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spid3namy · 7 months

Text

— AUGUST

pairing : e!42 miles x mixed!female reader

summary : rumors spread like wildfire around school, everyone knew everyone's business. who knew the only rumor about you and your boyfriend would be true...?

contains : angst, cheating, song inspired (obviously), they are mid to late teens, miles lowkey stupid asf, implied lying (kind of), might have some incorrect spanish, cussing, not proof read

divider creds : saradika

word count : 2031

notes : lowkey, i only wrote this cus i literally love this song and figured why not write angst. this is my way of being productive while also being lazy asf LMAO. i probably might start a taglist for people who wanna be tagged when i post new things but we’ll see. anyways, i hope you enjoy the story <3

“Will you call when you're back at school...?”

Summer vacation.

For some, it was a great way to get away from school. To hang out with friends, to spend time with family. Others, it was nothing but a cruel and long three and a half months.

For you, it was supposed to be a great three and a half months!

Until you found out that you were being shipped away to your grandparents house to spend time with them. Sure, you loved your grandparents but they were just.. so old. Summer was supposed to be the time when you hung out with your best friends!

And most importantly, your boyfriend! But no.

Before you knew it, you had been packed up and sent on a flight all the way up to the shitty state of Washington. And that’s cruelly how you spent your summer vacation. Being around old people for a long three and a half months literally sucked.

September 18.

The day school started was a nightmare.

Rumors spread around like wild-fire at Visions Academy. Well, you knew that much. Especially with all the rumors that happened last year about the girl that had gotten pregnant. Of course, that rumor had been a lie. But everyone knew about it in the spam of like 20 minutes.

“Y/N! Have you heard yet?”

Your best friend, Juno, is the first one to come up to you the moment you walk through the doors. She was always so pretty when she came to school. If you all didn’t have to wear uniforms, she’d probably be the hottest girl in school with those fire ass fits you knew she owned.

“Heard what exactly?”

“Okay, so I’m guessing you haven’t heard then.”

You look at the girl and raise an eyebrow, brushing your braids behind your shoulder to flow down your back. What the hell was she on about now? Juno was your best friend, yes, but she was too into the gossip the school had going on. Most times, you couldn’t even believe the words she said.

“Well, are ya gonna tell me?”

Juno stared at you for a few moments before she shrugged, figuring that if you really wanted to know then she would tell you. Even if she knew it was gonna hurt you, it was best if you found out from her and not some random stranger who probably would tell it in the worst way possible.

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

“Uh.. okay? I promise.”

Juno let out a breath and gripped the strap of her tote bag tightly before she spoke in a mess of jumbled up words. “Okay so basically, I heard from Dorothea who heard it from Suki who heard it from Rose who heard it from Verity who heard it from Betty who heard it from Venus, herself, that she and Miles had a little fling over the summer.”

You blink as you watch Juno suck in a huge intake of air. She was acting as though she had been waiting a long time to gain some type of air in her lungs.

You soon burst out into laughter and shook your head, holding your stomach as you laughed. Juno watched you with confusion clear on your face; she clearly didn’t understand what the hell was funny.

Once you had slowly started to calm down, you wiped an imaginary tear from your eye and shook your head, looking at the female.

“Whew, thanks Jun, I really needed a laugh today.”

“I’m being serious, Y/N. I totally think it’s true too!”

“That’s ridiculous, Miles would never do anything like that. Me and he are locked in.”

Juno stares at you before she shrugged; the two of you started your descent down the hallway to where your shared first class was.

“‘M just sayin’ what I heard. Only Miles would really know what happened. Just hope he doesn’t lie to you.”

You snort and roll your eyes playfully, nudging her with your shoulder and looking over at her. “He would never lie to me.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N. But just remember: men ain’t shit”

“Tha.. thank you for that, Juno. But you’re not really the greatest person to say that. Especially since you’re biased as hell.”

“What? I am not biased!”

“Yes you are”

Juno rolled her eyes as the two of you walked into the classroom. Anatomy, the board read.

Great, seeing bodies and stuff at 8 in the morning was gonna be so fun. And it was a block class. How fun.

✰

Lunch. Possibly the only good thing about being at this stupid school. You and Juno stand in line together, looking at all the options of food you can pick out. It’s not much. Pizza, nachos, salads, and hot dogs. Barf.

You let out a sigh and grabbed a plate that had a pretty decent sized slice of pizza. Juno looks over at you and makes a face before she reaches over to grab a salad. The two of you quickly scan your school ids to pay for the food before you walk over to a table where Miles had been sitting. He had been there alone for a while now.

He was fortunate enough to have his own food.

Juno sits in front of you two before she nudges her head over to the male who was too busy drawing in his stupid sketchbook to even notice that you were even there. You give a look before you sit down next to your boyfriend, peering over his shoulder a little to see what he was doing.

“Whatcha drawin’?”

“You.”

The answer was so flat, so blunt. It caused your cheeks to heat up when you realized that he was, in fact, drawing you. Miles had always been so good at drawing. It was one of his many talents.

“You two make me sick.”

“You’re just jealous, Jun. It’s not our fault that your mystery girl doesn’t know you exist.”

Juno lets out a dramatic cry and puts her head down when you mention the girl she had a crush on since 8th grade. It was a little cute that she’s liked her for so long. Yet, she has never even attempted to make a move on her.

“I just wish Leni would notice me.”

“Just talk to her, it ain’t that hard.” That earned Miles a glare despite the fact that he didn’t even really see it. Not like he really cared. He was just speaking the truth.

“Not everyone is brave enough for that, Miles.”

“Jus’ quit being a fuckin’ pussy and talk to her.”

Juno glared at him more and started to stand up. You shake your head quickly to get her to sit down. You already knew where this was headed and you really didn’t want the two of them to get into a huge argument. Not again. Not this school year.

Juno lets out a noise of frustration before she sits back down, her hand gripping the fork in her hands tightly.

“At least, I didn’t cheat on my girlfriend.”

That seemed to gain his attention. Miles looked up from his sketchbook and quickly put his pencil down, looking at her with a look that could only be described as anger.

“Where the hell did you hear that from?”

“Miles..”

“Callarse la boca”

You look offended by his words but you don’t have time to dwell on it before Miles speaks again, his voice clear with annoyance.

“Where did you hear that from, Juno? Huh?!”

“Dorothea told me.”

Miles takes a deep breath at that, his nostrils flaring slightly as he lets out a deep and heavy exhale. He was screwed because now you knew about it. And he knew how you were going to act now that you knew.

“Why are you gettin’ so upset, babe? It’s not like it’s true, right?”

Miles looks over at you and sighs, his shoulders tensing up as he clears his throat awkwardly. Guess it was time to be honest now.

“Mi vida, listen... it-”

You blink and stare at you, anger slowly starting to fill up your body. You don’t even let him get another word out before you raise your hand and slap him. The feeling caused his face to sting, his face turned to the side from the impact. He lets out a slow breath and nods to himself; he knew he deserved it.

“Fuck you, Morales.”

And with those harsh words spat, you get up and walk away from him. Juno and Miles both watch as you leave before Juno looks over at him, shaking her head and letting out a sigh.

“You fucked up man.”

“No, really? Thanks for the news flash, sherlock.”

“Don’t get smart with me, boy.”

Miles glares at the girl as she gets up and goes after you. God, he was so fucking stupid!

✰

It’s been a week since you last spoke to Miles. You have been avoiding him at school and even went as far as changing seats in the classes you shared with him. You did everything in your power to try and be as far away from him as possible. Miles didn’t seem to let that affect him.

Even if you were far away from him, he would still do his very hardest to talk to you. To explain what happened between him and Venus over the summer. But of course, you didn’t listen. Couldn’t listen to a word he said. It would be nothing but a lie.

Juno was right; men ain’t shit.

It was almost sickening to think that your once loyal and sweet boyfriend would turn out to be a dirty, rotten cheater! And to think it only took one summer for him to change. That was so fucked up man. You hated how easily you had allowed yourself to be betrayed.

How could someone be so sweet one minute then betray you the first chance they got? It really made no sense to you.

A knock on your bedroom door was enough to pull yourself from your thoughts. Your head snapped up just as the door opened to reveal Juno, a sheepish smile on her face as she practically jumped on you.

“What are you doin’ here, Jun?”

“I was summoned by your father.”

You let out a snort and roll your eyes, moving over slightly to give her more room to sit on the bed. It was sweet how she wanted to comfort you but you already knew it wasn’t going to work. You were too hurt to ever feel better after just a few visits but you appreciate the effort.

“Should I beat his ass?”

“No.. it’s fine, Jun. I don’t really care, ya know? I already got over it!”

“Mhm. and is that why you’re still avoiding him?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Juno lets out a chuckle and moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder gently and pulling you closer for a side hug. It was the best thing she could think of doing right now.

“Ya know.. He’s stupid for doing that to you. He don’t know what he’s missing.”

And that did it. Before you knew it, you had burst out into tears. Juno rubbed the side of your arm gently and allowed you to cry on her shoulder, soaking her shirt with your tears. She knew you probably needed this right now.

“I fuckin’ hate him, Jun.”

“I know, Y/N.”

“I wish I never met him!”

“I know, Y/N”

The two of you stay like that for an hour. Maybe longer. Who knew? It didn’t matter anyway. Juno was too busy trying to comfort you while you bawled your eyes out. It hurt so fucking much.

All the trust that you had put into Miles was now gone.

And it was all his fault.

Seeing him everyday at school hurt worse than any pain imaginable. But at least you had Juno by your side, you knew she would never hurt you. She was your best friend. She was different than him.

You wish you had never fallen in love with Miles Morales.

#☆ namy writes #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x reader #angst #earth 42 miles angst #earth 42 miles morales angst #e42 angst #e42 miles morales angst #e42 miles morales x reader #across the spider verse angst #across the spiderverse

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seijorhi · 1 year

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Powder Keg

it has been far too long since i've indulged with these three

Bokuto Koutarou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

w.c 6.1k

tw: implied non-con, yandere, implied violence and bad times all round

Not guilty.

There’s a moment after the verdict’s read, right before the courtroom erupts into noise where time slows. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, violently – like it’s trying to rip its way free, and it becomes harder to breathe.

For days, you’ve avoided looking at them, treating the left side of the courtroom as though it simply did not exist.

Your head turns without conscious thought, and you watch it happen. In slow motion, you physically witness the verdict hit them.

Not guilty.

Relief. Joy. Bokuto pulls Kuroo into a hug, pounding his fist across his back as he beams.

Not guilty.

Akaashi shaking their lawyer’s hand, head tilted in a polite bow.

Not guilty.

The gavel slams down, a harsh, strangled sort of noise escapes you. Your knees, shaking as they are, suddenly give way. Cameras flash, your lawyer reaching for you as you sink back into your chair, numb – whatever he says to you gets drowned out, nothing but static and haze.

