waited, and waited, and when he could wait no more, gave her a couple options to choose from. “A supernatural flea-bag? A creature of myth and legend?”

Despite herself, she snorted once. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with that. If I…am…one of those things…I think this whole being kidnapped thing is about to get just…a whole lot worse, actually.”

It was Max’s turn to frown. “How do you mean? See, the way I see it, all this means is we have to wait a few weeks, and then bam, pow, zoop, you go all ‘the better to eat you with’ on our good pal Officer Asshat, and we run off into the sunset happily ever after.” He paused. “Sunrise. We’d run off into the sunrise.”

“Max,” she sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Or like. Anyone. Else. Ever.”

Considering how long they’d known each other, not to mention the depth of the heart-to-hearts they’d had over all those years, that…well, that was concerning. Slowly, Max sat up from where he’d been slouching, his eyes searching the middle-distance as though that’d somehow help him see the expression on her face. “Yeah?” he asked, when all that middle-distance showed him was, surprise, more brick. “I…you know you can tell me anything, hun. Whatever it is, I—”

Her breath escaped her in one hard whoosh. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“…wait, what?”

Laura’s head tipped back against the wall and she covered her face with both hands, groaning into the air. “I’m so allergic to dogs, Max. It’s bad, I get hives.”

“I…” If such a thing was possible, he sat up even straighter, bracing himself with both hands on the cot. “You’re going to school to be a vet.”

“Yeah, I know! I have to take…so…many allergy meds when I’m anywhere near a dog, and just…” Her hands fell away from her face, flopping to either side of her. “I didn’t bring any of those for the summer.”

He sat quietly for a moment, just trying to absorb all of that. “Can you…be allergic to yourself?”

“I don’t know!”

There was so much distress in her voice, so much worry, that everything in his chest seized up like someone’d stuck a knife in him and twisted it. Since they were separated, he couldn’t do what he normally did (namely wrap his arms around her and hold tight until the storm had passed), so he did the next best thing. Made a fool of himself. “Well…I mean…look on the bright side here.”

Sensing the attempt for what it was, Laura made herself take another deep breath, rising to the bait instead of falling back into her own head. “What would the bright side be, exactly, Max?”

“Any time you don’t wanna do your homework, you can eat it yourself.”

“I…” The laugh took her by surprise, a hard bark (har-de-har-har) of surprised delight. “It is the perfect crime.”

“And all that hands-on experience you can pad your resume with? Hoo-wee. You’ll probably be able to graduate, like, two years early!” At the sound of her laugh, he had no choice but to smile, turning instinctively towards her voice. “We’ll figure out what’s going on, okay? Werewolf or…whatever.”

She looked down at her own hands as he said it, humming in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I know.” Laura flexed her fingers, tried to imagine them looking like anything other than what they’d always been, and came up short every time. “Hey, can…can werewolves get rabies, do you think?”

#theartofdreaming1 #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #lauramax #ohohoho well hello!!! mAN i love thinking about mix-em-ups where it's diff people who got bit first aklsjdfkajsf so this???#a BLAST ;Dc ty so much for the prompt! i hope youre having a fantastic weekend too!!!

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little-corritrice · 10 months

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| The Mafia | ~ Part 26 ~

Genre: Mafia Au, Fanfiction

Pairing: N/A

Rating: Slight Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Stalking(?)

Synopsis ~ y/n was just living her life, but when she ran into troubles of her past, she found herself being auctioned off to a mafia named Ateez. Within her time, she soon finds another whom she knows...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Everyone ran to their respective cars, and we immediately took off. I called Yunho, hearing him answer immediately. "Thanks for your help back there. I'll see you at sunset tomorrow." I said, and he hummed out, hanging up afterwards. "How ya doing, Chan?" I asked, turning around from the passenger seat. He groaned out, extending his hands towards me. "Fine." He said, and I nodded, grabbing his hand gently. I noticed his eyes loosing focus and I shifted around fully in my seat, swinging his hand shortly. He mumbled out something, his head lolling to the side. "Keep him awake, Seungmin." I said, and he nodded, pinching Chan's side lightly. He let out a slight cry of pain, his eyes shooting open. "Sorry." Seungmin whispered, holding the cloth to his neck and chest. "Stay with us, Channie." I smiled at him, and he just groaned again as he stared at the ceiling.

~ ~ ~

As the boys all were in the infirmary, I was in the training room letting my frustrations out, throwing punch after punch at the poor punching bag. I was so wrapped up in my own world that when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I turned around and threw a punch. A hand caught my wrist, and Changbin stood there. "Sorry." I said, letting my wrist go limp. He pulled me into him, stroking my back softly. "What's going on, precious?" He asked, and I sighed. "Just waiting for him to wake up." I said softly. "He woke up like 2 minutes ago. He's asking for you." He said, and I pulled away slightly. "Come on." Changbin smiled, gently pulling me across the hall to the infirmary. I practically ran in, spotting Chan sitting up as he was talking with the boys. I smiled brightly, running up to him and hugging him gently, but tightly. "Don't you ever do that to me again." I said, shaking my head as I held him tightly. He hugged me back, sighing softly.

As I didn't let go, I heard the boys whisper to each other before they walked out. I still didn't let Chan go, and he chuckled. "I'm not dead, princess." He tried to joke, but I tightened my grip. "Stop joking about this, Christopher." I said, my voice holding no joking tone. He sighed, rubbing my back softly. "y/n, I am okay." He said, but I shook my head. "You almost died back there." I said, and he shrugged. "It's apart of what we do. You know this, princess." He said, and I nodded. "I was just so scared." I said, my tears falling onto his shoulder. "It's okay, princess. It's okay." He said, pulling me closer and I adjusted myself so that I was laying on the side of him, curled against him as he held me tightly. "It's all over now." He said, and I nodded. I kissed his cheek, snuggling closer as my tears dried up quickly.

~ 5:30pm ~

I stretched as I woke up, but my hand hit something. I heard a faint mumble before arms pulled me tighter against them. I smiled as I remembered I fell asleep with Chan. We were in his room now, no wires or tubes hooked up to him as he was feeling better. "Channie~" I cooed, tickling under his nose. He moved and grumbled something, burying his face in my chest. I felt him smile a little, and I gasped. "You cheeky shit." I shook my head, hearing him laugh lightly. "I need to get up. Yunho wanted me to see him today." I said, and he grumbled something. "What was that?" I glared, lifting his head up. "Nothing..." He muttered, and I laughed lightly. "Is my poor baby jealous?" I teasingly cooed, giving him a fake pout. He groaned, pushing me away. I laughed loudly, smacking his back lightly. "Don't worry. He's like a brother to me. You know I would never leave you or the boys." I smiled warmly, giving him a kiss before I walked out.

As I finished changing into some clothes(↓), I grabbed my phone and wallet, rushing to the garage. I bumped into Seungmin as I ran around the corner, making me fall down. "Aah, so sorry. In a hurry." I called out, getting up and making sure he was okay. "Where are you going?" He asked, following me to the garage. "Yunho. He wanted to talk about something. Said it had to be in person." I explained, and he nodded, handing me my helmet as I sat on the bike(↓). "Alright. Be safe." He smiled, and I stopped rushing. "Come here, puppy." I cooed, holding my arms for him. He went into my arms, wrapping me in a tight hug. "I'll be back before 7, so be ready so you, me, and the boys can go out to eat. I'll take us to that fancy restaurant down the street." I smiled as he nodded. "Love you, Minnie." I said, pecking his lips. "Love you too." He smiled brightly.

I started my bike, letting her warm up as I put my helmet on. Seungmin squeezed my thigh before I nodded at him, taking off. He shut the garage and that was my cue to zoom off. It was only a 15 minute drive to the Ateez household, so I cruised around for a little bit. I saw another biker coming along side me. I glared at the girl in suspicion due to her having the same exact bike, clothes, and stuff like me. I quickly sped off, weaving through the streets and alleyways to lose her; it seemed to work as she slowed down from almost crashing into the alleyway wall. I sped off to the Ateez household, calling Yunho. "y/n?" He called out and I sighed in relief. "Hey, open your gate quickly. Got some copycat chasing me." I informed and he laughed. "That's so ironic because that's what I wanted to talk to you about!" He laughed, hanging up shortly after.

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ruiniel · 2 years

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Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Rating: T

Relationships: Alucard/Trevor Belmont

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont, Sypha Belnades

Additional Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Tension, Kissing, Castlevania Season 2, POV Trevor Belmont, Emotional Baggage, Developing Relationship, AU

Also on AO3

Summary:

Hard truths are difficult to face, as Trevor Belmont knows firsthand.

It’s cold, colder than the previous nights, and the struggling warmth from the flames does little against it. Trevor brings a knee to his chest and pulls his cloak tighter about his hunched form. He stinks too, and knows it. He’s seated on the hard ground, currently a blessing compared to the past day that ate at their bones like a vicious predator, chewing and spitting them out on a whim. Even Sypha is silent, her glee turned ashen. She looks wane and weak behind her bright curls, like a flower whose petals close past sunset. Bruised shades hang beneath her tired eyes. She’s all but toppling against Alucard, who goes still at first before bringing Sypha in his arms, so careful and tender it comes in absurd contrast with the dried bloodstains on his shirt and coat, the clumps of dirt in his hair.

“I’m… ‘m fine,” she croaks. “Just need rest.”

Trevor sighs. One evening. If they could have but one freaking peaceful evening before they get to (probably) die facing Alucard’s illustrious father, that'd be a great boon indeed.

God.Damnit.Trevor freezes on the thought, looking Alucard over. He’s so grateful to the son of Dracula at this moment as he rises, holding a near unconscious Sypha to his chest. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and soon enough Alucard’s carrying and helping her into the makeshift sleeping arrangement at the back of the wagon cart.

If there’s one thing Trevor learned about magic, it's that recovering from constantly maneuvering the core elements has taxing effects on the wielder. A part of him wants to just get up and go to her; wants to run his awful, crooked fingers through her hair and tell her she’s safe now, they’re on watch and she can rest. But he just stares as Alucard lingers after tucking her in, hears soft whispering and half-formed answers he doesn’t dare to decipher. He swallows and tears his eyes away, turning to the fire, catching the dance of the flames in an effort to ignore the reality of something, painful and oozing darkly in his chest. Something he has no right to feel.

Pebbles roll and crack beneath Alucard’s boots as he returns and with a grace Trevor finds unnerving, descends by their lonesome tongue of flames. As a surprise to no one, he says nothing — another thing about him that irks the hunter. Wallowing in misery, brooding in sullen glumness — that’s his bit, though Alucard does a better job than him with his own disillusionment and grief. No, Trevor decides. No, it just looks like he is.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Trevor spits into the icy, pervasive silence. “Earlier, I mean.” He knows Alucard can tell precisely what ‘earlier’ means, knows he’s reliving the very moment.

He can’t take it anymore. The quiet, the dying flicker of their useless fire, and the shadows it casts over Alucard’s wretched face. He wants this, this thing that’s in his chest to fuck off with utmost haste, and he can’t face it, of course he can’t. It means looking Alucard in the eye, which lately proves distracting enough on its own without the burden of whatever-the-hell-this-is gnawing at him until it’s too raw inside, until he can’t breathe at the mere idea of any peril befalling either of them.

Alucard is still silent; excelling at it, really, though Trevor now feels the sear of those unnerving eyes upon him, and the hunter forces himself to look ahead. His father had always said he was mulish. He turns his face from the fire before other memories burst from the charring embers, bloated things laden with loss and guilt that he can’t deal with right now. One, two... One dance with the devil at a time, as an old stable hand from his home used to say. His great, optimistic plans for this day had entailed nothing but a good, wholesome night’s rest, but that was before the attack, before their close, much too close call in that ambush.

A string of soft shuffling sounds catches his attention, and Trevor turns his head to the covered wagon cart. He remembers the way Alucard looked down at Sypha's upturned face earlier, and that something squirms in his chest and down his gut again, like weak poison trickling by slow drip in his blood. It has to do with Alucard, but also with Sypha, and Trevor doesn’t have the mental fortitude to wade through that labyrinth of thought now.

As he looks, a slight hand snaps long fingers, and a tiny flame dances briefly in the gloom before it fades. The corners of his mouth turn upward in a smile; she was likely seeking something in the dark. Icy sweat beads down his spine as, without warning, his muscles tense and his mind re-lives a fragment of their most recent fight. He turns back ahead and catches Alucard’s stony mien as the dhampir stares emptily into the fire, and the something left unsaid and gaping between them flares deep, aching nearly as much as Trevor’s messed knee and swollen joints.

Trevor tells himself it’s his body’s less than ideal condition that makes it difficult to move. Not the sight of Alucard’s downcast profile or the heavy slump of his shoulders. Not the twist of those angular features into a firm, icy mask that doesn’t suit him at all.

Trevor bites the inside of his cheek. He knows, he fucking knows what it’s like to feel alone and not worth a damn to anyone in the world, to have no one caring whether you live or die. To be caught between an ingrained sense of duty and the ungratefulness, the fear and even hatred of those you fight for. He’s been there — he's still there, by all accounts. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he says again. Why is he even trying?

Alucard sighs through his nose, dropping a curved stick he’d been using to stoke the fire. He’s not looking at Trevor. “Why?”

Ugh. “Because.” The hunter grits his teeth. What does he want, a fucking ballad?

Alucard continues, to Trevor’s unease and growing annoyance, to stare at the ground, a forearm resting on his risen knee. His sword rests unsheathed by his side in a glimmer of red and gold, absorbing the firelight. “I am faster than you. I heal,” he snorts in that insufferable way of his, “…infinitely faster than you, in the eventuality of damage.”

Trevor drags a hand over his face. He can’t even muster it in him to be pissed, but still, the words tumble out like boulders. “Yeah sure, but that doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself between us and hell whenever shit smears the proverbial doorstep!” he tries to keep his voice down so as not to wake Sypha. She hates, hates it when they argue, and tonight more than ever Trevor wants to at least try to mind that. Least he can do, really.

Alucard frowns, in distaste or what, Trevor can’t tell.

“You owe me nothing,” the hunter says, and it hurts a little but he doesn’t know why; too tired.

Alucard has gone still again, his eyes mere slits of gold, and Trevor knows enough of him by now to know that’s bad. “I owe our common goal everything,” the dhampir, the shithead, says pointedly, his conviction flashing on his face.

“Look,” Trevor mutters, “if nearly getting yourself killed every time we run into those fucks is your favorite pastime fine, but don’t fucking do that to Sypha, and don’t do it to me—”

He sometimes forgets Alucard is not like them. Other times, Trevor forgets how much he is like them, but nothing prepares him for the flare of those vampiric reflexes, and he swears then muffles a whine as his world turns on its head and the hard ground strikes his back; he’s clutching at something which appears to be the back of Alucard’s coat.

He’s pinned beneath Alucard. The son of Dracula is poised above him, a simmer of dangerous red swimming in the depths of his irises. His forearm is pressed to Trevor’s throat, and the hunter considers kicking him in the balls, but that didn’t work the first time anyway so he gives up. He tries to wiggle free instead, meets unrelenting steel. Trevor tries to move his busted knee, fights down a hiss. “Get off me, you asshole!” he grinds out, his whisper stilted in the cool night air.

Alucard stares him down, with bitter anger that’s both frightening and strange, so strange a sensation like warm water sluices through Trevor’s body; he notices the heave of his own breath, struggling with the forearm at his throat.

“Stronger than you,” Alucard says, so softly Trevor wants to clobber him. “Faster than you,” he repeats.

The way they’re folded together now, like he’s some damsel being held down by a lover, might be hilarious at any other time, but now that something doesn’t allow him to feel anything other than weak and lost and frantic in ways Trevor can't explain. “Listen,” his eyes narrow. “I’ve lost too many people... early on in life." He can't talk about it, he should leave it be, a small, fearful voice in him warns, keens. The shroud he's nailed about his heart, the one that hides him from others, squirms like a living thing, set against stirring the catacombs of his ash-covered past. Somehow, though, it feels important he does. "I’ve fared on my own for years," he says, his hearing picking up a low rumble, close to a suppressed growl that vibrates against him, "...saw no end to it all; the loneliness, the hiding.

I know... some of what you’re feeling, even if the extent of it is beyond my or Sypha’s grasp. I’ve… I’ve lost so many,” he gulps, that something turning wet in his chest and clingy and the words are gruesome to his own ears even as he speaks. “You… you and Sypha don’t get to be one of them,” he says. “You don’t,” he repeats even as the pressure eases on his throat, but Alucard doesn’t release him, and Trevor finds he’s oddly fine this way.

He feels the fast, desperate little breaths of one struggling to stay adrift, against the maddening storm threatening to drown them. The bloodreds have faded from Alucard's eyes, golden eyebrows drawn together as one in pain. A muscle tenses briefly in his jaw and Trevor's fingers clutch at his back as the dhampir lowers his head in a sigh, the spill of his heavy hair falling over Trevor’s shoulder, softly on his cheek.

“You… you don’t,” Trevor murmurs dazedly as Alucard slumps even more against him, and he can barely keep from adding ‘please.’ He can think of approximately all of his family ancestors rolling in their graves about now, and then dismisses the unworthy thought, because look at what he's been, what he's trying to become, and there's no one worthier than... than his Sypha, and the miserable half-vampire now melting against him. Trevor's known it for a while now, one supposes, but the admission to his very self strikes a warlike pounding in his veins. He looks up at the skies, to the careless stars splattered over endless darkness, winking down at them. He’s cold, he’s exhausted and his knee hurts and Alucard’s so warm and—

“Alucard,” he tries, even as Alucard nuzzles his neck, reminding Trevor of a lost pup he once saved from the rain. He feels the hitch of the other's chest against his own. He feels something wet and warm, foreign on his cheek.

Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Trevor cards his stiff fingers through Alucard’s hair, looks once more at the stars, and later he likely won’t know who dragged whom towards the other, but one thing’s for sure: Alucard is much heavier than his lean build would suggest, and Trevor’s hands seek muscle and sinew and to cup that stupid face, to feel Alucard and listen to his stupid bleeding heart as his arms wind around Trevor just so, with an eagerness leaving him both concerned and breathless. Alucard's nose presses to Trevor’s jaw in a way that strikes him as nothing less than needy and defeated, and yet again, annoyingly, Trevor knows much, too much about that to not feel a spike of hurt for his fellow being. Like a wounded animal Alucard curls into him, tucked at his breast, as weary as Trevor feels. His breath is rushed against Trevor’s neck, and the hunter, the monster hunter swallows as his hand reaches to cup Alucard’s head. He clutches at soft strands, pulls lightly, up, up, until they’re staring at each other and breathing each other in and Trevor catches one sliver of copper in Alucard’s eyes before he tilts his head, and kisses. He kisses softly, feels Alucard’s body tense and the gasp that leaves his lips, the pause and uncertainty; the immediate, fierce response.

That something in him burns, and Trevor hums as a spike of pleasure drowns out the pain even as he’s splayed beneath Alucard on his back, licking and sucking and kissing the damn fool until he understands, hoping he will. “You’re… not alone in this,” he murmurs in a draw of breath, hedging Alucard’s forehead to his, a little worried at the sweep of tenderness taking over him. “You hear?” Trevor follows, instead of saying ‘please say something, please acknowledge this or else I’m positively fucked because I can’t do this without you and I don’t know what this is but I want it, I want it, I want you and I want her, and just, please—’

Alucard saves him the effort; nods, doesn’t move. He’s hiding in Trevor, more an injured beastling needing shelter than anything, then finds Trevor’s lips again, presses softly, almost shyly. “Yes,” he says, finally, then huffs, “And you’re terrible at pep talk.”

Trevor snorts, makes a slow turn, shifting as Alucard loosens his grip and they’re both lying on their sides in the leaves and dirt. He wants to laugh, cry, wants to club Alucard over the head, to never let go. There it is, the usual snark biting at his tongue; but now his tongue’s coated with Alucard’s taste and a grunted ‘fuck you,’ doesn’t have the same appeal it once did. It makes absolutely no sense.

Like everything else so far. Even that, even the fact that despite their own trials and the setbacks on their way, they're together and are trying, all of them, brings a twisted form of comfort that is wrung into hope against his will. Trevor doesn't fight it. He meets Alucard’s golden eyes, finding an uncertain smile, a silent apology in his gaze. Feels those long, gloved fingers on him; feels better. “Yeah,” he says. “But it worked.” He blinks, frowning. “Right?”

Alucard grins, toothy and sharp, another potent reminder of what they’re getting themselves into.

Trevor sighs. He doesn’t let go. Can’t.

God.Damnit.

AN:

The follow up to this oneshot is my post-season 2 #trephacard story:

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

#trevorcard #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard castlevania #castlevania fic #trevor x alucard #ruiniel:fanfiction #castlevania netflix #castlevania #adrian tepes #alucard fanfiction

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honeyhenry · 3 years

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Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours”

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement.

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.”

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him.

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit.

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-”

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie @michelehansel @la-cey @palaiasaurus64 @sassy-pelican @brandycranby

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#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #dad!syverson #dad!sy #cavillary #my writing #syverson x reader

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

18 obikin!! Amnesia fics are super fun 🍆

18. One of them wakes up with amnesia (Option A because two people sent in this prompt number and I liked both ideas I saw for it enough to not want to pick) this involves an Obi-Wan that got deaged as well as lost his memories so he's Phantom Menace Obi-Wan. no i will not be explaining. hand wavey drabble fic writing.

The man has not stopped staring, but something in his intense gaze makes Obi-Wan feel safe. Almost. Well. On edge, yes, but. Protected. He has the strange feeling that he’d rather be under this man’s stare than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.

But he knows he’s never seen this man before in his life, the same way that he knows he’s twenty-five and that Qui-Gon Jinn is his Master, that he’s a Jedi knight-in-training, that he hates teas with mint leaves in them, that he’ll never say no to a drink with Quinlan, that--well.

He supposes none of that stuff could be true anymore. Vokra Che, who’s a grown and certified healer master now, had told him what had happened. An older version of himself had touched something he wasn’t supposed to. The closest translation they could find to the runes on the object was that it would transform the user back to their most balanced state. Obi-Wan’s had, apparently, been at the age of twenty-five. He hadn’t recognized the name Anakin Skywalker. He had never been to Naboo.

He throws the rest of his drink back and waves to the bartender to pour him another. He’d gone straight here from the Halls of Healing. He’d had a shadow the entire way, but the man has yet to try to talk to him at all. It’s infuriating.

His Padawan braid swings into his field of vision for a second. He tosses it over his shoulder. He’d been told. Qui-Gon had died. Obi-Wan wants to not think about it at all.

There’s a brush of a Force presence that’s both familiar and completely foreign next to him. The man has finally moved to his side. Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks at his continued reticence, the way he’s observing him but not talking to him. It just simply won’t do, but Obi-Wan isn’t feeling his kindest. He doesn’t want whatever this man is offering him with his silent, dour stares and his suffocating Force signature that keeps trying to tangle itself with Obi-Wan’s own. It’s rude is what it is.

He waves down the bartender and orders a drink for the man. “If you got mint, put it in,” he tells the woman who raises an eyebrow but shrugs, one pair of her arms busy with the drink. When she gives it to him he slides it to the man next to him without even looking at him.

“What--” the man asks. “I don’t--”

“You do tonight,” Obi-Wan says bracingly, throwing back half of his own drink. “We’ve both just lost our Masters, haven’t we?”

The man beside him flinches as if Obi-Wan had skewered him with his lightsaber.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan lolls his head to the side to look at the man threw half-closed eyes. “My padawan.”

“Anakin,” the man says so quietly it’s almost lost to the noise of the bar. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, yeah.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink reflexively, humming in disbelief. “You don’t look like it,” he says consideringly. At Anakin’s confused look, he elaborates. “You don’t look like you could have ever been a Padawan.”

The man pulls himself up, face darkening at the perceived slight. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but now that he has, Obi-Wan finds he has no interest in fighting this man. Quite the opposite, really. That’s...something. He can’t tell if that emotion comes from him now or the older version of him.

Either way, Obi-Wan has no desire to stand in the way of whatever storm this Anakin is building up in his head, so he turns to face him completely and pushes both hands into his blond hair, raking down the scalp gently before collecting the strands into a poor imitation of the Padawan ponytail. “That’s better, I suppose. The hair threw me off.” He lets go slowly, making sure to tug at one of the strands at the last second.

Anakin has a very strange look on his face, but he’s definitely not angry anymore. He’s even shielding much more tightly now. Obi-Wan smirks into his glass as he takes a sip. He definitely remembers that trick.

“Do you know who cut it?” he asks, catching sight of the end of his braid again. The drinks are going to his head much more quickly than he had intended. Must be all the trauma his body has gone through in the past few days. “My braid.”

“I.” Anakin stutters, caught off guard. “You did.”

Obi-Wan feels like laughing but also a bit like crying. There’s a terrifying emotion rearing its head in his chest. It threatens to swallow him whole. “Well, I suppose I never liked to stand on ceremony.”

“You cut your braid in the fresher and then called me in and braided mine,” Anakin says distantly, as if caught up in the memory. “You wouldn’t let me hold it. I thought you were so mean. But I understood at my Knighting Ceremony. It was a part of me in my hand, a...starmap of all the places I’d been and the things I’d learned during my training. And there was only one person I wanted to give it to in the whole galaxy.”

“Did you?” He asks, taking a sip to hide how important the question is, how devastating the answer could be.

“Well. Yeah. But I guess I don’t know if you kept it,” Anakin cuts his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and runs his fingers up the long stem of his drink.

Obi-Wan chokes on a laugh. “He definitely did.”

The other man’s face settles into a frown. “You don’t know that. You’re not him.”

“I’m enough of him. I’ve got--some feelings. In my head. Impressions.”

“Of me?”

“Of how he felt about you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and then narrow with a sudden intensity that makes Obi-Wan want to shiver. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. His hold on the delicate glass in his hand becomes dangerously tight as he leans forward into Obi-Wan’s space, as if he can’t get close enough to him.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asks almost breathlessly. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to figure out if he’s being seduced or not. It’s sort of working. It’s all that focus, directly on him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if that’s how the night ended. But sleeping with his former padawan who he can’t remember right now doesn’t seem like the best decision he could make.

But Anakin had liked it when Obi-Wan tugged at his hair. He’d arched closer to him. And now, the distance between them has been eaten away until they’re almost pressed chest to shoulder.

“Safe,” he decides to say, even though the word feels too small. “Sad,” which is mostly true but also an oversimplification. It’s a sort of nostalgia mixed with sadness, mixed with acceptance and resignation. “Warm,” because even after being denied entry to Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin’s force presence has curled around Obi-Wan’s like some sort of krayt dragon, content to wait and guard and treasure. He leans forward, just until his mouth brushes against the skin of Anakin’s ear. “Coveted.”

Anakin definitely shifts at that, and when Obi-Wan pulls back enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide.

Swallowing a grin, Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his drink in one go. “Drink up,” he tells Anakin in his most demanding tone, reaching into his pockets to pull out his older self’s credits to settle the tab. “I want to go.”

Anakin obeys immediately, making a face at the taste.

They’re out in the street within a few minutes, Anakin smacking his lips as if still trying to rid himself of the flavor. “I just don’t know why you had to order me that,” he complains, falling into step on Obi-Wan’s right.

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the very unsanitary wall of the building, spreading his legs wide enough so that Anakin can come in between them. The man doesn’t seem to notice anything different, just steps a bit closer as a crowd of loud party-goers makes their way past them.

“I wanted to see if I liked mint,” Obi-Wan shrugs, raising his hand to rest on the skin of Anakin’s neck. He can feel the way his pulse is beating incredibly fast.

“Why would my drink help you with--”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He commends his older self for being able to teach this idiot anything, even though he seems to have skipped over important lessons like Recognizing When You’re Being Flirted With.

Before Anakin can finish the thought, Obi-Wan twists his other hand in Anakin’s robes and pulls him forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “May I kiss you?” he asks because it’s only polite to.

Anakin’s eyes widen and then fall shut as he gives a little nod, finally stepping forward until their bodies are pressed completely together.

At least someone, although he doubts it was the older Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to kiss. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his boots as Anakin takes control of the action, moving his hands so one’s pressing against the wall behind them and one’s running up his scalp. Obi-Wan takes his time licking into Anakin’s mouth, allowing Anakin to explore him in return. One of them moans, which seems like as good a time as any to break the kiss.

“Well?” Anakin pants, diving in to place a short kiss onto Obi-Wan’s lips. “What do you think?”

The short answer is that Obi-Wan isn’t. He noses back towards Anakin’s mouth hopefully, sliding his hand down from his neck to rest on his hip.

��About mint,” Anakin elaborates when Obi-Wan doesn’t respond immediately.

“Inconclusive. Need more data,” Obi-Wan tries to kiss him but Anakin’s smiling too hard.

“Then next time you can get the awful drink, and you can get me the Alderaan Sunset,” Anakin is complaining, but he’s laughing too and that’s nice. Obi-Wan thinks that making Anakin Skywalker laugh is one of the best feelings in the galaxy, and he thinks his older self would agree, if the warmth sparking up in his very soul means anything at all.

#asks #my fics #writing #tarantasina #i'm sure eventually they get obi-wan back to normal and he's just sooooo embarrassed that he got drunk and decided to seduce anakin #but like it worked out #anakin makes fun of him too until obi-wan remembers that he kissed back #prompt fill

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myelocin · 3 years

Text

the kind that blooms | iwaizumi h.

Synopsis: Hajime thinks of how fragile the moment that love brings can be.

Genre: fluff, domestic | WC: 1500+

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime

A/N: this is a commissioned piece from @hvnlydmn :D

eyes in the sun - florist | jewel - adam melchor

commissions

Iwaizumi Hajime counts the amount of times he thinks about the way he loves you in just one car ride to and from the farmer’s market on a Saturday and loses count within minute seventeen.

It’s nice, he thinks. The roads aren’t too busy, plus the nine AM sun that doesn’t burn on his skin feels good. You’re sat in the passenger seat, nursing a cup of something that eases you awake on weekends, and the way your head lolls to the side every time sleep tries to pull you back is a familiar sight to him.

He thinks to himself that he loves you, smiling in the silence, and drives.

Red lights, yellow, then green. Back to red, a turn here, and drive up the road there. His palm flat against the wheel, foot on the clutch, the other either on the brakes or the gas. Hajime likes the feel of routine. He lives not having to think through every movement, to the point of over analyzing the situation deep enough to cease being present in it.

Moments such as this.

Saturdays and you. Your blue, blue, sky blue eyes that completes the palette of the earth to his forest green and emerald irises. The light of the sun at nine in the morning, just soft enough to have him slumped in his seat with his hand in the wheel, thinking that sometimes control truly can flow as easy as this.

The light push of the brakes where the pressure is more than familiar to him, and just the slight turn he makes that feels next to second nature against his palm. By now, Hajime already slows down nearing the speed bumps before he even sees them ahead, only chuckling softly when you’d jostle awake and look around the streets only to sleep again for a couple minutes more.

And he’s in love with you, he thinks again.

You’re the face sketched next to the word love, the photo in his wallet, and the presence that centers him within the swirling mess that’s bound to come with the world. It’s the nine AMs on a routine like Saturday that suddenly has him praising his thanks to every God in the books—even though he never was one for religion in the first place.

At the last turn before the parking lot comes into view, the car jostles you awake. Then you blink at him, slow, just barely squinting at the light that streams in through the car window. Hajime hums his good morning before you even tell him you’re awake, and with one hand, reaches over the center console to squeeze your thigh hello.

You grin. His palm is just the right kind of warm that you’ve always liked, and the volume of his voice when he hums his words instead of sounding them out just enough to remind you how routine feels like this. It’s the sentimentality of the mundane that becomes redefined. Saturdays and nine AMs, painted in the shades of the fruit stalls you pass by hand in hand at the farmer’s market. The aunties that sell you fruit, always winking at the two of you when you’d walk past, and the uncles that always clapped Hajime on the back, telling him he’d found a good one.

He’d smile every time too.

(Because he loves you, he thinks.)

He doesn’t exactly say much, not take much of an initiative to break the silence. Instead, he takes the keys out of the ignition, unbuckles his seatbelt, and sits back. The silence that comes after the click remains with the intention to settle, but it feels nice.

The silence feels nice.

It’s loud outside, a fact that he’s sure of as he catches sight of the aunties unloading cartons of produce from the back of their trucks into their stalls. He sees an uncle from across the makeshift street right around the corner call over to what he thinks is wife, because even if she rolls her eyes at whatever he said, the way he smiles when he turns is a familiar one to him.

“You’ve been smiling a lot,” as a comment Oikawa has told him one too many times by now, but he supposes there’s more than just observation to that. The smile he carries is the manifestation of the love that’s shared. Love, like the inside jokes that he knows still has you snorting in laughter even though they’re a couple years old now.

Rehearsed words where he memorizes the context by heart; an I love you, every day; “I’m home,” then a “welcome home,” as a response from another room in the apartment that’s yours and his. Your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom sink, and a bottle of shampoo whose brand he can remember without having to text you for confirmation when he’s running errands.

So he smiles some more; within the silence in his car, while you sit beside him, still trying to squint through the bits of sunlight that remains.

His eyes catch yours on the rear view mirror of the car and he grins his teasing good morning at the sight of you blinking away the last few remnants of your sleep.

You mumble your hello, voice quiet, and just like that things click into place. The smile on his face remains, and the sounds of the world moving about outside dull in comparison to your voice. There’s a tranquility that’s long settled ever since he found his space in the world with you, and this is it.

This, as your eyes against the sun. The color of the skies and of life, all caught in a single reflection painted in your eyes. The nature of love, of how fragile it truly is made known to him through just a slow blink of your eyes as you sit up, unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to him.

You’re smiling and the word forever is what rings in his mind.

Hajime thinks of the home he knows he can always return to, and the sheets on the bed that neither of you decided to make this morning before you left. The slippers you left by the door are probably flipped over, but it’s home. Love like recognizing the fragility of the moment and falling in love with it. Your wordless exchange of conversation; his hand on your thigh, you offering him a sip of the drink he can just tell has gone cold by now, and the chuckle exchanged that lightens the atmosphere even more.

“I think,” Hajime starts, mirth in his voice as he turns to you afterwards. “I think that Oikawa’s got a good point about some stuff.”

You hum, leaning back against the seat again and following his eyes that trail to the old couple by the stall passing boxes, exchanging words. “About?”

Hajime chuckles again, crossing his arms over his chest. “I remember before we met he was the one telling me that if I got along with him so much then I would loooove you.”

You snicker in response, recalling how Oikawa used exaggerate how alike the both of you are. “And he has a point,” you nod, leaning over to poke Hajime on the cheek.

His shoulders relax, the weight that comes with the world suddenly gone, because in the moment Hajime allows himself to just stay here. The couple across the parking lot is smiling now, and he realizes to himself that when you’re in love, you truly do bloom.

Like the red in his cheeks, and the glimmer of your eyes. The glow of the sun as it rises in the morning then sets at night. The ring that sits on your finger now, and the tenderness that the moment cradles the two lovers in.

“That fucker was right,” Hajime laughs, his voice booming in the little space of your car. The stillness of the moment remains, because as fragile as love is, the kind that you share is unbreakable.