Three days spent trapped at their mercy while they broke your trust, lied to you, hurt you, fucked you. Cases don’t make it to court for trial unless the prosecution’s almost certain of a conviction, everyone knows that. You had the evidence, the rape kit, DNA, all of it. How– how could they–

The skin at the nape of your neck prickles, the tiny hairs standing on end. Lifting your head, you’re met with a cool gunmetal gaze, Akaashi’s expression giving away nothing.

He nods, though. A slow incline of his chin, his eyes never leaving yours. Bokuto and Kuroo are breaking apart, the latter already beginning to follow Akaashi’s line of sight, and you feel the bile rising up your throat.

In a sudden burst of energy, you lurch from your seat, racing out the side doors. The meagre lunch you’d managed to force down comes hurling right back up – the only saving grace being that you barely manage to make it to the bathroom in time.

On your knees, clutching the toilet and sobbing, you vomit until there’s nothing left but bile and pain. How could they– how could they do this to you?

How could they not believe you when you gave them everything?

You don’t glance up when the door swings open, nor at the tentative knock on the stall door – which as you hadn’t had the time or inclination to lock it, creaks open.

Your mother peers in. “Honey?”

“They think I’m a liar,” you croak out, finally lifting your miserable gaze. “They think I’m making it up.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“We believe you, we know you’re telling the truth. I’m sorry those assholes convinced everyone else otherwise,” your cousin murmurs, appearing behind her shoulder.

Together, they help you to your feet, your mother gently wiping away the tears while your cousin places a comforting hand on your back.

“Those bastards. Those fucking bastards! If the lay judges had any sense at all–” her voice, shaking with rage, cracks, a sob threatening to break through. Beyond words, she shakes her head, clamping her lips shut, and your cousin sighs.

“Come on, it’s going to be a circus out there. Better to get it over and done with.”

She isn’t wrong.

By the time you make it to the steps out front, reporters are everywhere, swarming. Their lawyer’s mid-way through a statement, smugness radiating from every slimy pore.

“– justice served today. These three young men have such promising futures ahead of them, and we can only be thankful that the lay judges and judges alike saw their true character amidst the wild accusations and, quite frankly, outright fabrications from this poor, misguided woman.”

And the reporters are pummelling you and your family with questions, demanding a comment, asking how you feel about the verdict passed down.

You can’t bring yourself to answer them, so you keep your mouth shut and focus on the ground in front of you, one step after another. You can’t stop or you’ll break all over again.

Your mother, however, has different ideas. “You let her down,” she spits. “This whole system let my daughter down today. Do you give all rapists a free pass, or just the ones on track to become olympians?!”

Which, naturally, only invites a flurry of rapid fire follow ups.

They’ve all decided that you’re a whore. A liar. A greedy, attention seeking slut who wanted nothing more than a few nights of fun to leverage for your five minutes of fame. They might not admit it outright, but you can hear it in their questions, see it in their looks.

The verdict only cements that belief.

Three days, every waking second spent clinging to the idea that once you got away, once they were done, you’d be free and everything would be fine.

You’d get justice.

The three of them would spend years rotting away behind bars, and it wouldn’t be enough, not ever, not for what they put you through. Somehow, though, you’d find a way to make peace with it.

And now… now they’re walking free like they did nothing wrong and you– you’re the one left standing there in the wake of a shattered reputation while people you’ve never met hurl abuse at you and your family, telling you you deserved what you got. That you wanted it.

The bolder ones tell you to do everyone a favour and just go kill yourself.

You catch one last look as the car pulls away; surrounded by their family, their crack legal team, supporters. The three of them – each with loosened ties, Bokuto having shed his jacket entirely – meet that gaze head on.

And the weight of it, burning and uncomfortable, lingers long after they disappear in the rearview mirror.

—

“Mr. Kuroo, sir, your two o'clock is waiting in conference room three.”

He hums, fingers tapping away across the screen of his phone

“And,” his assistant continues, “I have your coffee.”

At that, she finally grabs his attention. Stowing his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, he smiles, “You’re a lifesaver, have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice.”

Accepting the cup gratefully, Kuroo laughs, “Yeah, well, remind me ‘bout that when we have your next salary review.”

She brightens at the praise, tucking her hair back behind her ear with a small nod. Kuroo, already halfway down the hall, doesn’t notice, too busy wracking his brain in an attempt to recall what his two o’clock appointment is actually regarding.

There were interviews for one of the junior positions, but those weren’t until next week, he vaguely recalls someone from legal wanting to talk about their upcoming campaign, maybe it’s about that? Usually they want to talk with the whole team, though. Long, drawn out meetings that leave him wanting to repeatedly slam his head against a wall.

Upon reaching the conference room in question, he realises that it’s not legal he’s scheduled to meet with.

Sitting with her legs neatly crossed, pen and paper in hand sits a woman of about thirty, a bottle blonde, with perky tits and a tight black, pencil skirt that clings to shapely thighs. She smiles when he opens the door, sticks out a perfectly manicured hand.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, I presume?”

He takes it, smirks as her eyelashes flutter and they shake hands.

Nope, definitely not someone from legal.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you are–?”

“Of course, my apologies. My name is Sato Kisumi, I’m a reporter from the Metro Times, we spoke last week…”

A vague memory of a phone call surfaces and Kuroo finds himself nodding. “Right, yeah, I remember. You wanted to talk about an article or something? Sorry, we’re a few weeks from launching our campaign for the new season and it’s been a hell of a day.”

She laughs, a sweet, bell-like sound, “No, no, it’s alright. If anyone understands how crazy it can be working towards a deadline, it’s a reporter.”

He settles himself down across from her, making himself comfortable.

“You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”

Kuroo shakes his head. There’s one already set up on the table, next to the tea his assistant must have procured for her when she arrived. Leaning forward, she clicks it on, “Wonderful.”

“So what’s this article for, anyway?”

“You don’t remember?” her voice carries a teasing lilt. “We did speak about it on the phone.”

“Busy week, like I said.”

“Busy man,” she counters, red lips curling into something like a smile. “To be honest with you, it’s more of an exposé. I’m investigating professional athletes dodging charges for criminal offences. The taking of illegal substances and DUI’s of course, but more serious allegations, too. Spousal abuse, assault, rape, that sort of thing.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kuroo picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip, savouring the bitter, chocolate-y notes of the dark roast his assistant – godsend that she is – knows he favours.

He vaguely recalls the conversation – enough to remember that she neglected to tell him this part whilst she was angling for an interview. Then again, she’d hardly be the first reporter to lie for a chance to get their foot in the door. More than anyone, Kuroo can appreciate that kind of deception.

Now that the truth is laid bare, he’s faced with a choice.

If Kuroo had any sense at all – if he cared about his job and his reputation – he’d politely but firmly tell her to leave before she gets any more comfortable. It’s one thing to ignore and downplay what he’s sure will inevitably turn out to be a scathing indictment of the whole system when it’s published, another entirely to actively participate in it, regardless of intentions.

If he doesn’t tread carefully here, his boss will most certainly have his balls for it.

So he should kick her out. He should.

Instead, Kuroo lets out a light chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And you decided to start with the VP of JVA promotion? It’s an… interesting approach, I’ll give you that.”

Kisumi mirrors him, lifting the tea to her lips to take a slow sip. She sets the cup back down on the desk, taking a second to adjust it ever so slightly, the tip of her finger running along the edge of the rim. Then, with an air of nonchalance, she shrugs. “Well, what we’re seeing is that these athletes are usually being protected by their teams and management, and in some cases, with certain athletes, that extends all the way up to high ranking officials within their respective governing bodies. Victims and police are paid off, charges mysteriously disappear, negative press gets buried, like magic.”

“It’s a sad story ‘n all, I’m sure there’s some commentary in there about the failings of society, corruption and misplaced hero worship of star athletes or whatever it is you’re after, but I’m failing to see what that has to do with me. I run the promotions division, not public relations.”

“I’m not interested in talking to you because of your job title, Mr. Kuroo, although believe me, that someone like you could rise to an office like this is damning enough,” she says, no trace of her earlier sweetness, the flirtatiousness. No, now her eyes are cold, her smile, while it still adorns her lips, all too sharp. “I’m here because of a court case a few years ago, in which you and two friends – one of whom now plays for the national volleyball team – were accused of the kidnapping and rape of a fellow student.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh, leaning back into his seat. His eyes flicker to the recorder on the desk, the pen she wields, poised over the blank pad of paper, and back to her cool smile. “A very publicised court case that ended with a verdict of not guilty. No one bribed any judges or tampered with evidence, no one made it go away. That’s our justice system, that’s how it works. If you’re looking for something damning,” he throws the word back at her, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that.”

“And you think that was a fair trial?”

“I think you’re wasting your time. Mine, too.”

He moves to rise, intent on ushering Kisumi out of his office when she asks, “You don’t remember me, Kuroo, do you?” Not playful anymore, not even angry; she spits his name like it’s poison, as though the very act of uttering his name aloud makes her skin crawl.

And that, more than anything, is enough to really pique his interest.

Kuroo finds himself studying her – really looking at her – beyond the blonde curls and the hateful scowl, beyond all that he’d dismissed earlier. And there is something that rings of familiarity – her eyes, maybe, the shape of her nose – but Kuroo’s short on time, and despite his amusement, what’s left of his good will is dwindling fast.

“Nah, but don’t take it personally, the whole prissy, up-tight bitch thing you’ve got going on isn’t really my thing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, you only ever saw her.” Kisumi makes a disgusted noise, “The whole trial, you wouldn’t stop staring. You and your friends ruined her and then you sat there making moon eyes for three days while your asshole of a lawyer tore her apart on the stand.”

The pieces fall together, a memory resurfaces; a blonde woman leaning forward to touch your shoulder, whispering in your ear as you tried in vain to keep your tears at bay.

And it’s a stupid thing, the faint tinge of jealousy that stirs inside of him as he eyes the woman sitting before him. She’s family – has to be, because Kuroo knew all your friends back then.

(Funny, wasn’t it, how none of them had shown up at the trial either.)

Pushing aside the ugly feeling – at least for now – Kuroo rises to his feet, allowing a smirk to curl at his lips. “Like I said, Miss Sato,” and oh, how he relishes the cold fury that sparks across her features. “You’re gonna have to do better than that – but not today. Get the fuck out of my conference room.”

With her lips pursed, she goes to do just that. Makes it all the way to the door, clutching the handle when abruptly she stops, turning to face him once more.

An eyebrow rises, “Something else?”

“She’s missing. She left years ago, which I’m sure you already knew, but now she’s gone-gone. She hasn’t called in weeks, and the cops won’t help. They said that she’s already proven she’s flighty,” Kisumi spits out a humourless laugh. “They won’t open an investigation when we can’t even tell them the last place she was staying. But I know my cousin, and I know the only reason she’d go this long without calling is if there was something physically stopping her from doing so.”

Her voice remains level, her breath on the other hand–

A chink in the armour.

The family resemblance might not be all that strong between you two, that look though – trying to pretend she’s not afraid when everything from the expression on her face to the tremor in her hands is screaming at him otherwise – all he can see is you.

He loves when you look at him like that. More than he should, but guilty pleasures and all that. He doesn’t want you scared, not… necessarily. Not as much as he wants you vulnerable.

Unlike you, who’d burst into tears, crumble and break, she straightens her spine, swallows down that emotion and continues. “I know the kind of man you are. All three of you. It’s because of you that she left in the first place, and I’m willing to stake my career on you being the reason she’s disappeared this time ‘round as well.”

“S’that right? You got any actual proof, or is this whole thing based solely on the fact that you don’t like me?”

Kisumi, rather than dignifying that with an answer, merely spares Kuroo one last disdainful glare and stalks from the room, letting the door slam shut behind her. A minor victory, but one that brings no small sense of satisfaction.

A shame then, that it doesn’t last.

His smirk slips away, vanishing like a slate scrubbed clean.

Pulling the phone from his breast pocket, Kuroo dials the last number he called, lifts the phone up to his ear, and waits.

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

—

Akaashi isn’t one for the spotlight.

He doesn’t hate it per se, he just isn’t all that interested in chasing after it. Better to let everyone be blinded by the other two and let their guards slip around him.

He’s patient – has to be, dealing with Bokuto and Kuroo day in, day out. Calm. Observant enough to realise that the blonde sitting four seats down on the rattling train car has been following him for several days now.

Sato Kisumi.

Akaashi had looked her up after her meeting with Kuroo, begrudgingly having to admit that as an investigative journalist, she was rather impressive.

Kuroo was worried she’d be a problem, and Akaashi’s inclined to agree. Upset relatives were one thing, a well respected journalist with a personal vendetta against the three of them, a separate beast entirely.

One that wouldn’t necessarily be so easy to shake. Or put down.

A polite, feminine voice filters through the P.A system, announcing the imminent arrival of the next station. The train has another four stops before his, yet he rises smoothly when the train slows to a stop beside the platform, exiting amongst the throng of commuters without so much as a backwards glance.

She follows, however, as he knew she would, trailing after him when he makes his way out of the station and onto the busy streets of Shinjuku. There’s a ramen joint he’s particularly fond of a few minutes downtown, only a short walk away.

The quickest route would be to take the main road, lose himself in the throng of people. Akaashi, curious more than anything, decides to instead take the long way round, via the back alleys and narrow laneways, where every footstep echoes, and puddles splash underfoot.

He’s pleased, though not exactly surprised, that Kisumi follows at a distance.

A block away from his destination, he stops on the street corner, turning back to address her.

“Are you hungry?”

The question clearly takes her by surprise, and her answer comes slow. Distant honking from the street ahead, laughter and the rumble of voices tangled together interwoven with music and the shouting of kitchen – closer to the main road, it’s louder here. Easier to mask her presence.

Even so, she had to have realised he’d been toying with her from the start, perfectly aware she’d been tailing him. Why else would he have led her down the rabbit’s warren?

“… What?”

“Dinner,” he elaborates. “Are you hungry? I didn’t have a chance to eat today, and I figured that rather than spending all night following me in the hopes that I’ll – what, lead you to your cousin? – we could sit down and talk over some food. Ramen, actually. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To talk?”

She regards him warily, brows knitting together, considering the proposition. He can’t blame her for the reticence, exactly, but it is somewhat of a pointless exercise considering they both know that she’s going to say yes.

She might hate him. Despise him. She might even be afraid of him, but she went toe to toe with Kuroo and that doesn’t speak to someone meek or spineless. If she wants answers – if she wants you as badly as he thinks she does, she won’t be able to resist.

A heartbeat later, and he’s proven correct. Her jaw tightens, but she nods; a short, sharp jerk of her chin. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Despite the proclamation, Kisumi remains silent as they’re shown to one of the tables set up beneath the awning outside, shielding them from the drizzling rain, and when Akaashi orders for them both, two bowls of tonkotsu, with a side of gyoza to share. She just sits, shoulders back, arms folded gracefully across her chest, glaring daggers.

All of that fades away when the waitress comes by with their food. In an instant she softens, smiling and politely dipping her head in thanks. Only when the waitress disappears back inside and they’re alone again does Kisumi finally break her silence.

“I don’t suppose you’ll save me the trouble and tell me where my cousin is?”

Akaashi smiles at that, splitting his chopsticks to snatch one of the pot sticker dumplings and take a bite. He savours the mouthful, the rich flavours of garlicky pork, cabbage and chives bursting over his taste buds, chewing thoughtfully before posing another question to the blonde.

“Did she ever talk about how we met?”

Kisumi laughs, shaking her head as she pulls her bowl of ramen close and grabs her chopsticks. “No. No, somehow between all the tears and the breakdowns, her gripping my hand while she lay in that hospital bed and told the cops every detail about how you trapped her in that house, how the three of you touched her, raped her, we didn’t get around to chatting about the meet cute. Weird, right?”

“There was this ramen place on campus,” Akaashi begins, ignoring Kisumi’s dig entirely. “Kind of like this one, except it was open twenty-four seven. Busy as hell during the day, but after ten, eleven at night it got pretty quiet, and she always worked the late shift.”

There’s a quiet wistfulness in his tone that Akaashi doesn’t bother masking.

He remembers the way your face used to brighten when the bell above the door would announce their arrival, the cute little bounce in your step that he never could get out of his head.

When it was dead and you could get away with it, you’d come over and chat, sneaking them drinks, dumplings, an extra egg or slice of pork, even ‘forgetting’ to tally their orders up correctly when it came time to settle their bill. If your boss took notice, he never said anything – or if he did, then you never cared enough to stop.

You could make a few exceptions for your favourites, you’d told him when he’d asked you about it once, smiling that soft, pretty smile of yours. Blind to the way those words, and the image of you beaming so beautifully, would etch their way into his very being, refusing to give him a moment’s peace.

Bokuto and Kuroo would waste hours fighting over who you liked best, only for Akaashi to add fuel to the fire, dryly reminding them that arguing was pointless – you weren’t stupid or blind enough to prefer either one of them.

It was a slow thing, this descent into hell with you… and then it wasn’t.

And he wouldn’t trade what he has now for all the world, but some small part of him will always mourn those early days, the sweet naivety with which you used to treat them.

Kisumi, picking at her ramen rather than eating it, sucks on her teeth and exhales slowly, drawing him from his reminiscing. “So when did it change?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“When did you decide that that wasn’t enough? At what point exactly did the three of you sit down and make the decision to take her to that cabin, keep her there against her will and spend three days systematically abusing her for your own sick fucking pleasure?”

A flash of irritation sparks, and his eyes narrow. “She agreed to come with us, and we didn’t abuse her. We’d never.”

A silence descends between them, thick, wrought with tension and disbelief. And then, like a match struck, the blonde explodes.

“God, you’re so full of shit, you know that, right?!” Kisumi snarls, disgusted. “You might’ve been able to convince the court that it was rough and fun, that whatever damage you left behind was damage she wanted, but I was there for the aftermath. I saw the state you left her in!”

Each word is biting and vitriolic, her voice shaking with barely repressed rage. If she’s hoping for some sign that they’ve struck a chord, wounded him in some way, she’s sorely disappointed. Save for the cold, flat stare he regards her with, the only response Akaashi deigns to give is simply to resume eating, gathering another mouthful of noodles between his chopsticks and slurping them up.

That, it seems, is Kisumi’s breaking point. Shaking her head with a hollow scoff, she shoves her own, largely untouched bowl aside and stands.

“I’m going to find her, and when I do I am going to spend every waking second, every last yen I have making sure that the three of you go down for it.” And with that, she snatches up her purse, yanking it open to dig for her umbrella.

Another mouthful, braised chashu pork and scallions. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

—

Fingers drum restlessly against the leather steering wheel, tapping out an anxious beat.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ Kuroo had said, clapping him on the back.

The light shines from her bedroom window, the shadow of her figure moving within. Bokuto checks the clock again; 11:27.

He’d been so happy, over the fucking moon to come home. Three weeks away, three and a half hours on the train, he was itching, leg bouncing restlessly as the miles slowly crawled by. And even though all he wanted to do was find Kuroo so they could go home already, he made the effort for the fans that swarmed the second he got off the train.

Took the time to smile and pose for pictures, signed the autographs, laughing and chatting away. He gets it, he does – meeting your idols is pretty fucking awesome, and the last thing he’d ever wanna do would be to ruin that for some poor kid just because he’s in a rush to get home and rip your clothes off.

Still, even at the best of times patience was never his forte, and three weeks might as well have been a lifetime.

Anticipation had him on cloud nine, and nothing – nothing – was gonna bring him down.

At least, that’s what he’d thought.

‘Don’t you have an ounce of shame?’

It’d taken everything he had not to snap there and then. There were kids around, staring up at him with wide, confused eyes – their parents quick to usher them away.

Kuroo’d said she’d be a problem.

Akaashi agreed.

The bedroom light flicks off, and his pulse jumps. Go time.

Adjusting the cap on his head, he flips up the hood of his jacket and exits the car, avoiding the light from the street lamps above to cross the road. Her house is nice enough. Small, with a garden out front spilling with greenery and potted flowers. Her cat, lying on the windowsill between the blinds and the glass, notes his arrival on the doorstep with slow blinking eyes, only to yawn and dismiss him entirely, unbothered.

Faced with a locked door, Bokuto doesn’t bother wasting time or energy trying to pick it. He has no need – two solid, powerful kicks later, the wooden door splinters and cracks, giving way beneath his foot.

Shoving the wreckage of the door aside, Bokuto shoulders his way inside. There’s a sudden yowl – the cat, startled by the noise, launches itself from the window to skitter away to some safe, dark hidey-hole. From somewhere else within he hears a muffled thump, followed by a curse.

Good. He wants her to know he’s coming.

‘You can google it, you know? The rape and the trial, it’s on your wikipedia page – and those kids and their families, they still worship you. That’s your legacy.’

A slow building anger seeps through his veins, blood thrumming in anticipation.

‘Doesn’t it make you sick?’

She’s threatening to take you away. ‘Kaashi said she’s hellbent on it.

Bokuto can shoulder a lot. He dealt with the blow to his image – both during the trial and after it – and when you left last time, disappearing into thin air without so much as a goodbye, it broke something inside of him.

Still, he found a way to get through it. He had to, because he was getting you back.

And the taste of you lingers on his tongue from when it was buried inside of you only hours ago, a honeyed tang he’d swallow down by the mouthful if he could. Back home your hips and ass, the soft sweetness of your thighs, carry mottled imprints of his fingers – that overeager, desperate touch.

Three rounds he’d gone; sinking his cock into your pussy, fucking out all of his frustrations and pent up emotions ‘til he was spent and you were a shaking, shivering, heavenly mess. It was supposed to make things better. Calm him down a little and take the edge off.

It had the opposite effect.

Because he knows now what it’s like to lose a soulmate, he knows just how high the stakes are.

She swung first, Bokuto’s simply returning the favour.