The memory from last night is quick to replay in your head:

Sunsets and wearing his shirt that’s a few too sizes too big. Your arms around his neck, pulling him close, and both of your feet bare against the wooden floor as you sway—to a song unsung, and unheard, but the moment is still so much yours. A call from a mother telling a child to come home a few streets over, and the ice cream truck’s bells ringing as it rounds the corner. You listened to the slow inhale and exhale of Hajime’s steady breaths as he kept his eyes on you and thought that the sounds of your mumbling was melody enough.

Then, a break in the pattern, in the routine, as Hajime turned to you and whispered a quiet “will you marry me?” that still rings in your ear up until now.

In the present Hajime turns to you again, and remembers that the rest of your lifetime and his was now rewritten into a story as if it’s made for one.

“You’re not gonna regret agreeing to marry me are you?” you hear him laugh.

You shrug, cocking your head to the side and lifting your finger with the ring that reminds him of your forever yes.

“You’re never getting rid of me,” you laugh, leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek.

He’s warm, he thinks. Warm like your lips on his cheek, and his heart that does somersaults in his chest. The sunshine and the light it brings; cast on your eyes, your ring, and on the dashboard of his car.

So he thinks about how he loves you, again.

(And again and again and again and again.)

for a love that’s meant to linger.

#nc.commissions #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime scenarios #iwaizumi hajime imagines #iwaizumi hajime fluff #haikyuu commissions #iwaizumi fluff #iwaizumi x reader

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irons-enough · 3 years

Text

June 1881 (Teenage Arthur Morgan)

A short little ficlet inspired by this amazing photo edit by @foundynnel which made me obsessed with the idea of cocky bastard teenage Arthur. Maybe I’ll expand on this one day (Red Dead YA novel, anyone?) but it was fun to write!

Rating: G Tags: Language, teeny bit of blood

Wyoming Territory - June 1881

Arthur Morgan spat blood into the dirt. His eyes were bright with adrenaline and, just beneath the surface, an unbridled fury. His split lip curled into an arrogant smile as he raised his fists again. "That all you got?"

His opponent cycled between shock and rage that Arthur had not gone down in one hit. but it was the look in his eyes--the insufferable, cocky stare of a seventeen-year-old drifter with a six-shooter and a foul attitude--that made him swing wide to slam his fist into the little son of a bitch's face. Arthur was ready; waiting, in fact. He raised his arm to bar the swing and with his other hand punched upward into the man's jaw. He heard the crack of bone at the same time the break reverberated through his fist, and the man fell as suddenly and heavily as he had fallen asleep, groaning helplessly as he cradled his broken jaw.

Arthur shook out his hand, swiped the blood from his lower lip. He smirked in satisfaction at the stunned silence of the onlookers. He made a show of dusting off his shirt and casually picking up his hat from where it lay in the road. “Gentlemen,” he said in farewell, with a polite nod to the assembled crowd.

________________________________________

"Arthur. What the fuck?"

Arthur smirked at Dutch's greeting as he arrived at their campsite, tried and failed to look innocent. "Well, hey to you, too."

"You wanna explain why the entire goddamn town is talkin' about some cocky hotshot kid layin' out the local stable hand?"

"Really? They are?" Arthur exclaimed, his eyes brightening. Dutch whacked him upside the head. "Ow!"

"Tell me, son, when Hosea and I say 'Don't do anything stupid', what exactly is it that you hear?" Dutch demanded.

Arthur rubbed the back of his head. "Not much, I guess."

"Oh, that's evident." Dutch's dark eyes narrowed at Arthur's defiant expression. "You listenin’' to me?"

"Sure, just not your goddamn sarcasm," Arthur spat.

"You got some attitude, you--" He bit back the curse that was just shy of forming on his lips. "Susan!" he yelled. "Deal with him. I'm not his goddamn father; not my job to deal with his bullshit."

"Oh, and so now it’s mine?!" Susan's voice fell like a hatchet even from a distance. Arthur leaned his head on his fist to hide his grin as Susan and Dutch argued over whose problem he was this time.

Hosea knocked his fist into Arthur’s shoulder, beckoning. “Come on, Arthur.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed as he hauled himself to his feet, as though it was a major inconvenience. He followed Hosea over to the front of the abandoned cabin at their campsite, a decrepit old building with a half-collapsed roof. Hosea struck a match against his boot heel and lit a cigarette as he leaned against the side of the cottage.

“Can I get one?” said Arthur.

“No.”

“C’mon, Hosea...” “Shut up. Get over here.”

Arthur slumped against the wall beside Hosea. He took his pistol from its holster and toyed with it: spinning it around his fingers as he drew, looking down the sights as he pointed it at the dirt. Hosea snatched it from him deftly. “What the hell?” Arthur exclaimed.

“Arthur, you wanna live to see twenty?” said Hosea.

“Who cares?” Arthur’s head lolled so that his hat hid his eyes.

“I care. And you should care.” Hosea’s voice was even now, but still severe. “You’re still a goddamn kid, you don’t know anything yet. Suffice it to say if you’re stupid enough to get yourself killed before twenty, you’re better off dead. And that’s not you, Arthur.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Arthur mumbled.

“Me and Dutch have things in the works to get us a score. And if you’re gonna be a goddamn idiot and draw attention to yourself, that’ll be the last time you’re involved in anything we do.”

“It weren’t even so bad,” Arthur complained. “How’m I supposed to know you got plans when you never tell me a goddamn thing? Why be a goddamn criminal if you can’t do what you want? Ain’t no point.”

“The point is to live through it, Arthur. Money’s no good to you if you’re dead. Now when we need to lie low, keep our noses clean, it’s because we got something big in the works, and we can’t risk the plans while we’re still layin’ tracks. You know that. You’re a hell of a lot of things son, but a complete fool ain’t one of ‘em.” Hosea dropped his cigarette and ground it out into the dirt. “Not one of us acts alone, boy. Part of runnin’ together means sacrificing your own selfish desires for the good of the group.”

“I know that,” Arthur grumbled.

“Well, it’s high time you acted like it.” Hosea flipped Arthur’s pistol out of his hand with a flourish, catching it by the barrel. He held out the grip toward Arthur. “Stay here a while,” he said. “Somethin’ tells me I need to talk down Dutch and Susan.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Hosea was already walking away. “I don’t quite care, son. Sit here and do nothing. Be still for once in your life.”

Arthur scowled and sighed, kicked up dust with his boot. For all the stealing and shooting Dutch and Hosea wanted him to do, they sure knew how to treat him like a goddamn idiot sometimes. Maybe the day would come when he could boss them around.

He looked in the direction of the setting sun, toward California where they had come from. There was always new country to explore, new people to rob, more money to be made, more sunsets to see. Every time Arthur leveled his gun at a man and made him act, or freeze, or die--it started a whole new adventure. Some were good. Some were great. Others he wished he could forget, and there were still more that had left him with scars and foul memories that endured well beyond what they should. For the past five years, Arthur Morgan had lived for sunsets like this one, and he couldn’t wait for a lifetime more.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfiction #teenage arthur morgan #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #susan grimshaw #arthur is pretty insufferable ngl

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Drowning is amazing! Please continue!!!

Thank you! I am glad that you like it!

And I wrote it. It's a late post though, sorry.

Drowning Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@shydragonrider

Warnings: feverish whumpee, drugged whumpee, head trauma mention, pneumonia, pills (antibiotics), exhaustion, betrayal, talk of medical settings, mentions of attempted murder, anxiety, thoughts of anticipated retribution, nightmares

Hero scrambled to her feet, nervousness eating at her stomach. There was Villain, standing six feet tall and raging with anger, in her doorway. Not only did he look like he just went on a killing frenzy, he had a knife.

A knife and a true intent to kill.

"Villain," Hero cautioned, approaching the tall man. He glared, snarling down at Hero.

"I know you have him, Hero," he said, not even acknowledging Hero's quiet plea to step down. "Now, where is he before I bomb the place."

Hero noted that he still had a hospital gown on. His right forearm had blood dripping down it- the remnants of where he had ripped the IV out. The side of his head was still stitched up and hued in a deep royal purple shade. His damaged right eye was swollen, but not nearly as bruised as his temple.

"Where is he!" Villain hollered again and rushed at Hero. He stumbled a little bit and swayed as if a dense feeling of nausea washed over him- and considering the state of the villain's head, she wouldn't be surprised if he was indeed nauseous.

"He isn't here," Hero lied, but it was obvious that she didn't mean it.

"I know you took him home with you," Villain clenched his jaw, the bruise pulsating. "Why else wouldn't you visit me earlier?"

"Villain, I did visit you earlier," Hero tried to reason. "Remember?"

"No, no, no," Villain shook his head. "Only doctors and needles and fogginess and..." His voice trailed off ad his gaze darkened. "Not you."

"I'm sorry," Hero apologized, grabbing the villain's hands. She felt the knife loosening, but Villain didn't let go. Both breathed deeply, trying to calm themselves. Hero couldn't afford to get protective- if that was the correct word- and if Villain blew up again, by golly she would be.

But, the villain was obviously on another page. He suddenly punched Hero in the stomach, jabbed her jaw with the hilt, and lumbered into the house.

Hero doubled over, panting for breath as she tried to reorientate herself. After a good minute of puffing out breaths, she followed Villain.

She found him slamming his hip into her bedroom room. Instinctively, Hero lept on top of him, pulling him back. Thoughts rushed through her head. She had no means of restraints other than a pair of handcuffs in the bathroom cabinet- don't ask. She didn't even have a good enough room to lock such an explosive person in.

She had to take the handcuff route and somehow lead the maniac into the bathroom. Linking her arms around Villain's armpits, she attempted to drag the thrashing man down the hall, but, half-drugged and injured or not, he was still much taller and much bigger. He dug his heels deep into the hardwood floor and grit his teeth. He was going to kill Supervillain if it was the last thing he would do, and nothing, not even someone like Hero would stop him.

He yanked himself out of Hero's grasp and face planted into a wall, knocking down a sunset painting that Hero herself did. He weakly tried to use his arms to push himself back up, but they trembled and collapsed under his weight.

Hero returned her arms back to the position that caused Villain so much strife and dragged him. The villain had clearly exhausted himself to the point of compliance, so it really was an effortless task. She brought him to the bathroom, leaned his now lolling head against the baby blue wall and grabbed her horribly placed handcuffs. Putting them on deftly, she crouched down next to Villain.

"You are supposed to be in the hospital, you know," she lightly scolded him.

"I know," came the reply, so timid that Hero couldn't even correspond the rabid wolf that entered her den with the completely subdued fawn resting in her bathroom. His eyes were closing, too weary to stay open.

"Let's go get some sleep," Hero offered and pulled Villain to his shaky feet. But as she led him to the door, she noticed that he would not be able to make it to the living room without collapsing, so she scooped him up. Now that he was just hanging there limply, it was easy- there wasn't a fight, just complete and utter trust to allow the other to care for the wounded and exhausted one.

Once Villain was settled upon the couch, sleeping soundly, Hero went back upstairs to check on Supervillain. Unlocking the door with the key that worked for every lock, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

Hero scrunched up her nose. After spending sometime in fresh, lavender scented air, the revolting scent of sickness and sweat was like a trash can that had to be taken out to the curb.

But nonetheless, she walked over to the unconscious supervillain. His face was even paler, signifying that his fever spiked again, and he was shivering profoundly. She tossed another blanket over him and performed the hourly task of slipping the thermometer under his tongue. It beeped and like everytime, it revealed a nerve-wracking temperature.

Hero ran her hand through the grimey hair with a sigh and knelt down next to him. He was getting worse. Heck, he hardly looked like he was breathing, yet the consistent rise and collapse of his chest proved otherwise. Silent whimpers slipped through barely parted lips, a little trail of saliva streamed over parched lips. Eyes were closed, but barely. Hero could see distressed pupils shifting about as placid facial expressions contorted into ones of utter misery and pain.

"Hey," Hero whispered, grabbing his boiling hand. It didn't nothing to stop the unconscious torture Supervillain was enduring. His breaths sped up and he started to outwardly gasp, but never awoke.

"Supervillain?" Hero's voice was risen in pitch. "Hey, now. Wake up for me." She shook him, tapped repeatedly at his flushed cheeks, but nothing seemed to work.

Until he bolted up screaming.

No. Screaming was not the correct word for the desperate screech that tore itself away from Supervillain's face. It filled every crevice of the room- possibly even the house- with the haggard voice of terror. It made Hero cringe, her tired body jumping backwards. After the screaming festival was over with, Supervillain resumed a crying sound. Sobs turned into coughs as the sick man dealt with both illness from the pneumonia and whatever fear drove him into such a defensive fright.

Hero wrapped her arm around Supervillain, lethargically seating herself next to him. He turned his body over and pressed his face into Hero's side, relishing in the warming comfort it brought with a contented sigh. Soon after, he fell back asleep, mouth parting to draw in more precious oxygen.

Hero leaned against the pillow, allowing her ward to sleep cuddled up to her. Her own eyelids drooped, reminding her of the dire need to sleep. She contemplated sleeping next to the supervillain, but once Villain awoke it would be a catastrophe. Yet, the instinctual pull towards the awaiting slumber was too hard to resist. Hero scooted down into a more comfortable position, pulled Supervillain onto her chest and fell asleep next to him.

It was sometime before she felt something move beside her. Hero blearily opened her eyes- still heavy with left over sleep- to find Supervillain awake, still hugging her, but staring at something by the foot of the bed. At first Hero brushed it off as another feverish hallucination, but then she saw a shadow move.

Her eyes opening all the way, Hero's head darted to where her other unplanned guest was leisurely standing, using his knife to pick at his nails. Didn't she remove that toy from him?

"What did I say?" Villain asked, pressing his palms into the bedrail. "I say: you are housing Supervillain. No, she replies, blushing the entire time. And then what do I find? The criminal mastermind himself sleeping over the little princess with the tiara. Figures." Villain rolled his eyes, or his eye because the other was still sealed shut by the purple tarp that obscured the machine of sight from the world.

"I-i couldn't just leave him."

"He tried to kill you."

Supervillain whimpered, cowering deeper into bed as Villain's blantant mention of the past triggered his anxiety. Hero would surely get back at him once he was healed. She was just waiting so that she could redo the damage already done to his lungs. Make him suffer the agony he was experiencing. Supervillain let out a quiet sob and squeezed his eyes shut.

As complex as these thoughts seemed, the thinking of them only took a moment because soon, Hero was replying to Villain's accusation.

"And you tried to kill him," she retorted. "Twice. I stopped you both times."

"And knocked me out and hospitalized me in the process. Hero, we are the victims here. Not him," Villain shot a pointed glare at the scared supervillain with a sneer.

"You gave him pneumonia! He can die!"

"Okay, okay. One, I could've died from head trauma. Two, if he was going to die, take him to a freaking hospital. And three, you helped push him into the tank. Remember that."

The memory swarmed Hero like bees- the reminder of her own grave mistake making her feel a rush of guilt.

"I shouldn't have done that and I can't take him to the hospital or he will be arrested."

"I could've been arrested."

"Not everything's about you!"

Villain was silent, chewing at his bottom lip. "This isn't a decision of intellect, darling, housing him does not justify yours or mine or his actions. Not to mention how much you are going regret this," he pointed out, flinging the knife in his hands carefully.

"Why would I regret this. I am-"

"The Hero Agnecy dear. Did you think that your little medic friend thought it was normal for you to call my injuries in? Or are you that naive?"

Hero was silent, stunned into utter silence, but Villain's words. Medic never came. She never came to help Hero, but that didn't mean that she reported Hero's possible betrayal of the agency. It didn't mean...

She never came.

And Hero brought Villain to the hospital. That was all the proof needed for the Agency to put her on a watchlist.

"You need to go back!" Hero suddenly exclaimed, jostling Supervillain who was just about to doze off again.

"To where? The mangy excuse for a hospital?" Villain snorted. "Heck no." He chuckled. "They will put me back under with restraints this time. The chances of escape will go from 95.6% to zero in a matter of seconds. Its suicidal, not to mention probably stupid beyond reason."

"They are gonna think I busted you out..." Hero's voice trailed off when she saw Villain raise his eyebrow mockingly.

"Not everything is about you," he mimicked in perfect representation of Hero's prior exclamation that could've once been described as an arguement's winning statement.

"Shut up."

Suddenly, Supervillain started hacking, but this time around not only mucus left his lungs, but blood in the color of the deepest crimson.

"Hmm," Villain stayed silent for moment, brow ceasing. Hero thought she could literally see the gears clicking and turning in his head.

"You could be right," Villain agreed. "Going back would be beneficial. Especially for me." He grinned wickedly.

"How?"

"Well... Supervillain needs medicine and care, antibiotics to kick this pneumonia," Villain started to pace. "I could go back and gather some. Tell the docs that I escaped on my own... but for a price."

Hero got a sense of Rumpelstiltskin's classic, "all the magic comes with a price" speech with the twirl of his scaly pointer finger, from the series Once Upon a Time.

"Name it."

"All of my criminal charges are dropped, meaning I get to leave that hospital when I deem ready. Not when the stupid heroes decide that I am redeemed enough."

Well, uh, that... Hero shook her head. She never thought of it, but antibiotics were needed to make Supervillain better. She had to go through with it.

"Second," Villain counted off with his fingers as he threw sarcastically intended smirks. "I get a new motorcycle. Your boyfriend trashed it."

"He's not-" Hero stopped when she saw Villain raise an eyebrow.

"Shush, honey. Lemme talk," He drawled. "I will bring you the antibiotics if you swear you will heed my requests."