There’s no point masking his footsteps as he stalks through the house, a singular goal in mind. Akaashi made him promise that he wouldn’t take this too far – and he won’t.

He wants to – fuck, he really, really wants to.

But he won’t.

The door to the bedroom’s cracked an inch – it groans in protest when he nudges it wider and crosses the threshold.

The thought of finding her, dragging her kicking and screaming out into the living room was something he’d been looking forward to, but Kisumi – rudely ruining his fun – isn’t hiding.

No, flattened against the wall opposite, shaking like a leaf, she grips her phone like it’s a lifeline. “I-I’ve called the cops. They’re on their way,” she calls out, and he realises that while his eyes have adjusted, hers haven’t. She thinks he’s a burglar, someone she can reason with.

He almost snorts.

Fumbling against the wall, it takes him a second or two to find the light switch and flick it on. Light floods the small bedroom in an instant, and Kisumi flinches, an arm coming up to shield her face from the sudden brightness.

When it falls though, and golden eyes meet her own, Bokuto’s rewarded with a look of shock and recognition, which quickly gives way to something much, much more satisfying.

Fear.

It’s in her eyes, widening horribly, the way her face drains of blood. The audible little hitch in her breathing that sends a delightful tingle down his spine.

And still, she tries to put on a brave face.

“The cops are already on their way,” she repeats, tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Whatever you’re after– just… just go, and I swear I won’t say a word. I’ll keep your name out of it. We– we can pretend this never happened, alright?”

Bokuto grins at that. Shifts his weight as he lowers his centre of gravity.

The funny thing is, the stupid bitch doesn’t know just how right she’s about to be.

—

The beeping of the monitors brings back bad memories.

Truth be told, a lot of what happened that day is a blur. You don’t care to pry too deep, trying to pluck and sort through the trauma of what happened. You remember the hospital, though – gowned up, lying on the scratchy sheets, gripping Kisumi’s hand while you walked the detective through every harrowing minute you’d spent at their hands.

And now the situations are reversed, and it’s your cousin lying broken and damaged in the hospital, and you’re the one sitting at her bedside, keeping watch over her like the guardians of old. Holding her hand while you fight back tears.

The doctors say she’ll wake up soon, but they’ve been saying that for hours now.

All you can do is sit there and pray that she’ll wake up soon.

Pray that she’ll listen, and hear you.

You’re there when the doctors come by to check her vitals, when the food cart rolls by. They don’t stop for her, even if she were awake there wouldn’t be much point, what with her jaw wired shut and all.

Her whole body’s a mess. A broken wrist, broken ribs, her jaw shattered and face a bruised, swollen mess.

It’s a miracle she’s still alive.

Your stomach twists, nausea threatening to heave its way up your throat. No – it’s a miracle that he stopped.

The phone in your pocket vibrates, you ignore it for the third time. No doubt you’ll pay for it later, right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Please.”

But it’s a while yet before she stirs, consciousness slowly pulling her back to you.

It begins with a muffled groan, a whimper when she shifts. Even with all the damage to her face, you can see the signs of distress taking shape – hurt, twisting at her features.

They’ve given her all the drugs they can, and she’s still in pain.

Your heart wrenches. “Sumi? Sumi, can you hear me?” you ask, clutching her hand tightly between both of yours.

She groans again, fighting to get both eyes open. The phone in your pocket buzzes, insistent. It doesn’t stop after one, going off again and again and again, raising your internal panic. But Kisumi’s blinking now, trying desperately to pull the world into focus. Figure out why it hurts to move, why her mouth won’t obey when she tries to talk.

And you see the tears well up in her eyes, the panic and fear, and you swallow down your own emotions because they don’t matter right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I know it hurts, I know you’re scared, but you’re safe now. I promise you, you’re safe.” An echo of the words she’d once spoken to you. Your thumb strokes the back of her uninjured hand. “Don’t try to talk, just… listen to me, I don’t have long.”

Her fingers try to clumsily curl around your own, and she makes another noise – a garbled butchering of your name that breaks off into a frustrated wail – sending a fresh bolt of pain and guilt lancing through your chest. Tears sting in the corner of your eyes, bottom lip quivering.

This is all your fault.

“You can’t talk, your jaw they– they had to wire it shut,” you tell her while she chokes on another sob. You squeeze her hand, “Please, Sumi, I need you to listen to me. Don’t move, just… blink if you understand; once for yes, twice for no.”

A beat passes, and she blinks. Good.

“Do you remember what happened? The man who attacked you?”

… One blink.

You exhale unsteadily, clearing your throat. Kisumi’s eyes are wide as saucers, tracking every move with a laser focus, and your hand is wrapped so tightly around hers that if she wasn’t already drugged to high heaven she’d probably be whimpering. She’s afraid, you realise. Not of the hospital or the damage she’s yet to comprehend the extent of – she’s afraid because she remembers.

She’s afraid because you are.

“Kisumi… you need to stop this. Forget it happened, play dumb for the cops, drop the article and stop interfering. For your own sake as well as mine, I'm begging you. Otherwise… Otherwise–” your voice dies a quiet death as footsteps approach.

There’s no need to turn.

Kisumi’s face tells you everything when it blanches and she begins to tremble like a terrified puppy. Beside her, the heart rate monitor goes haywire, mirroring her pulse as it jumps erratically with the short, sharp gasps she sucks through clenched teeth.

And when a hand falls to your shoulder, both of you flinch.

“Ready to go, babe?”

To Kisumi, you force a tight, watery smile, “Let it go, okay? Promise me.”

You don’t wait for a response, there’s no point. You’ve poked the bear enough by ignoring their calls and texts, there’s no need to push your luck more than you already have.

Letting Kisumi’s hand slip from your grasp, you rise from your seat and turn, nodding. “Yeah.”

Kuroo smirks, coaxing your face up into a short kiss while his fingers entwine with yours, but it’s Bokuto, claiming your other arm, who grumbles like a petulant child, “You were s’posed to be done hours ago.”

“I‘m sorry. We can go home now.”

Neither one of them spare the battered blonde more than a cursory glance on their way out. You, on the other hand, risk a backwards glance in the moments before you’re tugged away.

Kisumi’s sobbing, broken and raw, hunched over as much as her injuries allow. Her bloodshot eyes meet yours, and your heart breaks one last time.

Promise me you’ll stop. They’ll kill you if you don’t.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #yandere boktuo kotarou x reader #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #yandere kuroo #yandere bokuto #yandere akaashi #tw: noncon

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princessbrunette · 6 months

Note

line cook turned baby daddy jj who definitely cried his heart out when he held his newly born daughter to his bare chest for the first time. just sobs his heart out. he’s an empath guys. he’s got his backwards cap on and is still wearing his apron when he shows up, wide eyed and sweating after getting the call you’d went into labour. and you know he doesn’t leave your side basically at all, completely ignoring his manager blowing up his phone cause there’s way more important things going on (aka the birth of his c h i l d). he basically gets his hand broken and he won’t complain but it hurt like a bitch, but that all goes out the window when this slightly cone-headed screaming wriggly little babe is put on his chest and he’s just an absolute mess. you’d think he had the baby at that point.

- 🧸

this kills me bc yes :((((

you couldn’t call, in too much pain — but you shot him a text just hoping and praying he’d see it. it read a simple ‘in labour come asap’, and luckily for you — jj did see it, but unluckily for him he saw it not only mid shift, but mid lecture from his manager about being responsible.

“the way you act, represents us as a company jj and—”

his eyes are glancing down at his phone when it dinged with a notification, practically falling out of his head as he reads what it says. he’s suddenly moving without thought, yanking his apron off and throwing it aside, nodding quickly as if he gave a shit about what he was being told.

“uh-huh, yeah for sure and i really understand but i gotta go, i really gotta go—” hes already headed for the exit.

“excuse me?”

“my girls having her baby!” he hollers as he leaves, a faint “woohoo!” heard from the restaurant as he sprints off. of course, john b had received the same text, nearly knocking JJ off his feet when the twinkie swung round the corner with the gang inside, barely slowing down for him to jump in.

he gets there in time of course to hold your hand through the screaming and the refusal and the fear and the crying (mostly your own, but you were squeezing his hand pretty tight.) until before he knows it the room is hit with calm, a babies cry ringing out through the air.

he’s so focused on you he almost forgets the acknowledge the baby at first, making sure you look okay and healthy, cupping your face breathlessly like he was the one screaming as he presses millions of kisses to your cheeks, laughing gleefully. “you did so good baby, so good holy shit. you’re a fuckin’ weapon.”

the baby gets brought for you to hold on your chest and he goes real quiet, the reality of the situation settling in as he stares at the life the two of you created there in your arms. it had been such a long nine months, and today had moved so fast he hadn’t had time to process the fact that the baby was finally going to be here for real.

his ears are still ringing, and he can’t hear what you’re saying as you talk to the baby, holding her on your chest. he’s just staring, looking at all the babies features. a sweet baby girl, still clammy and bloody but beautiful none the less, the spitting image of you already, he can tell, and wouldn’t have it any other way. he’s still stroking your head, fingers twisting the hair at your sweaty scalp almost nervously as he just stares in shock.

exhausted, you look up at him. he recalls you looking as beautiful as the day you met him. “you wanna take her jayj?”

the nurse helps the pass-over and he sits in the chair beside the bed, this clammy warm baby tucked into his chest, so real, moving and whimpering. you’re smiling, tiredly but encouragingly in his direction, your first ever look at JJ as a dad. he looks back at you, lips slightly agape, eyes wide, then back at the baby, then back at you, then back at the baby and he just crumbles, bursting into tears.

“oh jayj.” you whisper hoarsely in awe, tears filling your own eyes at the sight.

“shes so beautiful man, i swear— i swear to you right now, no one is ever gonna hurt you okay? not as long as daddies around.” he rambles to the baby, lifting her to kiss her damp head, careful not to let his salty tears drip on her perfect skin. “my baby girl.” he adds in a whisper, rocking her before letting out an embarrassed laugh, looking back at you. “dude i’m a wreck, i feel like i just gave birth.” he comments, which gets a laugh out of the nurses.

after the baby gets checked by the midwives you’re allowed visitors, JJ handing the baby back to you so he can go and tearfully retrieve the group to bring them in. he walks into the waiting room and of course they all stand up instantly, waiting for him to say something. “y’all wanna meet my daughter or what?”

#🧸 anon #dad!jj #linecook!jj

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forever--darling · 3 months

Note

Hi sweet girl , I want to tell you that your me & the devil fic is one of my favorites and one of the best I'm reading. For me Anakin x reader is perfection 💗.

I don't know if I'm being too ambitious but in blurb ideas I have one for Hayden and one for Anakin. I would like it to be fluffy.

From Hayden it could be something like : How is an outing with him ? ( I love how homey he is ) . Cooking together , watching movies in his living room while cuddling . Him giving that charming smile he has .