All sense of caution and foreboding were lost as Hero rummaged her thoughts over the promise. Supervillain's health for two simple things. It was easy enough.

"Deal," she said, nearly involuntary, but that wasn't entirely accurate because she indeed wanted this.

Villain smirk, running his tongue over his lips as he bounded over to shake Hero's hand. The second the two's flesh met meant that the deal was struck. Hero couldn't back away, nor could Villain.

Hero was in the kitchen tenderly feeding Supervillain some soup and prompting him to drink some gatorade when Villain returned triumphantly with a large red bottle.

"Sweet!" Hero exclaimed and grabbed the much needed tuberware. She opened it and admired the pills inside.

"One twice a day," Villain instructed, sitting down in the empty chair next to Hero. His eyes glinted with excited anticipation, narrowing slightly at the edges at the way Hero regarded the antibiotics.

She then took one and opened Supervillain's jaw. He didn't even attempt to resist and compliantly allowed her to maneuver his mouth around. Even though swallowing the hefty pill was an ordeal in itself, he managed.

Hero, seemingly satisfied, picked him up and carried him to the living room to nap on the couch. Villain followed behind her, shooting glances at his phone every few seconds.

Hero propped him against her shoulder and flicked on the television. A comedy show was on. Supervillain glanced up at it before digging his head into Hero's shoulders, completely disinterested.

Supervillain was asleep, Hero was resting with a relaxed look of tranquility on her face, and Villain was draped across an armchair completely absorbed in his phone and periodically looking out the window when the door made a knocking noise.

Hero tensed, and looked at Villain who had stood up.

"Wait here," he said, but there was no ounce of anticipation in his voice. Hero furrowed her forehead. There was even a hint of buoyancy in his typical monotone voice. Even though he usually spoke in a sarcastic air, he always seemed to drawl.

But this was different. Abnormal. Eerie. And a bit- if not very- concerning.

Hero stood up, leaning Supervillain against the armrest and pressed her ear to the recently shut door.

It was Villain who was speaking, that monotone that would stand out anywhere.

"I have them," he said. "I have them both."

Hero's heart dropped when she heard the click of guns.

#supervillain whumpee #hero caretaker #feverish whumpee #feverish villain #hero x supervillain #writing #heros and villains #pneumonia #drugged whumpee #drugged villain #fever #tw nightmares

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Note

"you're in no condition to be walking around" + ThanZag

Mermaid AU!!!! Thought it was time to roll this one out, I’m just super feeling mournful Thanatos on a break from his hectic city job post nervous breakdown, out in an isolated cottage by the sea, falling in love with a mermaid Zagreus he’s been secret friends with since they were kids.

and some Angst

Please leave a comment on Ao3 if you like this!

------------------

Three days wasn’t late.

Thanatos told himself that every morning and evening, when he would pull on the largest and thickest of the sweaters his mother had knitted for him, shove his bare feet into boots and take a tin mug of coffee out onto the little jetty to wait for Zagreus. He told himself that every hour as the waves rolled in and out without so much as a ripple or a flash of a scaled tail like fire in the water. He told himself every time he had to trudge back to his lopsided cottage on the fringe of the pebbled shoreline, cold and probably soaked to the bone, to start work or to sink into fitful dreams, still with that question weighing him down inside like a ballast stone.

But three days wasn’t late. He’d been gone for longer stretches than this. His people ranged far, travelled long distances for forage and food or on sheer curiosity. Hadn’t Zagreus shown him fossils he’d rescued from deep coves or necklaces ancient with tarnish he’d scavenged from shipwrecks older than both of them, hadn’t he been widening his friend’s eyes with stories of underwater volcanoes and tropical waters warm as blood and dodging ice floes in arctic waters, since the two of them were children? Three days was nothing. Three days wasn’t late.

So why weren’t the words any comfort?

Because every other time, he told you when he was going away, Than catalogued his reasons for anxiety miserably, sitting on the end of the jetty in a misty drizzle with his eyes fixed out to sea. Because even if he was going ranging, he’d swim back at twice the speed to come and see you. He sipped his now cold coffee and tasted rainwater. Because the storms have been bad recently. He bleakly noted that it was an hour past sunset, their usual meeting time, and he should probably be going inside. Because you have a really bad feeling you just can’t shake.

Thanatos pushed a hand through his silver hair, feeling the raindrops caught in it melt and run down the inside of his wrist. He was beyond exhausted, it was a fog in his mind, but something kept him pinned to the edge of the rickety little pier, swinging his legs like he used to when he was a child. Maybe if he acted like he did back then, Zagreus would just appear with that same, bright grin on his face, as unexpected and magical as the first time.

Eventually the ache in his joints grew impossible to ignore and the damp in the seat of his jeans reached an unbearable level of discomfort. Than swallowed his disappointment and upturned the dregs of his coffee into the sea, wincing as he hauled himself back onto his feet, carefully so he didn’t slip on the slick, half rotted wood and end up tumbling into the slate grey water. He sent one last, longing look out across the waves, straining for a flash of black hair or scales like flame. When there was none, he sighed and turned back to his cottage, a smudge of shadow through the hazy rainfall.

Four days wasn’t late.

The wind was starting to pick up, promising another storm close on the heels of the one that had just broken the day before. It’s low, threatening murmur was almost loud enough that he didn’t hear the wild, desperate cry of his name. Almost.

He whirled and saw it, out where the waves were starting to roll and surge, a good few yards out from the end of the jetty. In between the rising peaks of the water, only visible when they fell away, a pale, shaking form, waving desperately. And, visible even from here, a mouth tight with pain and a pair of mismatched eyes large with panic.

Thanatos barely paused to think. Only to remember the many lessons his mother had drilled into him and his siblings when they would visit in the summer and to realise that the heavy wool jumper and the clunky boots should be pulled off and left behind. Once that was done, he was running, slipping into a smooth dive as he launched himself off the end of the jetty.

As soon as he hit the water, all of his senses went dead for a moment, only to flood back with screaming alarms of panic and pain that threatened to pull him under. But at the last moment he managed to enter that strange, eerie headspace of total calm he could summon when things seemed most dire. He sunk himself into the rhythm of his strokes, the pull of his muscles, the swell of the water around him, the burn as his head broke the surface and he dragged in as much air as he could before plunging ahead.

Thanatos had always been the strongest swimmer of his brothers and a childhood spent trying to keep up with Zagreus had only sharpened those skills. The water was a bitter, sullen force around him, wanting to draw him everywhere but where he needed to go, angry at his intrusion. But Than managed to be stronger, closing the distance between himself and his friend as quickly as he could.

Zag’s mouth was open and faint, frantic words were coming out but Than didn’t waste time listening.

“Go limp!” he called over the crash of the waves around him, slipping his arm around Zag’s chest, tipping him back so he could drag him along.

He heard an unmistakable yelp of pain from his friend and felt a wetness on his side far warmer than seawater but Zag did as he’d asked and towing him back to the shoreline was surprisingly easy, now the shock of the cold was over, now that he could feel Zag’s terrified heartbeat against his arm. Now that Thanatos could feel how much his friend needed him, it was a simple task.

The last part was mostly an ungainly dragging and hauling act as Than laid Zag down as far out of the surf as he could stand to carry his weight. Against the stones and silt and sand, he could see how deathly pale his friend was, how sharply the blood stood out against his skin from the tear in his side. It was like the colours of his tail were running in the water, leeching up

“Zagreus…” he panted, teeth starting to chatter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zag choked out, his voice a faint echo in his throat.

Than cursed, forcing his burning muscles to keep moving, sliding his arms under Zag and managing to lift him. He wasn’t as heavy as he might have been, built lithe and sleek for a life of swimming, and he wasn’t slimy the way a younger Thanatos assumed fish would feel. But neither was he warm, the way he was supposed to be, and he had the heaviness of someone truly exhausted.

“Just stay with me,” Than ground out, carrying him the last of the cold, windy way to the cottage, “You can be as late as you bloody well please if you just keep talking...do you have enough to change?”

Zag tensed in his arms, grimacing before going limp and shaking his head, “Sorry…”

“Don’t you dare,” Than didn’t even stop, shouldering the door to his home open and just carrying him straight up the stairs to the bathroom, “Just talk. Tell me how it happened.”

Zag swallowed hard and turned his face to Than’s shoulder, clearly trying to bear the pain from the jolt of the steps, “I...I wanted to visit but the storms...and then we heard word of hunters coming into our territory…”

“Hunters?” Than frowned, kicking down the door to the poky little bathroom, “You’ve not mentioned hunters?”

“Half fishermen, half pirates,” Zag’s grip on Than’s shoulders was like iron as he laid him down in the tub, voice tense and tight, “They want our scales. Jewellery and stuff. Or else put us on display in shows. It’s death or captivity if they catch you and we heard they were in our waters. That they already had some of my people.”

Than murmured soothingly as he tried to get him comfortable, wrenching the tight, temperamental old faucets into life so water could pour down onto him, keeping him going until he could summon the strength to shift.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, “You went on a rescue mission. By yourself.”

“Not by myself,” Zag muttered sullenly, as Than moved his arm so he could properly see the gash in his side, “Father’s guards were right behind me. I just got there first.”

Than nodded, unsurprised, studying the wound. It wasn’t clean, the edges were ragged and it was deep. He’d need to stitch it shut, he realised. He could, of course, anyone in his line of work knew basic medical things like that, he’d just need to steady his hands first.

“And did you get them back? Your people?”

“I did,” Zag’s face twisted into a triumphant kind of grimace, “Just got a harpoon in the side for my trouble.”

“A harpoon? Blood and darkness, Zagreus…”

“Sent me right over the side of their damned boat,” he hissed as some of Than’s cleaning came too close, “Storm was up by then, I lost sight of everyone else and...and…”

Than looked up, curious, “Zag?”

“And I ended up with you,” his friend’s voice was faint, his eyes more distant, “I guess the currents just took me where I wanted to go.”

Than’s hands stilled, everything seeming to pause for a moment apart from the rushing of the water from the taps and Zag’s laboured breathing. But the moment passed and he set it to one side, focusing on that calm, the stillness that allowed him to do what needed to be done.

“Well...you’re here now,” he murmured soothingly, “And you’re staying here for the foreseeable. You’re in no condition to be walking around.”

Zag gave a thin laugh, flapping his red gold fins weakly, “You’re telling me.”

“I was more thinking of your oversized new gill,” Than rolled his eyes, “I’ll stitch you up, bandage it and you can shift. Then you’re sleeping for a very, very long time.”

“Aye aye,” Zag murmured, head lolling back against the rim of the tub, “Thanks, Than...and I am sorry I was late. I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Than exhaled softly, reaching over and brushing sodden hair back from his forehead. Already he was starting to warm, in from the cold and the wind. Warm and safe and sound.

“Not too long.”

#thanzag #mermaid au #injury mention #blood mention #please comment and reblog!

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officialscaramouche · 3 years

Text

Companions

pairing: Chongyun x Xingqiu

summary: As playful, oddly suspicious, and teasing big Xingqiu was, the duo leave with some pretty good intel. With the end in sight, little Xingqiu feels a sudden disconnect with his traveling partner and begins to worry about going back to his time period.

warnings: none

word count: 4,106

also posted on ao3!

Ch. 4 of 5 < prev | next >

Xingqiu crossed his legs, leaning back against the tree. The bark dug into his back too uncomfortably but he knew that if he sat up again, it would tug at the delicate silk fibers and he didn’t want to ruin it any more than he already had. He admired the sunset before him as it flowed into the edge of the plains across the river. This was nice, he admitted, eyeing the area they had come from and began to understand a little bit about why he chose this secluded area to reside in later in life.

He observed the river closely, watching the current pull gently along, leaves drifting unbothered in the slight breeze. Lolling his head to the side lazily, he watched Chongyun drop small stumps of wood onto the ground. He stripped himself of his long, linen vest, his arms stretching either way to shrug the material off. Then, he rolled up his sleeves to air off his arms that procured a bit of sweat from cutting the small trees, his moisture-wicking sleeves clinging tightly to his muscle. And one by one, Chongyun placed a small log onto the large rocks there and brought down his blade with harsh force, splitting the wood in two. The longer he did this, the more tired he became. Soon he was panting heavily and sweating more than before. He tugged his sleeves off, exposing the skin finally, and wiped his forehead with the cloth.

Xingqiu was in a trance. Watching the exorcist chopping wood over and over again had him hypnotized. It wasn’t until the pole in his hands flew off his lap and down the river that he came back to Teyvat. “A-Ah!” Xingqiu dashed after it, feeling the bark pull apart the silk threads once more. “The pole!”

Chongyun, sitting on the rock now catching his breath, groaned when he saw the young boy chasing after the fishing rod knowing that he had to get it himself. He gets up reluctantly and begins a light jog that quickly becomes a sprint, swiping the rod from the river and pulling it back to at least try to catch the fish. He tugs it back firmly, reeling it in when the line tightens. He’s wrestling the fish as it tries desperately to swim away with it’s free meal but Chongyun is just as desperate to catch it after Xingqiu let every other fish go. “X-Xingqiu!”

The boy perks up and looks at Chongyun for orders. “Y-Yes! How can I--”

“Get the knife! I’ve almost got it!”

Xingqiu grimaced. “You want me to touch--”

“Quickly!!”

The scholar whines a little, stomping his feet in disgust. “Oh..fine!”

The boy kneels by the edge of the water, watching with disgust at the water thrashing about. Behind him, Chongyun plants his feet firmly on the ground, turning to the side and, with the last of his strength in a final attempt to get some food, he swings his arms down with a guttural shout, sending the fish flying into the air. It flies right over Xingqiu’s head and onto the ground, flopping in the dirt and grass. Chongyun tumbles to the ground, exhausted from the sudden burst of energy. Xingqiu stood there, holding the small pocket knife with both hands and staring at the fish. “Will you stun it already?” Chongyun breathes, his chest heaving.

Xingqiu shuts his eyes tightly, and slams the blunt end of his knife into the fish’s head. When he feels the fish still in his hand, he falls back and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I killed a fish…”

“Yeah and you’ve eaten plenty of em. Hurry up, give me the knife so I can clean it.” Chongyun crawls over to the boy and grabs the knife from his limp hand before crawling over to the fish and taking it to the rock. Xingqiu lifted his head slightly to watch Chongyun cut the head off the fish and slice it in half along the bottom. He stares intently at his back, admiring his broad shoulders for the first time since they left his estate. Oh, Xingqiu quit it, he thinks, laying his head back down. He rolls over and slowly picks himself up, dusting off his now ruined outfit.

He watches on, again, now filled with a tinge of sadness. After being on such a wonderful adventure-- his first adventure-- Xingqiu had briefly forgotten that he didn’t belong here. The Chongyun in front of him was not his Chongyun. This Chongyun was a seasoned exorcist. This Chongyun had lost his innocence a long time ago. This Chongyun does not look at him the way he looked at him. And most importantly, this Chongyun belonged to a different him. It was painfully obvious how loyal he was to his Xingqiu. His expressions when he talks about him are softer and kinder. His words are carefully selected and intentional. But when he talks to this Xingqiu, he’s terribly sarcastic and irritable.

Xingqiu missed his Chongyun. He missed the puppy-like devotion and the few words spoken. He missed being looked at like a treasure and being touched like a paper thin vase. His Chongyun was always so gentle and tender with him. His Chongyun appeared anywhere he wanted him to and at any time. His heart ached at the idea of not seeing Chongyun again, perhaps the same way that this Chongyun ached for his Xingqiu.

The boy watched as the older man ran bamboo sticks through the flesh of the fish, each puncture meticulous and careful. He placed them on his linen vest that he discarded moments ago to prevent the fish from getting dirty and opened a rolled-up pouch that had little vials neatly stored inside. Taking only a specific few, he dusted the fish skewers with what was inside the vials and the smell wafted over to Xingqiu. He recognized the smell of salt, pepper, dried onions, parsley, and mint. These were the spices Xingqiu liked in his fish. The boy shakes his head slightly and sighs with a small smile on his face. Maybe this Chongyun wasn’t very different from his at all.

It was quiet with the exception for the croaking frogs, the rippling river, and the fire cracking. The stars twinkled particularly brighter this far out from the city. Xingqiu had never seen the sky so plentiful and bright before. He stared up at the sky, resting his head on his arms beneath him. As he was getting lost in the stars, a bouquet of fish skewers wrapped in a leaf popped into view. Xingqiu sat up and took the skewers, noting the absence of any more on the fire. “You’re not gonna eat any?” Xingqiu took a bite out of the chunks of fish on his skewer and watched as Chongyun crushed different dried herbs between two rocks.

“No,” he answered, twisting the stone to grind the flowers into a fine powder. “I need three of them to give to the you hun ye gui. There’s only two left.”

Xingqiu blew gently on the steaming fish. “Yeah, two. One for me and one for you.”

Chongyun funneled the powder into an empty vial with a leaf and continued with other herbs. “Two would hardly be enough for you. It’s fine, I don’t eat much. I’m okay with fruits and nuts.”

Xingqiu peered at the exorcist through his lashes and pursed his bottom lip into a pout. “Is it because I’m a ‘growing boy?’”

“No, it’s because you’re a glutton.” Chongyun held the half-full vial up to look at it.

“What are you doing?” Xingqiu scooted over to the other side of the campfire, cradling the other skewer in his arm.

Chongyun gathered the next dried herb onto the center of the rock and began grinding it beneath another rock. “Making incense.”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a mouth full of fish. “What else did I say we needed?”

Chongyun paused and sighed. “...Guidance talismans.”

“Oh right...and you can’t make any?”