And for Anakin I love the idea of how he comforts his girl . Hugs , nicknames , cuddling together .

summary: a night staying in, resulting in getting high, has you unable to focus on the idea of sex when you're too busy laughing & realizing the extent of your feelings

pairings: hayden christenson x young!reader

word count: 1.0k

warnings/notes: age!gap (reader in mid-twenties), mention of weed/getting high, fluff, honeymoon phase af, mentions of sex, mentions of anakin skywalker

p.s. to whoever requested this, I will be doing your second request as well sometime soon.

masterlist

Blue pupils stared back at you, up through the dim lighting of the bedside lamp. Slightly blown out, from the weed in his system or you, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t know as this wasn’t something the two of you ever did often, yet the sudden fire beneath your skin and the precious need to press your body close to his was something you craved. Perhaps, it was the way his lips felt along your collarbones, the sides of your neck, or how his warm hands, calluses in all, felt along the bareskin of your sides. Maybe it was just him in general, how much and how quickly you had found yourself wanting him.

Or maybe it's just the drugs.

The way they seemed to warp your senses, filling the air with some sort of stamina that left the particles buzzing and your breath astray. The music sounded quieter than it really was, but perhaps it was masked by the soft giggle that poured out freely.

“What? What is it?” Hayden sighed, almost disappointed, his head lifting up from where his lips had been attached to your collarbone, kissing softly.

A quirk appeared in his brow, a teasing look in his eyes as he took in the way you appeared so perfectly pinned underneath him. His body on top of yours, legs parting yours, his weight light as they pushed you deeper into the mattress.

Your laughter quit but only for a moment as you tried to explain just what was so funny to you in the first place, something that wouldn’t have been nearly as funny if you hadn’t smoked as much as you had. For not having done it in a while other than the edibles you had at least once a week, you had forgotten how much to inhale.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to appear as serious as can be, a smile forming in a fine line as you met his stare.

Your laugh burst out again, though, and your eyes crinkled shut, unable to stop the way the hormones attacked the neurons in your brain.

“Right,” Hayden replied, narrowing his eyes playfully, the redness in them no doubt matching your own. “Clearly, it’s nothing if it has you laughing as much as you are.”

You shook your head, hands automatically wrapping around his strong shoulders, fingers carding through the back of his hair almost like they had a mind of their own. The softness of the short curls had your heart bursting if that was even a feeling.

“Seriously, tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not?” he demanded, thumbs rubbing soft circles across your hips.

“Because…”

You were laughing again, and his head was falling, meeting your chest with ease, a sigh filtering out of his lips.

“Baby,” he mumbled, lips pressed along your collarbone again, but this time no longer gracing them with the kisses you had come to love so much. Almost too much.

“Fine, okay,” you gave in, laughter diminishing again to nothing but a soft chuckle, tears pricking your eyes as you tried to get the words out, “I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“When you’ve hooked up with girls in the past, have they, ever, you know. Asked you to like dress up in costume?”

A deadpan look appeared on his face as his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, “What do you mean?”

“Like, have they ever been mid-foreplay and straight out asked you if you can dress up as Anakin or Darth Vader?”

“Where is this coming from?” he chuckled, too, lips lifting into that smile that somehow had convinced you to leave all the guys your age in the past.

“Or have they asked you to pull out your lightsaber?”

“Y/N,” he shook his head, mouth forming in an ‘o’, almost in surprise as you continued to laugh. “I’m trying to initiate sex here, and you’re laughing about if other girls have asked me to make their Star Wars sex fantasies a reality?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied, the tone almost accusatory tone as if it was something you would be asking, especially five hits later from the joint that was now stubbed out in the bathroom.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that,” he laughed then, too, “Why, is that something you want? Do you want to know about my lightsaber?”

“I mean, yeah, who wouldn’t,” you retorted, laughter falling away to complete seriousness.

Staring down at him, you felt the silence lull, almost swallowing you whole as the realization appeared again, almost like a car hitting you out of nowhere. The realization that you had fallen for an older man, a man you hadn’t expected to ever want you back, to notice you the way he had. Worse, to love him as you did so quickly, so immensely was too much, too much to understand, to accept.

Yet there you were, pinned beneath him, heart so full, so well-kept, hoping that it would stay close within his palms for the rest of time.

That charming smile appeared then on his face, his eyes crinkling slightly, a certain sort of contentment appearing as if he had had a revelation of his own. Words were not enough in that moment, so evidently as he leaned up, connecting his lips with yours, softly, deeply as if he was trying to pour his very own breath into your being.

You loved this man; that was inevitable.

After a few seconds, he pulled back, only enough for his lips to depart from yours. That smirk of his still firmly sat along his face. “So, what are you saying? Do you want me to go grab my wardrobe from set? I’m sure you would really have something to laugh at then, wouldn’t you?”

You loved this man, and you wanted him like this forever.

“Yeah, I would.”

#inbox #anon inbox #💌 asks #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #blurb

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d6volution · 7 months

Note

Hey! I know you've heard this before but the way your write Caine???? Actually mouth drooling omg, you're writing is fantastic,

If it isn't too much trouble, I was reading the drabble with Caine and the affectionate reader and how he's practically willing to drop anything at a moments notice to tend to her. I'm super into that concept omg so how about an idea where they are like mid adventure and the reader is pretty much just super needy throughout the entire adventure and goes to seek out Caine for relief?

Love you, tysm~ 💖

thank you so much. im so glad you like it 🤧💗💗 and of course !

-------

Caine had made a habit out of being by your side almost 24/7, and you absolutely loved it. You adored him and his attention. It was the only thing that made being stuck here worthwhile. As much as Caine loved your company he also thought it would be healthy to have you go on a few adventures alone. Unfortunately you were being somewhat of a brat about it.

"Come now, dear, just for today! You must intact with the other circus members to keep that pretty little head of yours screwed on right!" His voice had that usually charismatic ring to it, but you've been around him long enough to realize that he was becoming a little frustrated as well.

"Don't wanna! Wanna stay with you, Caine!" You sat down right in front of his feet. Refusing to move in an act of protest.

Caine sighed, and if he had a nose, he'd be pinching the bridge of it right now.

He picked you up under your armpits and sat you on his lap. For a moment, you were overjoyed until he shifted the position and made you lay across his lap. You immediately began to squirm.

"Keep still dear, unless you want this to hurt more hmm?" He hummed and rubbed your ass.

"N.. No, m'sorry Caine, I... I'll go on the adventure!"

He brought his hand down on your ass hard and fast and you yelped, clinging onto his pant leg. "Are you sure you'll stop being a brat? I'm only trying to help you dear, and here you are throwing quite the tantrum!" Another smack, then another.

You whined and squirmed, sputtering out apologies as he rubbed your sore ass.

"Good, good! How wonderful that we could see eye to eye." You could feel your panties sticking to your cunt, and that unmistakable feeling of Caine's erection pressed against your leg.

But he opted to ignore it, "Now darling, let's get you up and adam!" He said and helped you to stand correctly, licking your tears off of your cheeks. "Ready, dear?"

He said and nodded, still sniffling a little.

It had been about thirty minutes into the adventure and your cunt was still throbbing from earlier, you knew Caine purposely left you in these soiled underwear on purpose and the thought made your frustrated! He .. he had to take responsibility. Plus you didn't even want to be away from him in the first place.

"If looks could kill, y/n.." Jax muttered, noticing your determined expression. "What's your panties in a bunch, huh?"

"Oh! Jax, i.. it's nothing.. can you help me though, I want to find Caine." You knew he out of all people could find him, one way or another.

"Oh yeah? What's in it for me huh?"

"Jaaxxx.. please!" You whined and tugged at his arm.

"Ugh, fine.. fine." He rolled his eyes , clearly bothered by your whining.

You were desperate, taking the shortcut that Jax pointed out, and you promised to keep it a secret. "C.. Caine..? Caine!" You called out as you burst through the door and into a what looked like a cafe filled of mannequins. Caine and Bubble occupied one of the tables.

Caine's eyes quite literally popped out of his head, "Y/N, what in my name are you doing here!?"

You felt like many eyes were on you, artificial or not it made you flustered. You squirmed a little, your confidence seemed to drain from you.

Caine cleared his throat and everyone went back to their idle conversation as he approached you, "What's the meaning of th—" Oh. He could practically smell you.

"N.. Need you, Caine.. please.. can we leave..?"

"My, my, what am I going to do with you?" He said and easily scooped you up into his arms, "Still leaking from earlier, is your mind that occupied with me, my dear? It seems you're in for another round punishment.. and much more, of course." His voice got low just then.. and you pressed your legs together.

Knowing this would be more satisfying than any adventure ever could.

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #caine x reader #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine

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rossmacdonaldsgf · 2 months

Text

it’s almost the end of tour, im destroyed. so to cope with sadness, have a matty x female reader fluffy one shot of a show day.

matty x female reader

no warnings

maybe it was tiredness, fondness or an array of complex emotions that formed the purple eye bags under all their eyes. that atmosphere at the shows were different now, everyone could see it, feel it, breathe it. nobody could quite tell if their eyes were glossed over with tears or exhaustion. the days were so long and gruelling, early mornings and late nights, faint smells of long lit cigarettes and open bottles of rum. their life packed and folded into two suitcases currently burst open with an array of items littering the floor. he wasn’t sure how long he’d been awake, not too long he thought, his eyes still heavy with the weight of exhaustion, he longed to be able to close his eyes and welcome the inviting arms of sleep, but his brain fought a battle and kept his body waiting. it was quiet, too quiet for him, he liked the buzz and busyness of noise, the only formable sound was her, her heavy breathing signalling her peace. his fingers itched to touch her, comb her hair and kiss her head, but, in the fear of waking her, he settled for tracing her face with featherlight touches, down the bridge of nose, across her pouted lips, down to her chin. she sighed, almost as if she could sense his lingering presence, that noise stilled him in the fear she was awakening. ‘its rude to stare you creep.’ she was obviously awake now.

their mornings were slow, movements sluggish, trying to ease the agonising ache of their muscles from the dancing and performing. they swayed, their movements identical and soft, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his chin resting on her head, drinking in the smell of her. a billy joel song played quietly on the radio, a song she couldn’t quite recall over the sound of his humming and breathing. she cracked an egg, letting the sound of sizzling oil overtake the kitchen, it spat, catching her on her wrist. she hissed, bringing it up to eyeline to inspect it, ever the fusser he tutted, ‘you okay baby?’. god, that nickname could send her melting into a puddle, even after the thousands of times he’s carelessly used it. she hummed a yes, eyes carefully watching as he bought her wrist up to his lips kissing it, ‘all better.’ she laughed, shaking her head, she turned around to face him, hooking her arms over his neck to pull him down for a sweet kiss. ‘you make everything better.’