Chongyun chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I don’t even know how to.” The man turned to face Xingqiu. “See, the difference between guidance talismans and, say, a sealing talisman is that it moves. It’s easy to make a talisman that doesn’t need to make its own decisions-- especially since I have no clue as to what this demon wants. But if you need a good one that stays still, I’m your man. The only person in my family that could make guidance talismans was my great aunt…”

Xingqiu tossed his bamboo skewer into the fire and eyed the last one. “I’m assuming she didn’t leave any notes, huh?”

“No…” Chongyun placed his elbow on his thigh, resting his chin in his hand. “The steps can’t be any different, though...right?” Xingqiu shrugged. He didn’t read a lot of exorcist, Taoist, or talisman books. He always kind of assumed that Chongyun knew everything. Chongyun leans back onto the ground, laying in his hands. “Well you should go to sleep. We’re gonna set off bright and early.”

Xingqiu felt that wave of sadness wash over him again as he looked on at Chongyun laying down and gazing at the stars. In the beginning, he felt like his journey would never end but now that they knew how to quell the demon, he wasn’t all too sure about what would happen for him next. Over these past days, almost week, he had grown attached and used to this older Chongyun. He found himself accustomed to sleeping in the dirt rather than a freshly made bed. And he found a bit of joy from traversing over the spanse of Liyue. But the most pressing question was whether or not he was going back home.

When Xingqiu woke up, Chongyun was sitting criss-crossed with his hands on either knee, his forefinger and thumb touching delicately as his palms faced the sun. He was incredibly still. Xingqiu had never seen Chongyun meditate as he wasn’t very good at it. He was always too restless and often found himself bored and seeking enrichment elsewhere. But Chongyun was a master exorcist now. Xingqiu wasn’t sure why he imagined that Chongyun couldn’t meditate now, and perhaps he did this often while he slept, able to rest peacefully while also keeping watch of their camp. And he knew Chongyun was aware of the area surrounding them, because when Xingqiu opened his eyes, he was greeted almost immediately with a grumbly “good morning.”

“Ah, good morning,” he croaked, his voice laced with sleep. “Did you sleep?”

“I haven’t slept this whole trip. Not like you, anyways.” He was right, he had been meditating all this time. “Are you ready?”

Xingqiu smoothed down his bedhead and combed his fingers through the knots. “Can I at least rinse out my mouth?”

Chongyun stood up, twisting left and right to crack his back. “Fine, but be quick.” Xingqiu hurried to the river to swish water around in his mouth, remembering his lingering thoughts from last night. If he could return to the beginning of this adventure, he probably would once more. But he was also very anxious to return home to a bustling harbor.

When the scholar returned, Chongyun wrapped something neatly into a thick leaf, tying it closed with strong fibers into a little box. Xingqiu’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the exorcist and he extended the box over to the boy. “What’s this?”

Chongyun chewed something and spit it onto the ground, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Mint. I use it to freshen up when I’m out on a journey.” Xingqiu untied the fibers and inside were crushed up mint leaves. The refreshing smell wafted out of the box and Xingqiu smiled, putting his nose to the rim. “You can do this,” Chongyun swiped a finger through the mint and Xingqiu watched as he rubbed his teeth and gums with the mint. “Then you can chew it until the taste is all gone.”

Xingqiu mirrored his best friend, swiping a finger through the mint to gather a bit and rubbed his teeth, cheeks, and gums before chewing it. “Thank you for sharing your mint,” he sings, handing the box back to Chongyun.

“No, that’s yours. I picked the mint this morning while you were sleeping. Keep it.”

Xingqiu looked at the box in his hand and blushed, tying the box closed to save the mint. “Thank you,” he said with a toothy grin. “So where are we headed now?” The boy asked, seeing Chongyun straighten out his linen robe and setting off. “Closer to the harbor.” Chongyun turned around and extended a hand for Xingqiu to grab, helping him up and over a big step. “The you hun ye gui stays in that area. I’m assuming it used to live here when the harbor was still being built.”

“I don’t know,” Xingqiu hummed, recalling one of their earlier nights together. “You said it only sought out exorcists and others similar. Didn’t exorcists only grow popular a couple of generations before you?”

Chongyun ran his hands through his hair, pulling his fringe out of his face. “Exorcists have always been around. It just didn’t become a large career until a few generations ago.”

“So I’m guessing that guidance talismans weren’t often made way back when either, huh? Since it’s hardly in production right now.”

“No, they were made more in the early years of Liyue. People were still very close with their archons and were often granted ‘favors,’ if you will.”

“Like what? What do you mean?”

“Exorcists weren’t a thing until Rex Lapis shared his power with my ancestors. Mortals were not to interact with the dead, but you can consider Rex Lapis as the escort to the other life.” Xingqiu closed his eyes as he thought, listening to Chongyun’s history lesson very carefully. “Now, the archons’ powers are watered down into these little pendants we call visions. We get a bit of their elemental prowess, but none of their omnipotence. I’d eat a million chilis right now if it meant Rex Lapis would reincarnate and give me but a pinch of his power.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that about visions! But why don’t we have geo visions?”

“We were recognized by other archons, that’s all. Anyways, we’re here so get comfortable.”

Chongyun dropped to a grassy spot underneath shade and crossed his legs once more. “What’s the plan?” Xingqiu sat atop his knees and placed his palms delicately in his lap.

“This whole trip, I’ve been meditating to try and communicate with my great aunt...but so far nothing has worked,” Chongyun said, without opening his eyes and with only moving his lips. “Hopefully I’ll be blessed by Rex Lapis’ spirit and he’ll give me wisdom.”

Xingqiu clapped his hands together in excitement. “You can speak with Morax when you meditate?!”

“I’m being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” Xingqiu sat back down and enjoyed the moment in silence for a bit. He studied Chongyun’s perfectly straight posture, the entirety of his body as still as stone, and his breathing so small that his chest was not visibly rising. “Is there anything I can do in the meantime? “Yeah, see if that book says anything more.” Chongyun opened his eyes suddenly and slouched a little, relaxing his hands. “Shit, I should’ve asked Xingqiu for the enochian decoder. Oh well.” Just like that, he resumed his straight posture and closed his eyes again.

Xingqiu pursed his lips and quirked an eyebrow. “Hmmm.” He laid the book flat on the ground, flipping through the pages and scanning the text for any recognizable words. Only few and far between words were revealed, but none of it helped to translate. ‘Demonic hatred coursed through the fingers wrapped around my throat. This is where I die, without answers, in the hands of my beloved.’ He revisited the early translations to try and find similarities in other words.

He looked back to Chongyun who sat motionless. He looked peaceful-- the most unbothered he’d looked this whole trip. Chongyun had grown into a capable young man who can take care of himself all alone. And he, too, became a successful individual doing what he loved. It was clear to himself, though, that he may not have gathered the courage to do certain things but he was still as constant in Chongyun’s life as much as he could. He remembered the somber look on his face when Chongyun explained to him that they’d both become busy. And when he got sick, Xingqiu was hardly around to help him get better. The boy sighed, telling himself that he needs to do better. He looked back to the book and clapped his hands on his cheeks. They were going to be here for a while, he might as well be productive.

‘The privilege to be bored was something I took for granted. I had realized that I had done not a single thing, not been helpful with the exception for entertainment. Which, in hindsight, I believe is what kept us together for so long. I am intolerable and loathsome, but my dearest sees through me and the facade and brings me along anyhow. Quiet moments like these will forever warm my heart in memories. We are not sharing a single activity, yet we are bonded by the coexistence. The rays of the sun stunk like poorly washed laundry and our hair clumped together from the bodily oils but it is fun to reminisce and I enjoy being sullied every now and then.’

“Ugh!” Xingqiu threw his brush as far as he could across the plain in frustration. “This has nothing to do about the demon! Stupid book!” Xingqiu crossed his arms in anger and huffs to the air. He jumps a little, afraid that he had been too loud and slowly turned to peek at Chongyun. He continued to sit there as lifeless as a rock. The shade he was in had now moved as the sun positioned itself differently in the sky and his cheeks began to flush a bit red. The stray strands of hair stuck to his face from the sweat, but he still looked as cool and collected as ever. But Xingqiu had an idea.

“Hey, Chongyun!”

The exorcist was shaken awake. He opened one eye to see what the matter was. “Yes?”

Xingqiu pushed something into his lap. Chongyun closed his eyes. “Can you freeze this for me?”

Chongyun, in a desperate attempt to get back to undisturbed meditating, grabbed the round object and coursed ice through it. He held it out for Xingqiu to grab.

“Thanks!” Chongyun could hear the young boy shuffling around. The sound of water being sloshed around hinted that he used his vision. Then, the boy came running back. “Here!”

Chongyun huffed in frustration, irritated by the harsh sun. “Please, I’m trying to--”

The exorcist opened his eyes to an amateur wooden carving of a bowl filled with a messy, dirty looking bowl of frozen water. Inside, he could see little blades of grass and granules of dirt but also recognized the petals of the qingxin flower. “I don’t have popsicle sticks, but I still remembered how to make it!”

Chongyun took the bowl in tired, shaking hands and stared into it in shock. “You made this for me? Where did you get the flowers?”

Xingqiu pointed to a small hill behind him. “I climbed up there! I got a little dirty, but that’s fine. Taste it! Is it good?”

“You climbed up there?!” Chongyun shot a finger in the direction of the mountain, his brows turned down in anger. “That’s dangerous!” Xingqiu didn’t know how to respond. Chongyun had never yelled at him before. Maybe raised his voice, but never yelled. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’m burning up.”

Xingqiu sat next to the exorcist. “Then eat up!”

Chongyun eyed the contaminated water in the bowl in his hands and shrugged. He held a hand out to the scholar. “Can I borrow your short knife?” Xingqiu slipped it out from the inside of his boot and Chongyun hacked at the ice deliberately, cutting out a small piece and popped it in his mouth. He sucked on the ice for a bit before it started to melt and gulped down the ice. It didn’t take long for the medicinal properties in the flower began to take effect. Chongyun continued to tear pieces out of the bowl, popping them in one by one each time with more vigor. Once the bowl was empty, Chongyun got to his feet with newfound energy, his sweat nearly gone. “That was so good, Xingqiu! Thank you!”

Xingqiu stood too, and tugged at Chongyun’s sleeve. “Before you go back to meditating, I want you to look at what I’ve done these past few hours!” The boy leads him to where his book lay and pulls out a paper from underneath it. “I haven’t got much, but I managed to decode some of the script.”

Chongyun looks at the messily written notes. There were enochian scripts next to legible characters and various drawings of symbols. “These,” Chongyun references, pointing to the drawn symbols. “Are the designs for the talisman. You did all this?

Xingqiu grins, holding his hands behind his back. “Yeah! And look, I got some of this translated. I didn’t care to check the beginning yet because we’re nearly done, so we only need the ending, right? But none of this seems relevant to the demon and what we’re doing.”

Chongyun reads the translated text and looks at Xingqiu who stood on his tippy toes to see the book. “Can I?” He asks, lifting the book and paper.

“Well, sure.”

Chongyun leads the two of them to a shaded area and he sits against the side of the mountain, flipping the decoded notes over to the blank side. His eyes shift from the book to the paper, making notes as he reads. They sat there until the sky had darkened and the book was no longer legible. “You were right,” he says with a smile. “This is a diary!”

Xingqiu snaps awake and throws himself over the book. “How do you know?”

“The writer continually refers to himself in first person. And these last two chapters are all written from his perspective. He’s travelling with his significant other and he’s talking about the you hun ye gui. The style of writing though…”

“Hey! Kind of like us!” Xingqiu grabbed the paper and read what Chongyun translated.

“Anyways, what I translated gave me an idea. Can you fill this bowl again and also draw me another talisman, but bigger this time?”

“Sure!”

Xingqiu pulled his finger out of his mouth and held it in the air. “The wind stopped, finally.”

Chongyun organized the fish on a large leaf and picked up the incense on the floor. “Good, maybe this time it will stay lit.”

The moon was high in the sky and the world was oddly quiet. At least to Xingqiu. They weren’t close to the harbor, but usually the liveliness could be heard from out here. He looked back to the moon and felt his stomach flip. He missed home. “How do you think I’m gonna get home?”

Chongyun struck flint, causing sparks. He stopped to look up at Xingqiu, who stood above his kneeling form. “I don’t know, I’ve never dealt with time travel before.” He looked down to continue striking the flint. “You’re probably the first.”

“Do you think I’m stuck here? Forever?”

The incense lit and Chongyun stuffed the flint into his pocket. He threw an arm around Xingqiu’s neck and they walked back towards the mountainside to hide behind some shrubs. “Well...if you’re here in the future, doesn’t that mean that you do? I mean, we grew up together. If you didn’t then you’d probably have disappeared by now. Or I might have even lost my memories of you.”

“Maybe another Xingqiu took my place!”

Chongyun laughed and ruffled his hair. “I think I’d be able to recognize a fraud, fanboy!” Chongyun paused and blushed. “But, in all seriousness, I did have fun on this trip.” Xingqiu looked at him quizzically. “And...seeing you as a kid again...I should’ve told you how much you meant to me more. I really did-- and still do-- enjoy hanging out with you. So thank you for being my friend.”

Xingqiu felt his heart beat a little harder. It was relieving to finally know that his strong feelings weren’t unrequited. But he might have to work on expressing his feelings just the same.

#companions #chongxiu #xingyun #writing

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

goodbye to the clearest eyes

pair: kim namjoon/park jimin | minjoon, rating: G

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33675553

dropping a minjoon fic here as well (because why not)! :>

Namjoon glances at his phone for the seventeenth time that night, the digital clock blinking back 23:14 at him, and his screen flashing low battery warning since the 20 percent mark. He waits again for ten more minutes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the muted sound of the club on the street across and the passing honks of ubers. A ping stirs him up.

Disappointed but not surprised. He knows he set himself up for this.

“Joon hi. Hope you thought better - like before. I actually got a ride. Lucky huh. So anyway, please don’t mind my earlier texts. See you later.” Ironically, his phone thinks it’s the most opportune time to shut down, zero percent, no more warning. He softly thumps his head on the steering wheel, but his fingers are tightly gripping around it.

“I should stop this.” This is the same sentence he repeats for every conquest Jin conjures up every Friday of the week. He sighs, enraged but tired, and he starts the ignition.

Then his passenger side opens and comes in an angel.

“Excuse me?”

It’s Namjoon’s first expression. Blonde hair, lopsided smile that reaches his eyes, plump and pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and fair skin. He waves to his friends goodbye and reaches for the seatbelt.

He misses it and he chuckles. He tries again and almost gets it. Again, another hearty chuckle.

“You’re hammered,” Namjoon says. “But this is not an uber.”

The blonde man fits the seatbelt in successfully in his third try. He looks up at Namjoon, and he is disarmed by bright hazelnut irises which disappear in a wide smile. “Look I managed to wear my seatbelt.” His fingers, dainty fingers, meet each other to give himself a small, silent clap.

Namjoon’s heart is thumping. What is this is a new modus of a local gang? Using an angel-faced to lure innocents into their deaths? He clears his throat and tries to capture the blonde’s attention. “I would appreciate it if you get out of my car right now.”

Yeah, especially since I just got my license at 30 years old. Because Jin had his car towed.

The blonde is heaving and Namjoon knows what comes next. He opens the windows and gets ready to give him a paper bag stashed in his glove compartment. It’s actually reserved for Jin, waiting for its purpose for several weeks now, but at least a single piece gets to see the light for tonight.

The passenger waves away his offer of a vomit bag. He just lets his head loll on the side, eyes shut, smile still plastered on his cherubic face. Namjoon rakes his raven locks with his hand, and he decides then to fuck it. He’s in the neighborhood, he has an available car. He will do one kind deed today and bring this angel safely to his home.

But yeah fuck me too because my phone’s basically on coma and I’m geographically challenged. No choice then. “Hey you, I’m sorry but I don’t have the maps on. I can’t drive you.”

The blonde tries to sit up straight with his eyes still closed. “Can you first drive around? I don’t want to go home yet.”

This is a red flag, Namjoon knows. Far too many dreadful things have been happening nowadays and everyone is hardly to be trusted even when they have the most beautiful countenance he has ever seen. But he had too many losses this year, too many times he held out chances for someone who won’t return them back, too many hopes for beginnings but he got indefinite endings instead. Yeah, fuck it.

“Can you move away from the window so I can close it?” Namjoon asks.

“Can you leave my side open? I want to feel the cold air against my face,” the man replies. Now that Namjoon’s looking at him intently, he notices he must be in his early 20s, not more than 25 probably.

He stuffs the paper bag on his passenger’s dainty fingers (which thankfully he holds onto because dry cleaning would be a bitch) and drives towards the road he frequents when he gets stood up.

“It’s kinda cold.” His blonde locks are swaying with the wind.

Namjoon chuckles and checks his monitor. “Well it’s the transition between fall and winter. Do you want me to close it now?”

“No, not really. I love the cold. It makes my cheeks redder. It makes me aware of the blood in my body.”

“I like this season too although I’m not a fan of snowing. I’d rather walk than drive a car when it’s winter.” Namjoon steals a glance. “Looks like you really enjoyed tonight. Flushed and rosy cheeks are also good signs of life. Would you believe it’s a criteria males would look for in females they want for marriage and reproduction? Of course, this was back when patriarchy was still 100 percent practiced.”

Namjoon takes a right turn amid the dense canopy of hickory trees and into the tunnel. Now would be the most advantageous time for his passenger to kill him.

“Yes, I enjoyed tonight,” the blonde remarks. His hazelnut eyes are now open and trained on the road. “My friends and colleagues organized a farewell party.”

“Changing jobs?” Namjoon breathes slowly, waiting for the blonde to pull out a gun or knife.

“Nope, not really. I’m going away.”

Nothing comes for Namjoon’s life, and he feels the bubble of laughter in his throat. “Another city or abroad?”