the taxi ride to the venue was quiet, not the kind of quiet where your thoughts battle against everything else as you try and find something to say, no, it was the kind of quiet that didn’t need conversation to be comfortable. it was soft and sweet and welcoming, it exhibited love and safety, his head was on her shoulder, bumping with the potholes in the road, yet never waking, his sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun that was strangely bright for mid march. she sat there, picking at the skin on her fingers, too scared to move in the fear of waking him, she would’ve read a book, but she gets carsick and the idea of her breakfast reshowing cancelled out her want to finish her latest read. the taxi pulled up to the venue, in the background, if she listened hard enough she could hear the chatter and laughter of campers, their dedication was something she admired. camping in the cold weather for days? no thanks. her hand made its way to his head, her thumb softly stroking his nose. ‘honey, we’re here.’

while he soundchecked, she foraged through his bag to find a t-shirt to steal for the night ahead humming along to the songs she could faintly hear reverberating from the arena to backstage, she worked quickly, wanting to meet him when he got off to share the scarce time they got together. ‘stealing my things love?’. he must’ve just got of stage, obviously coming straight to the dressing room, she laughed, choosing her culprit, an old white shirt. ‘thinking of stealing your look for tonight, thoughts?’. he smirked, sauntering over, ‘you wear it better than me.’ she smiled at him, dimples forming in her cheeks, ‘glad to know your ego allows you to know that i do in fact, wear everything better.’ he chuckled, helping her do the tie she carelessly strung around her neck, stepping back he admired her, ‘my beautiful, beautiful y/n.’

it was electric. always was, always will be. the crowds, the music, everything. it was addicting, intoxicating and it never got old. she loved seeing him in his element, she loved seeing the way he shined in the spotlight, she loved hearing his voice, she loved seeing all the guys, she loved it all. the last notes of “give yourself a try” were sounded out, the audience going wild, thousands of people waving at the guys, hoping to get a reaction. they bowed. and it was over, he ran off, going straight into her awaiting arms, kissing her forehead. in his arms, she could hear his heart hammering against his chest, she rested her ear on it, listening to the rhythmic noise. ‘was it okay?’ a soft smile. ‘you’ve never been better my love.’

#the 1975 x reader #matty healy #matty healy x reader #the 1975 #matty healy fluff #still at their very best

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ramsywasalittlelamb · 3 months

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cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight

a batfamily agere fic! 2.7k words, fluff! warnings for mentions of nightmares and fear toxin, never goes in depth!

hello!! ive been super inactive as of late for a multitude of reasons, but mostly bc ive gone back into spy mode of having an online existence lol enjoy the fic! (better to read on ao3 imo!) lmk if i need to add any warnings!

pinterest photo links 1 2 3, title from this must be the place by talking heads!!

First it was Tim.

He had been taken off duty mid-patrol after a dose of fear toxin had been administered to him and possibly Jason. Even though he argued that he was fine, he took an antidote, and they should be more worried about Jason, Bruce persisted until Tim resigned for the night and retreated back to the cave.

He would never admit that his hands trembled with the scenes flashing in his mind on the back of his eyes each time he blinked for a second.

He would never admit that the hug he received from Alfred upon arriving made him tear up underneath the mask.

He would never admit that in the middle of the night, the lonely openness of the room and the creak in the hallway floorboards began to scare him enough to not sleep, prompting him to go to Bruce’s room because Bruce’s room was safe. Because Bruce was safe.

Bruce squinted in the darkness of his room when a weight dipped his mattress, beginning to sit up to ask what was wrong or if someone was hurt, but soon settled back down when he saw a teary eyed Tim crawling into the bed with Aurora tucked between his arms in a tight hug, thinking he hadn’t woken Bruce up.

Bruce would never admit that Tim woke him up.

Next it was Damian.

He had come home later than Drake but earlier than the others for school purposes, getting enough sleep the night prior was valued for the loud and noisy classmates he had to put up with for a majority of his day, along with getting his homework done on time for the next day.

He had finished his schoolwork, freshened up, and followed his usual routine for the weekdays, ready to sleep.

Except.. something was off.

He had traced back everything he did, and everything he did was in the correct order and routine…

Oh, his pacifier was missing from his bedside table. He must have left it in father’s bedroom from the previous night.

He folded back his covers and trotted down the hall, narrowly avoiding the loud spots on the floor and opening the door to father’s room, only to see Drake and father slumbering.

He continued forward, passing the empty and inviting spot on one of father’s side to grab his pacifier and return back to his bed.

But he paused, eyes and mind darting between the open slot on the mattress and the half open door, revealing the nightlights placed throughout the hall.

Bruce would never be able to explain the selfish disappointment he felt when he heard the door close, only for a burst of joy to replace and erupt in his chest when he felt Damian snuggle against his side, the pacifier knocking against his shoulder in a rhythmic motion.

This time, it wasn’t Jason.

He had been having nightmares on repeat— as if that was new,— the way he had been carrying himself and working the past few nights had been concerning at the very least. Everyone had noticed, but didn’t bring it up, until Dick came over from Bludhaven and took him aside.

Jason had admitted to not having great sleep recently, but had argued that, once again, it wasn’t new to him. He could work it out, push through. And once the nightmares have made their run, everyone can carry on their merry way.

Of course, nothing ever worked out that way for anyone in this family.

His head felt full of just.. a feeling of disturbance, followed by the fact that he was distracted by how his left arm and right leg weren’t cooperating with him, one of scarecrow’s men had whacked him square in the head, sending him to the ground.

The rush of cold air flowing through a crack on his mask hit his face, everything felt so far away. Why does everything feel so fuzzy? Why is someone yelling in my ears? Why are there so many sounds?

The hands under his armpits dragging him from his spot on the floor cut him out of his thoughts, his eyes burning along with his lungs, the loudness in his ears was just too much. He struggled against the hands dragging him, effectively flipping on his stomach and away from the person.

He blinked heavily up at the person, his vision swimming as he squinted at them. Dick? Tim? Bruce? None of those options sounded great to deal with right now.

Next thing he knew, he was jolting awake with panic and fear seizing in his chest, an overwhelming feeling of everything crashing into his system. He wasn’t in his room, he wasn’t even in a safe house, this was the manor.

With remnants of the nightmare leaping around in the fog of his mind, he clutched the sheets closer to him as he tried to move off the bed, but his limbs didn’t want to cooperate. His knees hit the cold floor with a whimper leaving his mouth, tears filling up his eyes quickly as he sat in his own misery.

Then it was Cass.

She almost always sought someone out for cuddles during the night, regressed or not. It was comforting being wrapped up in someone’s arms, but just like tonight, sometimes it was because it just got really cold and lonely in the manor.

Tucking her big bird plush in her arms as she wrapped her fluffy blanket around her shoulders, she ventured out into the hall.

Her hand was on the handle of Bruce’s door, when something felt.. off… There was an icy ache of worry forming in her chest, something in the back of her head to look around first.

Listening to her instincts, she checks all the rooms, some of them missing their owner, making her smile knowing she’ll have more people to hug tonight.

Two rooms, side by side, had light coming from underneath the door. Dick was awake, which was no surprise seeing as he slept until five in the afternoon, but Jason being awake set off the alarms in her head.

Opening it slowly to let him know she was entering, and thankfully not receiving a request to leave, she saw Jason sitting beside his bed with his face hidden by his arms resting on his tucked up knees. The blankets tossed around and his pillow shoved between the wall and mattress. Clearly not a restful night.

She sat beside him, at a distance for his comfort, allowing him all the space and time he needs, but letting him know she was there. She would always be there for them.

“Nightmare.” Jason grumbled, his voice muffled by his position. She hummed, nodding even though she knew he couldn’t see it. She knows how terrible nightmares can be, she also knows how badly they affect everyone in the family differently. Some had gotten used to them and could shake them off easier, meanwhile others couldn’t even close their eyes without an image of the bad dream reappearing.

“It sucks and— and it’s frustrating! I know I get them, and they still get me shaken up when it happens, and it sucks!” He says, throwing his head back against the mattress, letting his arms fall to his side.

Hm, regressed.

She takes big bird from her arms and places him into Jason’s lap. If he helps her take her mind off bad things, he should help Jason do the same.

“Big bird? What am I supposed to do with it?” He wipes his nose with his sleeve with a small scowl and questioning look at the plush.

“Him.” She corrects, “Hug.”

He pauses, looking between Cass and Big bird, before picking up the stuffed animal and hugging it, releasing a breath of what seemed like relief.

“Come.” Cass says after letting Jason have a moment of peace with big bird, standing up and reaching a hand out for Jason to take.

He takes it, the two of them walking hand in hand a little further in the hallway to Bruce’s room. Jason pauses at the doorway, but Cass pats his hand, nodding with encouragement.

Cass lays with her back to Tim, scooting as close as she can to make room for Jason— though that’s not too hard with how large Bruce’s bed is. Jason shuffles hesitantly, tucking his head under Cass’s chin and allowing himself to be hugged by her, whilst hugging big bird in his arms.

She won’t be cuddled tonight, but she’s always willing to repay what the others have given her.

“G’night, love you.” He whispers to her, nuzzling further against her in search of comfort.

“Love you too.” She murmurs back, a smile etched on her face as she drifts off.

After hearing a few doors and very quiet talking, Duke decides to get up from his bed of misery.

He had tried making it more comfortable over the time he’s been here, but sometimes nothing would shake the feeling of homesickness he still felt.

Plus, that fuzzy feeling— regression, he reminds himself— keeps making it hard to do anything but lay down and cry in his own sadness, curled up with his all too cold blankets and in want of a hug.

But it’s late, everyone is probably settled back down for the night and— and he couldn’t just bother anyone for a hug anyway. He’s new to this family, the dynamic, and he just.. he didn’t slide in perfectly like a puzzle piece yet.

Sure, he was close with them and he talked to them like family, but everything was still new and he continued to find out more things. Not only about them, but himself too.

And right now, he just feels small, tired, and homesick.

Though.. Tim did tell him that if he ever felt in need of a hug, no matter the time, Bruce will always be willing to give one to him— Perks of being the new kid, Bruce couldn’t really get angry with you, Dick added. And Bruce did give some good hugs.

It wouldn’t hurt to try.

He picks himself off the bed and goes down to the end of the hall to Bruce’s door. He can hear Bruce snoring on the other side, the sound of the sheets rustling every now and then. Maybe Bruce was just an active sleeper.

He opens the door and…

Pretty much everyone is already in the bed, like a secured spot dedicated to each and every one of them. Ouch.

His bottom lip begins to wobble as his eyes well with tears. It’s not that serious, really, but seeing all the others so adjusted and comfortable to do this like it’s a routine, meanwhile he still feels like he’s intruding on everything.. It’s isolating, to say the least.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the absolute cozy and familial scene in front of him, watching like an outsider, like it’s a paused screen.

Dick hears the door to Bruce’s door open for the umpteenth time tonight, but he never hears it close.

Odd.

He clicks off his phone, peeking his head out quietly to investigate and Duke is standing at Bruce’s door, teary eyed, fidgeting with the frayed hoodie strings.

Alarms go off in his head immediately. Duke never seeks out Bruce in the middle of the night like this, and he certainly has never seen Duke come to anyone crying, so something must’ve happened.