His hazelnut eyes roll to the ceiling, and he ponders for a whole minute. “Yeah, abroad. That’s what I told them.”

The tunnel is empty, but Namjoon keeps a safe driving speed on the rightmost lane. Occasionally, a sports car would speed past them, the tires screeching with the echoes. He wonders if he should keep up the conversation, but gauging the other person’s responses, it seems like they don’t mind. “Oh that must be fun. I also went abroad after university, straight to Belgium. It felt freeing that time, but I realized just recently that I was probably running away.”

There he goes again, spilling his guts to a stranger at midnight in the middle of a tunnel. Namjoon’s mind now wonders if this blonde isn’t afraid of him. He’s bigger than this passenger, more muscular, and definitely taller. He can easily subdue him and drop him in the ocean.

“It’s somewhere I have to go to,” he replies. “I’ve never been to Belgium. Chocolates must be good there.”

“The roads are very bike friendly, if you’re curious.” Namjoon remembers the awe when he first set foot in Brussels. No annoying car honks, no bulky vehicles on the streets. Just people biking, in tune with nature, giving way to each other, the tiny bells ringing.

“Ah I also never learned how to bike. How disappointing.”

“It’s a nice skill to have, keeps you active, and obviously it decreases your carbon footprint.”

His passenger laughs like it’s a trill of a nightingale. “You have such a weird thought process!”

Namjoon’s voice wavers, part embarrassed, part socially anxious. He’s never good in dealing with extroverts. “Is it bad?”

The blonde shakes his head. “I’m saying it’s unique. Anyway, I won’t worry much about my carbon footprint.”

Namjoon clucks his tongue against his mouth. “You must be a mindful consumer.”

“Hmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I am?” His little pinky finger rests on the side of his lip. “But it gives me comfort that I’m alleviating Mother Earth’s illness somehow.”

They leave the tunnel and the smell of salt air arrests both of their senses. Namjoon opens the window on his side as well and breathes in the ocean. He normally frequents this area during sunsets, a few minutes when twilight sets in before it finally transitions to the night sky. His existence hovers in between those changes, all beautiful and all passing. It dawns on him that he took a plunge when he decided to drive here at this time. “Do you mind some music?”

“No, go ahead!”

Namjoon opens his radio, and the first notes of 400 Lux drifts from the speakers. The blonde lets an arm out on touches the air on the skin of his fingers. Namjoon notices this and mirrors him. The ocean greets them after a few seconds, quiet in its vastness despite the rhythmic buoy of the waves and the sound they make when they crash against the sandy shore.

“I’d like to visit many more places,” his companion continues. “Like Jeju Island. My grandmother plants the sweetest tangerines, and my ex-boyfriend would often come help out during harvest season. But I broke up with him just recently and cut off all ties.”

“Sorry about the ex-boyfriend,” Namjoon interjects. “He must be missing the tangerines a lot.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing he’ll be missing. By the time he’d miss me, he must have moved on already.”

The road comes a bit closer to the waters, and the wind drifts over some of the sea spray to them as the waves break against the side of the cliffs. “And here you are, sounding like you already miss him.”

“I won’t deny it.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I found that it’s healthy to acknowledge your feelings than keep them all repressed so I’m honoring our bond by honoring the grief.”

“Sounds like good advice.” The guilt creeps up on Namjoon, but he ignores this for a moment. Maybe he can take this bit, store it, and use it in the future. It’s good advice anyway.

“I also want to visit Disneyland. I’ve never been to one. Couldn’t afford it. But I hate roller coasters and pirate ships, anything that has to do with heights. Although, if given the chance, I would try all of them at once even if I vomit after.”

“The lines are freakishly long.”

“How much do you think would it cost if I rent the whole place for a day?”

Namjoon laughs. “Pretty sure it would have at least six zeroes.”

“Oh I thought it would have seven.” They both break into guffaws. After a few seconds, the blonde continues his musing. “I would also love to visit my parents and see them again every day.”

“Can’t you do it now?”

The man stretched his arms in front of him and wiggles in his chair. “I’ll actually drop by tomorrow, spend some time before I truly go.”

Namjoon slowly turns on a blind curve, weighing the last sentence in his mind. “I moved out when I was 18 into the university dorms, and then I got my own apartment after graduation. Most of us go through that linear phase, don’t you think – growing out of our childhood homes and leaving the ‘youth’ behind.”

“You don’t even look like 30 yet.”

“I’m flattered. And you don’t look like you’re over 20s.”

“I get that a lot.” The blonde chuckles, not bothering to hide another set of blush on his cheeks. Under the dim light of the moon, Namjoon briefly notices the redness in his ears.

“But wouldn’t it be nice to come back to it, to that safe bubble when life becomes too overwhelming?” Somehow, Namjoon also feels a hot flush on his skin despite the icy air that has set in their atmosphere.

“We both know there’s no bubble anymore when we go back.”

“I guess it will take you a long time to come back.”

The passenger nods, his hazelnut eyes leaving the road to focus on the ocean. “A very, very, very long time. I may not see them again after I go.”

He must be moving for good, Namjoon thinks. Or he’s cutting off ties. Like I did so many years ago.

“Hey, can we stop over for water? I’m thirsty.”

Namjoon spots the 24/7 convenience store on the side of the road. He remembers this is a junction close to a fishing port hence the all-around operations. He parks on the empty lot and waits for the blonde to finish buying his needs. He comes back with four bottles of water and two bowls of already cooked instant ramen. “Would you like to eat by the shore?”

Sure why not in the middle of almost-winter? Namjoon follows him nonetheless, even sitting on the damp sand cross legged with ramen in between his hands. They slurp the noodles in silence punctuated by the crashing waves and occasional noise of the seagulls and the horn of incoming fishing fleets. They do not talk, too engrossed with the hot food and spicy broth.

Finally finished, they combine their garbage in what was supposed to be the passenger’s vomit bag. Namjoon initially walks to the direction of his car, but the passenger decides to walk along the shore for the minute, barefoot, his black leather mules secured in his other hand.

“Would you look at that? It’s finally used,” Namjoon jokingly remarks about the vomit bag.

The blonde chuckles at his lame attempt to lighten the mood. Namjoon finally notices the muted loss in his startlingly beautiful hazelnut eyes, and the layers of sadness covered up by his songbird laughter, but he knows it’s not his place to ask.

“Have you ever thought about death?” The way he asked it was so blunt, so deadpan, so out of the blue, and so far removed from his lively persona that Namjoon interacted with in the vehicle.

It catches him off guard, of course. He never really delved into it, not when he was too busy running away from his feelings for his college best friend, not when he came back and tried to rekindle that friendship and connection again, not when he was too busy wondering if it was already too late.

He was too busy facing the consequences of his life. “In passing, maybe.”

The blonde walks further into the water, the waves reaching to his knees. “What do you think happens after?”

“I personally don’t believe in afterlife or in God or in heaven.” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, aware that his being agnostic would sometimes earn an agitated reaction from people. “It just ends. You become food for the detritus, a fertilizer for the plants.”

“Lessening the carbon footprint?” the blonde brings it up again, and this earns a hearty chuckle from Namjoon.

“We could put it like that. You contribute to nutrient cycling.”

“That’s a nice way of describing rotten flesh being eaten by worms.” He turns towards the expanse of the ocean with his eyes closed and that constant smile that seems to hold him together throughout this night. “I….visualize dying as a new birth, a chance of being someone again, a reincarnation. Even if I live as a butterfly with gray wings, a disowned black cat because of superstition, a whale with an alien frequency, a deer hunted in the open season, I’ll welcome it because it gives me another day, another life. It gives me another chance to feel the cold air on my face, the hot flush on my nose and ears, the water between my toes. Another chance to meet people, another chance to fall in love and break and fall all over again, another chance to live.”

The whole monologue untethers Namjoon. It is as if the sand underneath him started shifting.

The blonde turns his attention on the sky, stars invisible behind the fluffy clouds which signal incoming rain. As he silently watches them move across the space, Namjoon follows the change in his expression, the surrender of the smile, and the explosion of dullness in his irises.

“I have a tumor in my brain. Cancer has progressed too far and too deep to consider chemotherapy. Doctor gave me three months at most.”

Namjoon feels like he needs the vomit bag more. He’s tongue tied and numb all over. He feels cold all over, but he doesn’t know if he should blame the season. All the sounds are drowned by a ringing in his head, and he barely hears the blonde come up to him and tap his shoulder with his smile back again.

“I want to go home now. Thank you for driving me tonight.”

---

Now in the safe enclave of his apartment with a fully charged phone, Namjoon composes a long message intended for Jin, his apologies running all the way back since college. An apology for not responding to his confession, an apology for running away, an apology for coming back and expecting everything is the same.

And an ultimatum of a definite conclusion – whether he can let him in or cut him off from his life – because he has spent a long time living in between.

The breakdown comes after he hits send, choking sobs hitched in his throat. A mourning for a blonde stranger.

---

“Have a taste of this.” A grandmother in her 90s offers a peeled tangerine to Namjoon.

He bites through the piece of fruit and the sweetness hits him in full. He relishes the burst of flavor in his mouth with his eyes closed albeit it’s actually a ruse to keep the flood of tears at bay. You were right, they’re the sweetest tangerines. “I think I’ll order a hundred kilos.”

“That’s too much, my son.” The old woman laughs and playfully slaps him on the arm. “So how did you find your orchard tour a while ago?”

“I can’t help but hear a songbird in the area. Must be coming from the nearby forest.”

“Ah, it started singing last year. Since then, we’ve always had a year-round harvest. He must be my lucky charm.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #minjoon #minimoni #namjoon x jimin

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Clone Trooper Rambles

The clone troopers in my head never stop talking, even when I’m doing something as boring as making my bed. Other parts can be found here.

Fitted Sheets Suck

It was time to wash my sheets. I did it as often as I remembered, but I often forgot in my six hours of free time per week. Anyway, my sheets were freshly washed and dried and I had even managed to get them finished before sunset, so I didn’t have to battle the curtains beside my bed as I put them back on.

A few of the troopers had followed me into my room, curious about the process and the grumbling I was already doing. Rex was closest, leaning against my dresser while Hound sat on the floor with Grizzer sprawled half in his lap. Jesse stood by the closet. Having an audience wasn’t my favorite thing, but I was blasting music, so I figured any sarcastic comments would pass me by.

I threw the fitted sheet over the mattress. Fitted sheets were the actual devil, but at least they came first. All I had to do was get the sheet on and the rest would be easy.

A minute and a half later, I was planted in a half-kneeling position, trying to pull the edge of the mattress up despite the weight of my own knees. It felt a little bit like I imagined alligator wrestling would and I hated it. The corner of the mattress slipped once more from my grip and smacked back down against the slats of my bedframe with a mocking sense of finality.

“Why are you trying to lift it while you’re sitting on it?” Jesse asked eventually. The music didn’t block out his voice at all. Worse, it sounded like a legitimate question. I always had trouble ignoring those.

“Because my arms aren’t long enough to reach the corner if I’m not on the mattress at all,” I told him curtly. I wasn’t in the mood for short jokes, I really wasn’t.

Rex frowned and stepped closer to the bed as he observed the situation. “What if you just moved the bed away from the wall?”

“I can’t lift it by myself and there’s no one else here,” was the simplest answer. Plus, it sounded better than ‘my pride won’t let me do that’.

“You could attach a handle to the mattress,” Hound suggested. “That way, you would have something to hold while you got the sheet in position.”

I had to give him that one. It was an option I had thought up myself in the past, but it also seemed like more trouble than it was really worth. “That would be a good long-term solution, but I just need to put this sheet on. I might try the handle thing later, though.”

Rex shook his head. “This would be so much easier if we could help.”

“Don’t I know it,” I said gloomily. There were so many parts of my day that would be easier if I had a few biologically-enhanced super-soldiers willing to help out. “But I’ll get this eventually.”

It took about two more minutes of wrestling with each corner of the mattress, but the fitted sheet was eventually in place and I took a moment to catch my breath before I continued with the rest of the work.

“You can’t seriously be tired from that,” Rex scoffed from behind me.

“Are you serious? Did you miss how much work that was? Of course I’m tired from it!” I shook my head, oofing a bit as Grizzer leaned up against my leg to offer his bulky brand of comfort. “Anyway, I just need a minute.”

“You need a better workout program,” Rex muttered and I grimaced in his direction.

“If those sheets are that much work, why don’t you move your bed away from the wall and against that one over there?” Hound asked, pointing to a different wall altogether.

“I can’t move it there because it would block the bathroom door,” I explained. With a mild glare in Rex’s direction, I said, “It’s okay, apparently I need the exercise.”

Rex shrugged unrepentantly.

“That’s why I don’t bother with sheets at all,” Jesse announced. “I have a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket. That’s it.”

“Ugh,” I summarized, stuffing my own pillow into its pillowcase.

“I don’t use one of those, either,” he told me, pointing to the pillowcase. “It’s a waste of time.”

“You guys wear helmets almost constantly,” I argued. “You know how badly hair and skin oils can stain surfaces, especially fabric ones. Gross.”

Jesse didn’t look concerned. “It’s my bunk. I’m the only one who sleeps in it. If it’s all oil from me, who cares?”

I fought back an actual gag and Grizzer stared up at me in fascination. “That’s… It’s just- Rex, have you ever considered that you have a psychopath in the 501st? Like… maybe even an actual serial killer?”

“Me?” Jesse asked, splaying a hand over his chest. “I wouldn’t hurt a womp rat.”

Hound made a rude noise before I could. “You must be the only soldier in the GAR who doesn’t keep an estimated droid kill count, then.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t hurt a droid, did I?” Jesse returned, sounding pleased with himself. “Droids aren’t womp rats. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

“Get some sheets,” Rex ordered.

I looked down at Grizzer, sitting patiently by my feet. “If you want to stay here with me, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Grizzer grinned up at me, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as I finished making my bed.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

#Clone Trooper Rambles #star wars the clone wars #captain rex #clone trooper jesse #sergeant hound #grizzer #massiff #arf trooper hound #sheets #clone troopers deserve better #not crazy just creative #more to come

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khazadspoon · 4 years

Text

There is need for more Zonghui content seeing as he is only in Fatal Journey and is a Babe. So here. Have him taking care of feverish Mingjue and having an Emotion about it because I am having an emotion about him too.

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It wasn’t unusual for Sect Leader Nie to be awake at odd hours of the night. Most of the time he could be found meditating or practicing with his saber, concentrating on his skills and their improvement. What was unusual was the quiet. Nie Mingjue sat in silence, no lantern or candle to light the hall he sat in, and not even the whisper of paper being turned to denote what he was doing. It was almost as though he was sleeping.

Zonghui approached him slowly, wary of the man’s temper even when he seemed to be asleep. As he got closer he saw that Nie Mingjue’s robes were loose, a tantalizing glimpse of his chest on show, his hair down and flowing over his shoulders in dark waves, a look of pain on his sharp features.

Carefully, not wanting to startle the man, he approached the daunting seat where Mingjue sat.

“Sect Leader?” He asked quietly, his hand reaching out to touch the man’s arm.

Mingjue opened his eyes slowly and looked at him. “Zonghui..?” He whispered in a low voice. His head lolled to the side, moonlight shining onto his face and Zonghui realised with a shock that he was sweating. He placed a hand on Mingjue’s forehead and winced.

“Sect Leader, you have a fever,” he said calmly, “we need to get you to bed.”

Sect Leader Nie made a low sound in his throat that made Zonghui shiver. “How very forward of you,” Mingjue murmured. But he smiled, a rare expression when directed at someone other than Huaisang, and let Zonghui pull him to his feet.

They walked slowly to Mingjue’s private rooms, Zonghui doing his best to hold the giant of a man up and not be distracted by the soft feeling that rose in his chest at the display of trust. Mingjue did trust him, he knew that. But to have the man let him be so close was something he would remember for the rest of his life.

He watched in quiet wonder as Mingjue let him take the heavy outer robes from his shoulders. When he bent to take off the man’s shoes, he had to repress a gasp as fingers ran through his hair.

“Zonghui,” the man whispered, “what time is it?”

He sat at Mingjue’s feet and looked up at him for a long moment, forgetting the words as soon as they had passed his leader’s lips. When the fingers in his hair shifted, brushed the locks from his forehead, he tried to steady himself. “It is well past sunset, though I’m not sure what time exactly.”

Mingjue hummed and withdrew his hand. He lay back on the bed, hair fanned out around him like some dark aura of night, and looked up at Zonghui with glassy eyes. Zonghui tried to ignore the softness in those eyes. He had seen it before, and had noticed Nie Mingjue’s glances in his direction when they trained or rode out together. It was dangerous to even entertain the notion that his Sect Leader might wish to be closer to him.

And yet…

Nie Mingjue reached out and took his hand, stroked it with one large and calloused thumb. He lifted it and pressed it to his lips, taking the very breath from Zonghui’s lungs with that gentle contact. It sent a shiver down his spine and he wondered if he would be able to forget this for both their sakes.

Then Mingjue was asleep. His face relaxed, features softening as his breath evened, and Zonghui quietly left to find the doctor, his heart wedged firmly in his throat.

#nie mingjue #nie zonghui #mingjue/zonghui #the untamed fatal journey #fatal journey

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arknights-imagines · 4 years

Note

Mostima's reaction to seeing that Bison is also contracted to Rhodes Island. While Doctor deals with Bison who's first day isn't exactly easy either ?

Tysm for the request anon! ✨ I liked the ideo of Bison's first day at Rhodes Island going bad and him being able to relate to the Doctor who didn't exactly have the smoothest start either loll 💞 anyways, let the event imagines begin! I hope I did both Bison and Mostima justice 🌸🥺

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Another Hectic Start

Imagine format; From the perspective of Bison for the most part

Contains: Bison, gender neutral Doctor, Mostima, Bison and Mostima briefly interacting, and Bison and the Doctor meeting eachother for the first time ✨

Word count: just over 2.4k!