He walks over, his steps unintentionally quiet until he purposefully makes a floorboard creak under his weight. Duke jumps at the noise and stares wide at Dick.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Dick whispers, bending over a little to get more eye-to-eye with Duke, reaching over to pull the bedroom door nearly closed to block the sound of them talking.

Duke glances between Dick and inside the room through the small crack, biting on his lip before shaking his head, wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie. “‘M fine.” He says wetly with a sniffle. Very convincing.

“Duke, if something is wrong, you can let me or anyone one of us know. We won’t judge you or tell another person.” He assures, trying so hard to get concern across and not worry and panic in his expressions.

Duke hesitates, “I’m jus’ not feeling good. Sad.” He says, his bottom lip quivering as more tears well up. “Jus’ wanna hug.” He says in such a pitiful way, Dick thinks his heart just got torn then ripped out of his chest.

“Oh, lightning bug, I’d be more than willing to give you a hug— any of us would be.” He says, opening his arms for Duke to crash into, to which he promptly does. Tears soak through Dick’s shirt, though he doesn’t really care at the moment because his baby brother is sad, and he can’t have that.

“Did you want a hug from Bruce?” Dick asks after a few beats, he needs to figure out why the kid was just standing there. Duke nods against his chest. “Okay, so why didn’t you go in and get one, bug?” Duke hesitates again, holding Dick tighter.

“Didn’t feel right. Everybody is asleep ‘n cozy and.. I’d just be bothering them.” Duke says, muffled against Dick’s chest. “It’s scary being the new kid.” He says, moving his head to look up at Dick with a nervous look and tears steadily streaming down his eyes.

“Duke.. bud, I know it’s scary. You could never bother us though, especially if you’re upset.” Dick says with a frown, sorrow filling his voice as he runs a hand over Duke’s head comfortingly. “How about we go in there together? If you feel uncomfortable then you can leave or hug me tighter, how does that sound?”

A small and shaky— but still!— smile breaks onto Duke's face, making Dick smile back. The two walk over next to the side Damian rests on, seeing as the other was quite packed. Dick shuffles under the covers, Damian snuffles for a few moments, both Dick and Duke freeze until he flips over and nuzzles against Dick, who just combs his fingers through his hair.

Duke shifts on his feet for a few moments, then slowly climbs next to Dick, adjusting himself comfortably under the blankets and curling around Dick, who runs a hand up and down his back.

Within moments, Dick is the only one awake, smiling to himself as he looks over all of his siblings and his dad bundled together in peace. A giddy feeling fills his chest, a childish glee tugging at his mind. He holds Damian and Duke closer as he closes his eyes, happy to be sleeping surrounded by warmth and love.

Alfred checked all of the kids' rooms after nobody showed up in the midst of his cooking— let alone once it was done. No footsteps, no laughter, no tired groans from the ones who stayed up all night.

It was suspicious.

Nevertheless, he carried onwards to Bruce’s room, opening the door quietly, ready to start the daily routine of many years, until he saw Bruce already awake, surrounded by a pile of sleeping children.

“Good morning, sir.” Alfred whispers, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight.

Bruce huffs a breath in reply as he tries to sit upwards, shushing Jason when he whines at the subtlest movements or sounds, petting down his hair.

“I believe you might be stuck on the bed for the day, Master Bruce.” He says above the children, careful not to disturb any of them. Bruce chuckles quietly, “I guess I am. Not the worst situation to be stuck in though.” He says fondly, his eyes full of admiration and love for all his kids.

“Definitely not the worst.” He agrees, moving towards the bed to readjust Bruce’s pillow, seeing as the man couldn’t really move to do it himself.

Stepping away to leave the room, he pauses at the door. “I’ll come back with breakfast, perhaps a bedroom picnic is in order.” Alfred says, a twinkle of happiness shining brightly in his eyes as he leaves.

It may be Bruce’s bedroom, but the bed certainly does not hold one owner.

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tangledinink · 1 year

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heyyy guys. is this a bad time? srry i know its the autism contest today (go vote for donnie) but uhmmm second chapter of my i'm sorry, teenage mutant what now? fic is out. read it on a03 or below the cut!

[ previous chapter ]

Out of the three of them, Leo was the fastest. Donnie was a close second, and Raph brought up the rear, but none of them were slow by any means. Donnie knew, in the back of his mind, that their Dad was more than capable of some shocking speed when the situation called for it, though he was typically more inclined to amble.

But goddamn. He always kind of forgot just how fast their dad could move when he heard one of his children scream.

They could already hear him opening Mikey's door and demanding to know what happened by the time Leo, Raph and he were even breaking the top of the basement stairs, their hearts thudding in their ears because oh my god. Mikey was either just attacked by one of those shady alley cats that Dad told him not to feed, or he had finally managed to stab himself through the hand with a pencil while trying to do that flip-trick thing he liked to do-- one of the two.

"What's going on!?" Leo demanded as the trio skidded to a halt in front of Mikey's door, with Raph crying, "Are you hurt?!" At almost the exact same time, all three of them bunched up around the doorway to see what was going on.

The good news was there were no maniacal tabbies in sight, nor any writing utensils sticking out of his little brother's palm. A good start. The bad news was the smoldering scrap of paper and wire sitting on his baby brother's burnt desk.

"I don't know!" Mikey wailed, his eyes wide and beaded with tears. Their father kneeled down next to him, placing a hand over Mikey's trembling shoulder in what was likely an attempt at comfort. "I was just sitting here working on a sketch and my notebook caught on fire!"

Donnie blinked slowly.

"It caught on fire?" Leo echoed, his voice cautious.

"Yeah! It just-- it just went up in flames!" Mikey sobbed. "All-- all of my sketches are ruined...!"

Raph visibly hesitated, exchanging a look with their father before he spoke, "Uh. Well. The important thing is you weren't hurt--"

"Your notebook just spontaneously burst into flames? On its own? With no outside intervention?" Donnie deadpanned, his lips pursed. He stumbled slightly when Raph smacked him on the shoulder, glaring at his brother. What!? Like he was the only one thinking it! Come on, were they seriously not wondering the same thing?

"It did! I swear!" Mikey pressed, tearing up all over again. "I really– I wasn't doing anything--"

Donnie glanced wildly between his brothers and father, gesturing at the youngest slightly. They didn't seriously – There was no way–

"Science doesn't work like that!" He squawked. "You can't have fire without heat and fuel, it's literally basic physics! They're the main ingredients of an exothermic reaction-- does nobody else in this household respect the sanctity of the fire tetrahedron?!"

"Donatello."

"Oh, but when I cause an explosion, it's a problem--"

"Donatello." His father's voice was a bit harder this time, and immediately effective at stopping Donnie mid-tirade, his frame freezing in place and his lips still curved into a slight scowl. "Why don't you and your brothers go back downstairs? I have this under control."

Donnie scowled, his brows bunched together and his lips set in a deep frown, and he really thought about protesting or even refusing for a moment, not wanting to be so easily chased away. But, after a moment longer, he relented, turning to trudge back the way he came with a dramatic huff. "This is so unfair." He muttered as he went, his two brothers right behind him. The three retreated back to the basement, and Donnie's foot had barely even passed the bottom step before Leo turned on his heels to face the other two, giving a wild wave of his hands.

"What the hell was that?!"

"Hey," Raph muttered, as if he actually cared about any of his brothers swearing nowadays-- it was just reflex.

"No, I agree with Leo." Donnie immediately declared, crossing his arms over his chest. "There's no way his notebook actually just burst into flames. I mean, you could maybe convince me that some electrical equipment overheated, but there's no way there would be that dramatic of an effect, and I see no reason why it would center on a notebook of all places, unless Michelangelo was sitting there with a high-powered magnifying glass and directing a sunbeam, in which case he definitely went into my room--"

"Yeah, what Donnie said. But the, like, the sane bits." Leo interrupted. "I'm pretty sure homework doesn't just set itself on fire."

"What, you think he's lyin'?" Raph questioned.

"Well either that or he's finally lost it. Like, this isn't just Mikey weird, this is, like. Weird weird ." Leo insisted.

"Why would he lie though?" Donnie questioned, a brow quirked. "Surely he's not that desperate to get out of doing schoolwork. He's been doing really well as of late-- And if he needed to destroy evidence, I can think of about thirty-seven other, much more effective methods just off the top of my head that he could have employed. And none of them involve him physically endangering himself nor scaring the absolute living atoms out of the rest of us."

Raph kept quiet, seeming to consider this for a moment, before his eyes got wide, his face paling a bit.

"You don't-- you guys don't think he's smokin', do ya?"

"What?! No way! Come on, Raph, don't be crazy." Leo scoffed. "First of all-- What, and throw away his whole athletic career? You know how much he loves skateboarding and dancing and 'razzing his tazz' and all that. He's not that stupid. Second of all, there are about eight million other places he could go if he wanted to smoke in secret besides here. Like… literally all of New York City. Or even just, I dunno, the balcony?! Not his own room? I'm pretty sure we would have noticed by now if he was smoking in his room!"

"But why else would he be lighting stuff on fire!?" Raph cried.

"I dunno. Maybe just for fun or something? Donnie lights stuff on fire all the time."

"HEY!"

"You do, don't try to deny it."

"That's DIFFERENT, it's science--"

"Anyway. What teenage boy doesn't go through a 'lighting stuff on fire' phase? I'm pretty sure I read that in one of Dad's parenting books one time." Leo concludes, planting his hands firmly on his hips as if that were the end of it. Donnie rolled his eyes.

"You didn't. Raph didn't." He pointed out.

"Which means, statistically, Mikey definitely has to!" Leo replied.

"That's not how statistics work--"

"Bup-bup-bup-bup. Both of you, chill. Look, Dad said he's handling it, so he's handling it! We don't gotta sweat it. Just let them work it out, come on. I bet they'll be done before we finish even one round of Smash Bros."

---

"Michelangelo."

Even when he spoke, prodding him gently with his words, working so hard to keep his voice steady and even and calm, his youngest son wouldn't look up at him. Wouldn't meet his eyes. He kept his head down, sniffling weakly and making soft, hiccupy sounds that sank wetly to the floor around them. Yoshi was no stranger to his children's tears, but that didn't mean it ever got easier to hear. It made his chest twist.

"Mikey." He tried again, idly rubbing the teenager's shoulder. "Tell me again exactly what happened--"

"I promise I'm not making it up!" Mikey immediately cried, his head bobbing up, the little rainbow beads in his hair clicking softly against one another. "I swear, Dad, it really did just catch on fire! I swear I'm not lying or anything! Why would I-- I-- I mean, my, my sketches, all my homework, my notes, you know I wouldn't--"

"I know." Yoshi assured quickly. And he did. Michelangelo was certainly no angel, contrary to what his name might suggest, and he was just as capable of getting into trouble as the rest of his boys were. Did he really think Yoshi was dumb enough to not be aware of that tagging thing he was doing with his Posca's? And how many parent-teacher conferences had he been called to over the years? And which one of his sons was the only one who had ever gotten suspended for fighting?