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How many rough starts could one person have? There was no possible way it could've been really happening; Bison was dreaming, he was sure. But, losing packages, bumping into people, tripping and falling on air, and getting completely lost didn't seem like things that would be in something as pleasant as a dream. Maybe it would be better described as a nightmare, but unfortunately, Bison was quite conscious.

The Forte had arrived at Rhodes Island early in the morning, bright and ready to put his best foot toward. He had contact with them before, but today was to be the day he began his work under Rhodes Island Pharmaceutical Inc. as per his contract. The opportunity to visit new places always excited him, but he was there for business purposes, so he had to stay focused.

Well, unfortunately, it seemed like the whole world was against him that day. He hadn't even met the person who he had to talk with about his contract yet, but he had already lost the packages he was meant to deliver whilst at Rhodes Island, bumped into multiple workers and staff; including a lab worker who left an uncomfortable stain on his shirt thanks to the beaker they split on him, tripped over his own feet in the middle of the hallway too many times, and gotten completely lost. It really was reminding him all too much of the night he first met Penguin Logistics, and it was too tiring to even think about.

Nevertheless, the Forte pushed on - he still had to find this 'Doctor' so he could discuss his contract. Bison turned another corner, looking this way and that. Looking around for a moment, he stopped before blinking, 'Have I…passed through here already?' There were so many intertwining halls that he wasn't sure where he was anymore. He had read the map of the Infrastructure complex that was near the main entrance, but now the location of the Doctor's office wasn't coming back to him.

'This day can't possibly get more eventful.' Bison had hoped he'd be able to complete his task smoothly, but it always seemed like otherworldly forces were out to mess his plans up.

The Forte wasn't sure what had gotten into him - he was typically good at keeping organized. Was it that the Rhodes Island complex was so big? He was usually decent at navigating around, so that couldn't possibly be it. Or, maybe; was it that all his surroundings were new? In any case, his head felt so fuzzy that he was having trouble thinking.

Bison sighed, tugging at his shirt while trying to ignore how it stuck to his skin thanks to the odd coloured liquid he had gotten split on him. He looked up and down the hall, his eyes stopping on a nearby vending machine. Maybe something to eat would help? Now that he thought about it, the last time he had eaten anything had been hours ago - something to eat wouldn't hurt.

Thankfully he had some change in his pocket, since it looked like the machine only took coins. Deciding on a colourfully wrapped granola bar, the Forte punched the corresponding number into the keypad before slipping his coin through the slot. Bison watched as the machine pushed this snack forward, and he waited for it to fall. Or, well, he was waiting for it to fall, when the machine stopped pushing the snack further, leaving it stuck behind the glass.

"....Huh?" Blinking at the machine, the Forte mumbled to himself out loud. The machine had taken his money, but his snack wasn't falling from its spot. Was the machine just malfunctioning for a second? It wasn't making any noise - his snack was definitely stuck. Bison huffed, hesitantly lifting his arms to shake the machine a little, careful not to break it. Even when he did that, the granola bar didn't budge. In an attempt to free his snack, the Forte then kicked the machine lightly and tried reaching through the little door at the bottom of the machine to grab his snack from inside.

"This…." Just as he was about to resort to punching the glass, a light voice cut through, grabbing his attention. "Ahaha, hey you. Is the machine giving you trouble?"

Bison blinked, turning around to see a familiar horned Sankta; "Ms. Mostima?" It was definitely her, the smile she always wore was easy to recognize. Still, he hadn't been expecting to see her, and by the looks of it, she seemed surprised to see him too.

She smiled at him, stepping toward the machine, "It jams sometimes, so you have to give it a little beating to get your snack." Mostima pulled a coin from one of her pockets, selecting the number for a small bag of colourful candies before feeding the machine her change.

"A little beating?" The Forte piped up, blinking when the machine failed to push her snack over the edge of its shelf too, leaving it stuck just like his still was. Just as he was about to speak up about how someone should definitely fix the machine, Mostima delivered a harsh kick to its side with a small grunt, causing Bison to jump a little.

Mostima smiled at him, looking a little amused at his baffled expression, "That should do it!" Just as she said, the two snacks fell from their shelves thanks to her 'little beating'. She bent over to retrieve their well earned snacks before turning back to Bison, still grinning, "I believe this belongs to you."

The Forte stared at her hand that was offering him his snack before nodding, "...Thank you." Accepting it, he looked back to Mostima, tilting his head to the wide a little, "Ms. Mostima, I wasn't expecting to run into you here."

Mostima chimed with a light laugh, "I'm surprised to see you too! I didn't think we'd see eachother again so soon." She grinned, placing one of her candies in her mouth, "I've got some work to do here, so I come by every now and then. What about you?" Bison paused, taking a second to finish biting his granola bar, "Me? I start my contract today. I'm still looking for the Doctor."

"Contract, huh?" Mostima blinked at him a little, looking him up and down, "Hah, you look a little rough! Did you run into trouble on your way here?" The Forte sighed, for a second he had almost forgotten about how much of a mess his day had become, "You could say that. I'm having some trouble…finding the Doctor."

Mostima hummed, "Did you check their office? Hm, well, come to think of it, they might be in one of the labs or meeting rooms right now." She looked back to Bison, smiling lightly, "They're a busy person, but compared to me, they're not too hard to find."

The Forte nodded, watching as Mostima finished her last candy, "I'm guessing this is where you take your leave?" She blinked at him, before chuckling lightly, "Ehehe, look at that! You're really getting the hang of me, huh?" Mostima stuffed the empty candy bag in her pocket before nodding, turning to look out of one of the large spanning windows nearby, "You're right, though. I've got some business to take care of here, but then I'm off to go elsewhere." Taking a moment, she looked back to Bison with a grin, patting his shoulder in a friendly manner. "I'll be going, then. Maybe now that we're both working here, we'll be seeing each other more often. Good luck on your search for the Doctor! Surely you'll find them soon." With a quick wave, Mostima was already off, disappearing down the hall and around the corner quickly. Quietly bidding her goodbye, the Forte sighed. Eating the last of his snack, he began making his way in the opposite direction.

'Hah, what a day.' It wasn't even sunset yet and he had already been sent on a rollercoaster, it really was odd to run into Mostima; now that he was supposed to begin working at Rhodes Island as well, they'd most definitely be seeing each other more often. That did remind him, however, that he still needed to find the Doctor. What a day, and he hadn't even gotten to his primary task yet.

The Doctor; where did one find the Doctor? Well, their name obviously suggested they'd be found in medical rooms, but their title wasn't exactly the most fitting - Bison knew that much. Still, where would someone like them be? Mostima mentioned an Office and meeting rooms, but he wasn't sure which of the many offices and meeting rooms she was referring to. Even after having his snack, Bison still felt like his energy was drained.

He looked around, there were stairs nearby, they seemed to lead to some higher deck. Maybe some air would help? It was a little stuffy. If anything, some fresh air couldn't possibly make his day any crazier. Once he had his thoughts organized, he would go searching for the Doctor again.

The stairs were a little lengthy, but once he climbed them and pushed open the door that laid at the top of the staircase, Bison was met with a pleasant breeze through his hair. The relief was definitely welcomed, considering how his day had been going for him. The deck was surprisingly wide, and the view was quite nice too. It was a good idea to take a small stop to get some air, to sum it up.

The Forte was about to walk toward the railing when he noticed a piece of paper blowing past him. Lifting a brow, he quickly rushed forward and grabbed it, making sure to hold it tightly so it wouldn't blow away again. Before he could figure out where it came from, quick footsteps and a small gasp followed by a hurried word of thanks cut in. Bison blinked, looking up to see someone rushing toward him, still thanking him.

"Did you lose this?" He asked, allowing them to catch their breath for a second. They nodded, "Yes, thanks for catching it, I was worried I'd have to get another copy." They looked at him with a smile, taking the paper back in their hand and returning it to its spot between other sheets of paper among the stack that was in their arms.

Bison looked them over for a minute; their jacket and voice sounded a little familiar, where had he seen him before? Before he could think about it, however, the person before him spoke up.

"I don't think I've seen you before. Are you a new Operator?" They asked, finished with organizing their papers. It was after they said that when the Forte realized who he was talking to - "Excuse me, are you the Doctor?" He asked, standing a little straighter.

At this question, they nodded with a small smile, "Yes, that's me. So, you are a new Operator, then?" Hiding his relief and thankfulness, Bison nodded, lifting his hand for them to shake - at least one thing has gone according to plan that day, "Yes, pleased to meet you, Doctor. My name is Bison." The Doctor shook his hand, grinning still, "Nice to meet you, Bison; you have a contract with Rhodes Island, right?"

"Yes, I look forward to working with you." The Forte replied, noticing how they looked him up and down, just like how Mostima had. "Sorry for asking, but what happened to your shirt?" The Doctor asked a little slowly. Bison blinked, before sighing lightly. Was it really that obvious that his day had gone rough? When he got back home, he needed a nice warm bath as soon as possible.

"Hah, yes. My day has been a little more eventful than I expected, and unfortunately my shirt got caught in the crossfire." He smiled lightly at them, "I'm hanging on, though."

The Doctor chimed with a small laugh, "You're having a rough start? I'm sorry, I can definitely understand that. My first day here was a little awful too, but that's a long story." Bison blinked, "Was it?" They replied with a small nod, taking a second before turning back to him, "I know you're here for a contract, but how would you like to see if we can make your day any better? I'd hate it if a new Operator had a bad first day here when I could've helped turn it around."

The Forte lifted a brow; what were they up to? Like Mostima had said, they were most definitely a busy person. Did they have time to spare for him just to help turn his day around?

"I wouldn't mind it, but I'm sure you have important things to attend to, Doctor." Bison replied, "Just tell me where you need my help and I'll get out of your way." To his surprise, the Doctor shook their head dismissively, "At least let me tour you around Rhodes Island? I know I got lost many times on my first day."

The Forte stared at them for a moment, looking out at the sky, "If you insist, I guess I could learn a lot from a tour of the place." He tugged at his shirt again, a little hesitant, "But, it's already sunset. Will there be time?"

The Doctor grinned at him, sparking a sudden warmth in his chest for a second, "If I've learned anything from my time here, is that it's never too late to turn anything around." They tucked their stack of papers beneath their arm, "Now, follow me, there's a lot of things I think you'll find are interesting around Rhodes Island, Bison."

Moving past him, they pushed the door to the stairs open, motioning for him to follow. Bison stared at their hurrying form for a second; he had only just met them, but they already felt like someone he had been working with for a long time. It was the warm feeling in his chest - this would definitely be the start of a beautiful relationship.

Maybe his day really could start going uphill; his shirt was still sticking to his chest, his packages were still missing, and he felt drained from bumping into so many people, but out of all of the things he had run into, the Doctor was the most pleasant surprise of the day.

Yes, he definitely looked forward to working with them. Bison let a light smile tug at his lips, "Thank you so much Doctor," following them, he got ready to put his best foot toward once again - this time for a more smoother start, "I'm right behind you, please lead the way."

#shjsjsjs hope I wrote Mostima and Bison okay!! 🥺#arknights #arknights imagines #arknights writing #arknights fanfics #arknights mostima #arknights bison #arknights doctor #arknights code of brawl #imagine #arknights imagine #imagines #fanfic #writing

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liliesoftherain · 4 years

Text

My Hero Academia Main 3 Boys x Reader

Ch. 6 Battles Over but a New War Begins!

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

Yay chapter 6! Wow i’m surprised I got two chapters out today, I am still getting caught up on all the requests too(: Thanks for waiting guys! TAG LIST: @rizamendoza808 ! (:

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You heard AllMight whisper those two words and felt as relieved as his voice sounded. You tried to stand but your body felt too hot and you were growing weaker by the second. There was still blood on you, but due to the heat it already dried which left a nasty feeling on your face. Managing a crawl, you shuffled away enough to feel someone trying to pull you to your feet.

"Don't touch," You mumbled, head lolling as more water from your body was being used to cool you down, your suit not being able to do much considering you've only tried that move once in this suit, and had water right away from a concerned Iida during the practice battles. "I'm too hot."

"That's not an issue." A smooth voice retorted as you felt your body heat going down, a hand on your face as ice was formed and pressed to you skin. You sighed at the feeling hearing his ice crackle as the heat coming off of you was melting it. You were better now, but still incredibly woozy since you didn't have anything to drink.

A yell was heard, and you assumed it had to be Present Mic, because you didn't know anyone else who had such a booming voice. Looking up, the teachers had come through the door and were now running around helping all of the students. You briefly heard more gunshots as the black mist had wrapped around the criminals, being sucked into Thirteen's black hole.

"I may have failed to kill you this time but your days are numbered!" Shigaraki hissed as Thirteen's black hole wasn't strong enough to stop them from warping away.

When they disappeared you saw Izuku still on the floor where you ended up tossing him, and tried to go over to him.

"Wait you shouldn't be moving, you aren't strong enough." Even though his tone sounded like he was insulting you, you figured Todoroki was just trying to be nice in his own way, seeing as you were standing now but still shaking.

"Thanks but I'm okay." You unsteadily walked over to Izuku and crouched down next to him trying to see if he was okay, but he didn't want your help.

"I couldn't do anything, I wasn't able.. You had to save me.. I wasn't able to help you AllMight!" Before you could answer AllMight spoke up.

"That isn't true, you bought me a few vital seconds. If not for that I'd be dead now. Thank you Midoriya you've saved me once again. Thank you both." He smiled.

"Thank you, AllMight!" Izuku started to cry. "I'm just so glad you're okay."

AllMight looked different, and you couldn't describe it. He looked softer, and not just in attitude. His muscles weren't as defined and his face thinner. Before you had any chance to figure it out a wall pushed you away from Izuku and AllMight, and you were lightly tossed back towards Kirishima who had been running over.

"Hey you guys are you-Oh shit (y/n)!" He lifted you and looked towards Cementoss. He gave you both a firm look.

"For your safety, please stay back children, and join your classmates at the front gate. Leave those two to us, we will take care of them." You looked at each other before nodding in your teachers direction.

"Uh yes sir." Heading back towards were Bakugou and Todoroki were waiting, Kirishima informed them that it was best to start heading back to the gates.

Bakugou scowled at you when you both walked up to the group, leaning on Kirishima for support.

"That was really fucking stupid of you to do idiot." You smiled back, ignoring his insults.

"Maybe, but as long as I got to save someone, it doesn't matter what happens."

"IDIOT OF COURSE IT MATTERS, YOU WERE JUST ANOTHER BODY GETTING IN ALLMIGHT'S WAY!"

"Why are you so worried Bakugou, she was badass wasn't she!" Kirishima grinned.

"WHO THE FUCK SAID I WAS WORRIED DAMMIT, SHUT THE HELL UP ALL OF YOU."

You laughed, making your way upstairs with the two boys bickering over your head while you were still using Eijiro as a balance. Getting to the top, you saw just about all of your classmates and felt better that no harm had befallen them. You felt a body crash into yours as the breath was knocked out of your lungs, being forced to the ground and letting go of kirishima's arm.

"I'm so glad you're okay (y/n)!" Mina was crying above you, and you pat her head to calm her down.

"Hey hey it's alright, I'd be better if you weren't crushing me though." She jumped up and apologized, you laughed her off as you clutched your head. The world spinning.

"Oh no I'm sorry, are you okay?" She grabbed your cheeks in her hands and smooshed them together, making your lips look like ones of a fish, before scrubbing away at the dried blood that you almost forgot was there.

"Yesh." You got out, swatting her hands away. "I just need some water, my body is using what it can to cool off so I need to make sure I don't lose too much water, otherwise I'll faint."

The teachers walked all of the students out, and you were handed a bottle of water by the police who were just arriving outside. You chugged three of them like they were nothing before you felt better, standing next to Mina and Ochaco as an officer was doing a headcount.

"17, 18, 19, 20.. Well it looks as if you all are unharmed, with the exception of that boy whose legs are all messed up."

You crossed your arms, looking at Ochaco who had a worried look on her face. You put a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled.

"I'm sure he'll be okay, that kid is always breaking some bones."

"Yeah I guess so," she nodded, "but wait, (y/n) weren't you there too with all of them? What happened? How did he break his legs?"

"Uh well, he used his strength and sent it to his legs I guess, and when he pushed off they just broke."

"Let's get these kids back to the main campus." The detective called out, "We should give them time to rest before we question them, they've been through a lot."

"Detective what about Mr. Aizawa?" Tsuyu hopped over towards the man. He looked over at her and pulled out his phone.

"Let's see shall we? I'll call the doctor on the case. When the doctor answers the phone is put on speaker and you hold your breath.

"Well, I'll be honest with you all. The bones in his arms are splintered, and he has facial fractures. Thankfully there seems to be no serious brain trauma, but.. his orbital floor has almost been completely destroyed. There's no way of knowing if he will be able to see once he wakes up. "

"Well, you heard the man."

"Ribit.."

"Not his eyes.."

"Uh!" Mina walked up, "Sir what about Thirteen?"

"There's no need to worry, despite a few nasty lacerations to the back, Thirteen is going to pull through good as new"

"And AllMight?" You wondered sheepishly, knowing not everyone saw how hard he fought, so some may question why you're worrying about the number one Pro Hero. But you couldn't help it, your memory flashing to his smaller form, even though you only saw it for a second, and he didn't look too different, there was something that just wasn't right.

"He's also without any serious injuries, he's at the nurses office right now, since all he needs is a quick pick me up from Recovery Girl and he should be A-okay!"

"How about Deku?"

"How's Midoriya?" Izuku's two friends wondered at the same time, both of their eyes drawn in worry.

"Mido-ah, Recovery Girl is taking care for him too, he should be fine!"

Little sighs of relief spreads out among the crowd at the knowledge of everyone's safety and that this was finally over.

"Now, let's get you back to class!"

"Okay!"

"Sanza, I have some business to attend to in the nurse's office, I'll leave this to you!"

"Yes sir!" A cat replied.

"Wait what?" You mutter.

"It's a cat?" Mina said back.

"Awh look at his bell!" Ochaco gushed.

You were about to board when you saw Bakugou staring at the building, firsts clenched at his sides.

"Bakugou come on!" You shouted, trying to wave him over.

"Yeah lets go man, we're going back to class now!" Kirishima helped you out.

"Yeah yeah, I heard him you idiots." He replied, walking up and getting in right after you.

You all sat on the bus and made the slow ride back to the school, and it was already sunset when you finally arrived. You went to the locker rooms and changed out of your hero costumes, enjoying the peace you felt back in the safety of your school. Your mind kept drifting back to your battle, and you only had pride. It wasn't a common occurrence first years got to see big pro heroes in action, or try to take on big bad guys yourselves and make it out alive.

You walked out of the locker area, and felt a small pain in your shoulder. Rolling up your shirt, you remember you had to burn yourself. You just stared at your arm and saw the messy patchwork you did to keep yourself from bleeding. Drifting into your thoughts as you traced it. It stung a little more when you did so but you ignored the feeling, just thinking about how it was going to leave a nasty scar.

"Hey don't worry about it, I think it looks really cool! Battle scars yea?" You heard Kirishima say, walking out of the lockers with Kaminari in tow.

You dropped your arm and sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, an awkward chuckle leaving your lips.

"Uh yea, I'm sure it won't bother me too much once it's healed up."

"I think it looks sexy as hell so don't worry your pretty head!" Kaminari winked, causing you to roll your eyes.

"You're all in the fucking way. Move." Looking back, Bakugou was glaring at you all.

His eyes quickly looked down, right at your shoulder, and you couldn't help but move your sleeve down to cover it and look away. You heard a grunt before Bakugou brushed past you.

"Stop fucking worrying about it, you keep messing with it and it will get ugly."

You gave a smile as you watched him go till he was out of sight, looking back to the other two boys, smile growing.

"Yea he's right, if I keep messing with it it'll remind me of your face Denki and I couldn't handle it."

"Hey what! I'm not ugly!" Laughs filled the halls as well as Kaminari's whining. Leaving the school hallways you all left the school and accompanied one another to the station before going your separate ways.

The following day school was closed, you assumed they wanted to give the students, teachers, parents, and media alike a chance to rest before anything blew up. The media being the scavengers they were, reported the U.S.J attack and played it on repeat, knowing it was causing some uneasiness among civilians.

Your father was proud at you when you told him everything that had happened, but was worried that you were put into the situation in the first place. You didn't tell him when you rushed head first to take the attack for Izuku, you knew his heart wouldn't be able to handle how reckless you acted. It was reckless, but it was for a good cause and you weren't ashamed.

You spent your day off training rather than relaxing, the whole incident wanting you to get stronger. The entire night before you found it difficult to sleep, as the events played out in your mind. At first you felt accomplished, but now you felt sick. You were weak, and unable to do much. You might've been able to help someone else, but you weren't able to save yourself.

Without the help from one of the U.A teachers, you don't know what could have happened. You learned from Tsu on the bus ride home that the boss villain had a quirk called Decay. Whenever he touched something it turned whatever it was into dust. That it happened to Mr. Aizawa's elbow, and you didn't know how to react.

That hand had almost touched your face, and you were helpless to stop it. You were way too vulnerable and useless, and you barely did anything to help. You only managed to get in the way of the Pros. It made you feel sick, and you could still hear that disgusting laughter echoing in your head. So your trained and trained and trained some more. Just on your physical body, since you and your father's home-made gym wasn't the best for your hot quirk.

Nighttime rolled around too fast, before you knew it, you were wishing your father a goodnight and trudging upstairs to get some well needed shut eye. You went to bed with hopes of more training tomorrow at school, a new wish on your mind.

'I have to become stronger, not just for the sake of others, but for myself now. So I can always have the opportunity to protect someone, no matter what.'

At school the next morning, you sat at your desk, not knowing which teacher would be walking through that door, seeing as Aizawa was still in recovery.

"We're totally big deals," Kaminari's voice cuts through your thoughts, "we're basically celebrities."

"Yeah it's kinda crazy right?" Kirishima said.

"Get over yourselves, the hero course that pumps out heroes was attacked and that's what they care about." Jirou grumbled back, annoyed at being seating right next the blonde and hearing his loud voice next to her sensitive ears.

The class continued to talk as you leaned back in you chair, trying to think of any teacher who would be coming in.

"Who knows what would've happened to us if the teachers hadn't shown up."

"WHY'D YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT? I'M GOING TO PISS MYSELF JUST THINKING ABOUT IT" Poor Mineta, his cowardly shouts could probably be heard all through the school.

"OH SHUT UP AND GROW A PAIR LOSER!" And then there was Bakugou, of course.

"Did you guys see AllMight fighting the bird guy?" Sato asked excitedly while throwing punches in the air, "that dude was super strong but he still destroyed him!"

"Yes his strength is truly a thing of wonder." Tokoyami mused from next to him.

When the door swung open, everyone stopped talking to see Iida rush in, a stern look on his face.

"Attention home room class is about to begin, everyone stop talking and take your seats!"

"Uh Iida, we're already sitting?" You sweat dropped at his enthusiasm.

"Yeah you're the only one standing."

He pouted, and sat in his desk with his head down as if he was ashamed.

"I wonder who is coming to teach class today!" Mina wondered, having to have Tsu push her up as she almost fell backwards from leaning on her chair.

"I've been wondering all morning, " You spoke out, " He's still injured so there's no way he could be here today, I wonder which teacher is going to be taking over."

As soon as finished, the door opened once more, showing a man wrapped in bandages.

"Of course I can be here today, good morning class."

"Mr. Aizawa what are you doing here!" The class bellowed at the same time, looks of shock on worry on everybody's face.

"Wow what a pro.." Denki mumbled. Kirishima just laughed, talking about how manly Aizawa was. "Mr. Aizawa I'm glad you're okay!" Iida shouted, and when you looked at all the wrappings on Aizawa, you knew he wasn't okay.

"You're walking around like a zombie, you should be at home, or even the hospital, resting up!" You exclaimed.

"My well being is irrelevant. What's more important is that your fight isn't over yet.."

The class started to whisper, wondering what he meant, the talk of more villains made people grow anxious, until Aizawa hushed you guys with his next sentence.

"The U.A Sports Festival is about to start."

"YES!" Kirishima's outburst made you jump, you were excited too but you didn't think anyone could be that happy about it right now with everything going on. The rest of the class sighed in relief at not having to deal with anymore criminals.

"LET'S GO KICK SOME ASSSS!" Denki's hand was shoved over Kirishima's mouth, pushing him to sit down.

"Wait a sec,"

"Is it a good idea to hold the sports festival so soon after the attack?"

"It could cause some anxiety, seeing as we'd all be in the same place. Most people would worry don't you think?" You bit your lip.

"I guess the administration believes this is a good way to show the threat has been dealt with and the school has been safe. Plus there's going to be more security compared to past years festival. "

"This event is a huge opportunity for all U.A. students, it's not something we can just cancel because of a few villains."

You lost yourself in thought again, ignoring the speech Aizawa was giving about the sports festival and its importance. You already knew that not only did it provide entertainment to people from around the world, but that this was an amazing opportunity for people to get scouted, or even for other kids from different departments to join the hero course. Another importance was that your dad was going to be there, watching you in person. You were going to win no matter what.

"You have one chance a year, and three chances in a lifetime. You better not slack off on your training."

"Yes sir!"

"Class is dismissed."

After the rest of your morning classes, the midday break came. Most kids walked out to go enjoy their lunch, but you weren't that hungry so you stayed in the classroom along with a few other students.

"That villain stuff sucked sure, BUT I'M SO PUMPED FOR THESE GAMES."

"If we put on a good show, we're basically on the road to being pros!" Sero agreed with Kirshima, both boys having shit-eating grins on their face at the thought.

"Yea this is why I'm even here in the first place!" Sato punched a fist into an open palm, determination swirling in his eyes.

"Yes, we have so few chances we have to make this count." Tokoyami sighed.

"Well good luck to you all," You stretched your hands above your head, a smirk forming. "Because my goal is to come out on top, so you'll have to deal with me."

"Ha! Like I'm going to lose to you again (y/n)" Kirishima playfully glared, cracking his knuckles and crossing his arms.

"Just don't come cryin' to me when I'm the one to kick your ass got it."

"Oh okay tough guy, trash talk isn't becoming of you. We'll see who kicks whose ass in the games alright?"

"You're on, I have no worries cause a shorty like you couldn't beat a manly guy like me."

"What'd I say about trash talk huh punk?" You jumped up and grabbed Kirishima into a headlock, giving him a noogie.

He tried wiggling out of your grasps but you laughed like a maniac and held him tighter. You didn't see the blush on his face when you squeezed him against your chest.

"Ah (y/n) I think you're killing him." Sero sweat dropped as you gave one last good knuckle rub before releasing him. Kirishima's cheeks a bright pink as he pouted and looked away, trying to fix his hair.

"Awh c'mon Eijiro don't be embarrassed, I didn't mess up your hair that bad."

"It wasn't that.." You heard him whisper, and you were going to ask what he meant when Ochaco's fierce shout caught you off guard.

"EVERYONE I'M GOING TO DO MY BEST!"

You heard the group she was standing with offer small agreements, before she turned to face you, eyes narrowed.

"I SAID, I'M GOING TO DO MY BEST!" You raised your fist to match hers, walking to Midoriya to ask him what was going on.

"What was that all about?" You whispered, still watching her freak out and yelling crazily.

"I have no idea." He sighed out, a small smile on his face anyways. You threw your arm around his shoulders, a smile on your lips as well.

"Either way it's endearing to see her that way, guess we'll all have to do our best, huh?" Izuku flushed heavily, wobbling on his feat as you swear you saw steam coming out of his ears.

"Ye-yeah uh of- totally yea HAHA!"

"Wanna get lunch together?" You giggled as the question seemed to put him even more of a flurry of embarrassment, so you grabbed Ochaco's hand to still her from her ranting.

"Let's get lunch yea?" She quickly agreed, and you walked out together while Iida and Izuku followed.

On the way to the lunch hall, you couldn't help the question that slipped past your lips.

"Hey Ochaco? What made you want to come to U.A. to be a pro hero?"

She flushed now, as all three sets of eyes were trained on her. She twirled her fingers together before stopping and facing you all.

"Oh well, because.. I want to make lots of money!"

"For the money? You want to become a Pro Hero to be rich?" Izuku was shocked, and Ochaco scratched her head nervously, looking away almost ashamed.

"Well if I'm being blunt then yea, I know it sounds pretty greedy, you guys have such high ambitions, I hope you don't think less of me now.." She looked over at you, "At least I think I know what you want, I don't think you've ever told me why you want to be a hero (y/n)-chan."

The guys looked at you as well, seeing if you'd answer.

"Well if I'm the one being honest now, I want to be a Pro to show my dad and everyone around me I have what it takes to protect them and keep them safe, no matter what. BUT you're goal is really great too, self perseverance isn't something to be ashamed of."

"Yeah! Perfectly admirable to support your well being!" Iida enthusiastically agreed, waving his arms frantically.

"It's just surprising as all." Izuku chimed in.

"Well you see, my family owns a construction company, and it really isn't getting a lot of business right now so we're flat broke. It's pretty embarrassing."

"Construction huh?" You thought.

"Oh I bet if you got licensed you could save your family a lot with your quirk!"

"Right! She could sell all the heavy lifting equipment!" You continued a thoughtful smile thrown towards Izuku.

"Because she'd be able to float everything!" Iida smirked.

"I know right! That's what I've been telling my dad since I was a kid! But he's always told me not to worry about it, he wants me to follow my own dreams. But my dream is to help them! To become a pro, sign with a good agency and make lots of money. So that way I can let my parents have an easy life!"

The three of you gaped at her in amazement and you couldn't resist pulling her into a hug while Iida clapped in the background.

"Awh Ochaco I bet every agency is going to want you! Heck, maybe my dad will take you on!" You ooped as you caught yourself. You weren't ashamed of being the daughter of one of the Top 10 Heroes, but people always held expectations so you tried to do everything you could without help from your dad.

"Your dad?" She questioned, "Who is your dad?" You scratched your cheek, a nervous giggle leaving your lips.

"uh you'll see him at the festival, it'll be a surprise until then!"

Trying to change the subject, you were about to drag them off to lunch until a booming voice caught you all off guard.

"YOUNG MIDORIYA!" AllMight bellowed out, that ever present grin stretching his face.

"Wanna eat lunch with me?" He questioned, holding up a tiny sack lunch. You and Ochaco giggled, saying how cute it was. Once Midoriya followed AllMight, the rest of the group went to the lunch room and stood in line.

"I wonder what AllMight wanted Deku for?"

"Well Midoriya tried to jump in and take down some of the villains AllMight was facing, did he not Hakamata?"

"Yeah he did, before I shoved him away he was going straight towards those guys, the idiot."

"Oh, maybe it was a cute way to thank him! Or hey remember what Tsu said, about how their quirks are so similar? Maybe AllMight wants to take Deku as a type of mini sidekick! That'd be so cool!"

As they talked excitedly about the idea of Deku training to be AllMight's sidekick, you felt a stare and turned to cold eyes staring into yours. The different colors memorized you for a moment before he turned away. You wondered what Todoroki was staring at you all for, but you couldn't cut in line to ask him so you left it alone for now. Planning on asking later.

It was after lunch and afternoon classes when you were packing your bag to leave for the day, the commotion of different students outside of your door made you stop. You walked over after your bag was packed and stared, just like they were doing to all of you.

You felt like an animal in the zoo, having so many eyes trained on you, no words, only mutterings between the other students.

"Do you have some sort of business with our class?" Iida asked, glasses glinting as you figured he activated his class rep quirk, ready to be official and strict.

"I won't let you hold us in here-"

"They're scouting of the competition you idiots." Bakugou cut Mineta off, walking straight towards the door with no fear, glaring at the sea of eyes looking back at him.

"We're the class that survived a real villain attack, of course they want to see us with their own eyes. At least now you know what a future pro looks like, now move it extras!"

"Bakugou that's a little rude, even if they are being rude themselves and staring at us if we're here for their entertainment." You huffed walking to stand next to him, narrowing your eyes when you saw a flash of purple move towards the front.

"So this is the famous class 1-A, I heard you guys were impressive, but you just sound like an ass." He was staring at Bakugou, who's eyes hardened at the newcomer daring to speak to him.

Tired purple eyes didn't flinch at the hard look, before turning to look at you.

"Is everyone in the hero course delusional?" Eyes wandered back to Bakugou, a small smirk ghosting his lips, "or just you?"

You could feel Bakugou's annoyance radiating off of him in waves, and was that a vein popping out of his neck?

"HUH?!"

"How sad it is to come here and find a bunch of egomaniacs." His eyes bore into yours.

"I wanted to be in the hero course, but like many others here I was forced to choose a different path, such is life I guess. " Bakugou tch'd, not caring about the sob story, while you didn't care either, his eyes were still staring into yours and they weren't blinking, you felt slightly uncomfortable but didn't let it show. You also didn't catch the way Bakugou's eyes drifted between the two of you, since you were trying to win this unspoken game of you blink you lose.

"I didn't cut it the first time around, but I have another chance. You see, if any of us-"

"We get it." You cut him off sharply, eyes narrowing. "If you do well enough they can consider a transfer into the hero program, and if there isn't enough room and you're better than someone already in, the other is out. But the jokes on you , because we aren't going to let that happen, we'll all be bringing our A-game"

"You better bring yours too if you think you have a chance against us." You finished, and saw how he smirked at you, his tired eyes finally blinking in a silent lose.

"I'm looking forward to it doll."

you huffed, thinking to yourself.

"Don't call me tha-"

"Hey you!" Another voice butt in, causing everyone to look towards a white haired student, who looked agitated. "I'm from class 1-B right next door, we heard you fought some villains and I came to see if that was true! But I think you're just a bunch of brats who think you're better than us."

"A little late, sorry guy." You said walking off, pushing your way through the crowd to get out.

"Hey don't ignore me!" You figured he was talking to you but were surprised when you heard Eijiro yell for Bakugou to reply, since he was the one who started it.

Looking behind you, you saw that Bakugou was walking off as well, right behind you. He glanced back, rolling his eyes as he responded to Kirishima.

"These guys don't matter."

"Huh?" Bakugou locked eyes with you, an intense glare, and this stare didn't make you feel as uncomfortable as it did when the purple guy was doing the same thing.

"The only thing that's important is that I beat them." You gulped, but gave a nod and turned back around to keep walking.

He followed you out, and without thinking you turned your head to look at him but saw purple eyes staring at you instead, the rest of the eyes a blur compared to his. Your face flushed as you snapped your head forward and gritted your teeth. That guy made you angry and you had no idea why his stare left you feeling cold, not even the icy looks of Todoroki did that.

"Just so you know," Bakugou spoke up, not sparing you a glance as he shoved his hands in his pockets, "I do plan on winning, and you're one of my targets got that? I won't be going easy on you glitter bomb."

You smirked, giving him a cheeky thumbs up while responding.

"I wouldn't dream of it Bakugou, let's do our best!"

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