But a liar, Michelangelo was not. As much as he tried, he just didn't have it in him-- he always cracked with even the barest amount of pressure, much to his brothers' chagrin. It had taken years off his life when they first moved up here into the city. He had spent weeks and weeks driving their cover story into the four of them and subtly teaching Michelangelo in particular how to divert and distract and dodge.

Without meaning to, his eyes flickered down to the small golden bracelet encircling his son's wrist, the tiny orange gem inlaid in it catching the light for a moment. One of a matching set of five-- one of which was on his own arm at this very moment.

"Remember, my son, what do you do when people start asking too many questions?"

"CRY!"

"That's right! Good boy!"

(Wait, was it his fault he cried so easily now? He's getting distracted. Focus on the now.)

"I know you're not lying to me, Mikey. You are not a very good liar." He teased, smiling the tiniest bit. He wasn't rewarded with the smile he was hoping for, so he pressed on. "I'm sure that whatever happened, it was an accident... And that there's a reasonable explanation! I'm sure. Perhaps there was just a short circuit somewhere, and a spark caught your paper. I will have your brother look into it. I'm simply glad you weren't hurt."

Mikey paused, frowning a bit, his eyes searching and unsure. Yoshi fought to keep his face as calm and reassuring as he possibly could.

"I'm sure your teacher will understand, I will... write her a note. And, uh... we will get you a new desk..."

"You believe me?" Mikey said, brows knit together in a crease. "And...you’re not mad? I'm not in trouble?"

"No, you're not in trouble."

"But-- My desk is burnt-- I mean, when Donnie--"

"You're not in trouble," Yoshi repeated. "Just… be careful, my son. I do not want you to get hurt."

Mikey stayed quiet for a moment, staring their father down before they finally gave a very slow nod.

"Okay..."

"Good boy." He said, offering him a small, albeit forced smile, rubbing his son's shoulder in reassurance one more time before he got back up to his feet (with an exaggerated groan of effort.) "It is late. Go get ready for bed. We'll worry about the desk later."

Watching his son's muted nod, Yoshi made his exit, closing the door firmly behind him and inhaling deeply--frozen for just a moment now that his son's eyes were not on him.

Michelangelo was not a liar.

That was what worried him.

---

“I’m just saying—“

“Raph.”

“That if you were—“

“Raph.”

“We would help you! We just want you to be safe!”

“Raph! For the last time! I don’t smoke! I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my entire life!”

“I’m saying, I mean, if you DID, I mean, Raph wouldn’t be angry! I just.”

He sniffled loudly.

“I JUST REALLY CARE ABOUT YOU AND—“

“Okay well, now I am gonna start smoking.”

“NO!!!”

---

Yoshi floated through the next few days, muscle memory, thankfully, filling in for him while his brain was occupied elsewhere. It was a good thing that his family had been to approximately eight-million martial arts tournaments over the past decade, or he may have been in trouble. Luckily, everything was, by now, second nature-- ensuring everything needed was accounted for, getting everyone to the gymnasium on time, signing in to each event and finding a seat...

He wanted to be present. He wanted to be aware of what was happening around him, to pay attention to the tournament, but it was a struggle to even keep his eyes open. The act of ‘sleeping’ had recently been superseded by that of ‘pouring over Hamato Clan scrolls,’ searching desperately for some sort of an answer or explanation, or even better, a solution.

Yoshi had never regretted his choice to turn his back on his ‘destiny’ before. He had never regretted choosing not to finish his training, and failing to unlock his ninpo. What use did he have for such things? And what benefit could he possibly find in throwing his life away for the sake of a 'what if,' a what if that had never come to pass in his clan's history? Perhaps life had not turned out exactly as he had planned, and all his choices as a young adult had not exactly been the wisest, but...

This choice? No. He had never regretted it.

Until now.

Now, his bones ached with remorse. Perhaps if he had learned it himself, he would be more useful now in ensuring his son's safety. He had lit his notebook on fire for god's sake-- What if he had hurt himself? What if the fire had spread?! And how was he supposed to keep his children safe when this power wasn't something that he understood, nor something that they were even aware of themselves?

He grumbled softly to himself, squinting a bit and hunching over in his seat on the bleachers. Uncomfortable-- these always hurt his back. Thinking about this, it hurt his head. For the thousandth time in his life, he wondered if he was making the right choice as a parent. As a person. He didn't want to deceive his sons. It was never his intention-- It wasn't his plan-- But--

"Yoshi."

Yoshi Hamato started slightly in response to his own name, momentarily distracted from the rather consuming task of pushing two small children on swings in tandem. He had tried to negotiate taking turns, but Raph and Mikey had insisted they wanted to swing together...

He grit his teeth a bit at being interrupted in the middle of an outing with his children by what was, he assumed, a fan or reporter, but when he turned to face the voice, he froze in place. Ice climbed up his throat and lodged itself there.

"... Hinata."

They looked different from the last time he saw them-- older, certainly-- but he still recognized the face of his cousin right away. Not dragging his eyes away from the other, he slowed the two children's swings to a stop, leaning down to speak to them.

"Why don't you boys go and play with your brothers in the sandbox for a little bit? My arms need a break, and then we can swing some more."

"I don't wanna play in the sandbox!" Mikey immediately protested, his eyes wide.

"Mikey--"

"Come on, Mikey. It'll be fun." Raph interrupted, taking his little brother's hand in his own. "I'll let ya bury me!"

The four-year-old immediately lit up at that, wasting no time at all in throwing himself off the swing and sprinting in the direction of the sandbox, where Donnie and Leo were already gathered. Raph followed after, but not after just a moment of hesitation, glancing at their father for just a second before running off.

As helpful as his eldest’s reaction was, it made Yoshi’s heart twist to think on it too hard. He wasn’t the eldest by much. He was still a child as well.

This was why they had moved to the surface. This was why Yoshi had chosen to risk exactly this scenario. But he had still hoped it would not happen. And he did not think it would happen this quickly.

Rising up to his full height once more, he narrowed his eyes at his cousin, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest or plant his hands on his hips. He was not a teenager anymore.

"Why are you here, Hinata." He slipped easily into his native tongue, knowing that Hinata would do the same. He would never forget the language he spent the first eighteen years of his life speaking, but now, after all this time, he would admit, Japanese almost felt foreign in his mouth.

"Yoshi! It is so good to see you again-- After all this time, we all thought-- I mean--"

"We both know perfectly well you are not here for pleasantries, Hinata." He snapped, his temper flaring for a moment, getting the better of him. "You did not travel all the way to New York to say ‘hello’. Why did you come?"

"... We heard in the news, that you have children. What a surprise for all of us, after how adamant you were growing up...!"

"And what business is that of yours?"

"Yoshi," Hinata said, a sigh weighing down their voice. "I know that you never completed your training, but--"

"And they will never start."

"Yoshi, please, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable!"

"You are the last direct descendant of the Hamato Clan, Yoshi! You, and now them! We have a duty! A responsibility to the world!"

"Them!?" Yoshi hissed, gesturing violently to the sandbox across the playground, where his three children excitedly worked to try to bury their older brother. He struggled to keep his voice down. " They have a responsibility to the world?! A duty to fulfill?! They are children!"

"You think I am not fully aware that it is a great burden to bare!? Do you think the rest of us have reveled in it?!" Hinata spat. "Just because a task is difficult does not mean you can abandon it, Yoshi!"

"Why!? What is stopping us!?" Yoshi threw up his arms. "If you are content wasting your life preparing for the return of a scary story, be my guest! But you will not drag my children into it. I will not send them away to be raised without a parent. I will not sacrifice them for some supposed greater good. And I will not be convinced otherwise." He hissed, each word burning his lips from how cold they came out-- a surprise each time.

"Yoshi. Please. We are your family. We cannot do this without you."

"Listen to me carefully, Hinata," Yoshi said, his eyes narrowed into slits. "The Hamato Clan will have no part in my sons' lives. They will not train them. They will not speak to them. They will not attempt to make any form of contact with them. And if any of you do, then you will be hearing from my lawyers. None of you will touch a single hair on their heads."

He leaned in a bit closer.

"And if anyone attempts to, then I will break all of the fingers on their hands, and worry about the lawyers later. Do you understand?"

Hinata kept quiet for a moment, their eyes searching the other, as though they were trying to decide whether or not their cousin was serious. Eventually, their shoulders slumped.

"... Your grandpa missed you, Yoshi."

"Stop."

"He was devastated when we heard you had gone missing."

"Hinata."

"Until his dying breath--"

Every muscle in Yoshi's body jerked and tensed, coiled tight and hot. His lips curled into a snarl, and he clenched his hands into fists.

He walked away. Hinata did not follow him.

He sat with his children in the sandbox until he was sure Hinata was gone. He pushed Raph and Mikey on the swings for five minutes longer, as he had promised, and then he let Leo and Donnie have a turn, to be fair.

Raph asked him who the person from before was. Yoshi told him it was an old friend. Mikey asked him if he was sad because he seemed sad. Yoshi smiled and said that Mikey should not worry about it, and he was fine. They did not ask any further questions, and Yoshi was relieved.

He brought his sons home, parked them in front of the television, and locked himself in his room to weep as softly as he could.

He laid in bed and he wept until his eyes were swollen and his head ached. He felt stupid for being so upset. Hadn’t he renounced the Hamato Clan ages ago? Nothing had changed— He always knew that this would be his response if his family sought him out again. Hadn’t he known that his Jiji was surely gone by now, given the time that had passed? But still, it was different for it to be confirmed. It was different for everything to be spoken out loud and real and definite and unable to be taken back.

The term ‘uncontrollable sobbing’ had never really meant anything to him before. He had cried before, sure, but this was different. He hadn’t thought it could be so literal. This was horrendous.

When he finally ran out of tears, he curled up on his side, hidden beneath sheets and blankets, feeling rather pitiful and unsure of what to do with himself. His chest was all hollow and empty now, like something had been carved out of him. And all that was left was this deep, terrible frustration.

The world felt so hideously unfair in this moment. He thought of every other human on the planet who didn’t have the same problems as him, who had families without destinies or sacrifices, and he resented each and every one of them. He thought, “How could they do this to me?” He thought about his mother, and his jaw set. He thought about the hours of training he had endured as a child, and his face flushed with anger, heady and dark. He thought of Hinata, who he had grown up alongside, played with, shared secrets with, and he wished they were here— or anyone, truly anyone in the world was here in their place— so he could kick their teeth out of their skull and stomp on their throats.

How dare they try to take his children from him?

Seething, lit up red in every part of his soul, simmering like oil, he slowly sat up, inhaling long and slow before letting it out again. No. The Hamato Clan and their traditions would never touch his children. They would not so much as graze the silhouettes of their lives. His children would never be kept awake at night learning lore and stories from fabricated scrolls. They would never be informed of their purpose in life, nor told that they had no say in it. They would never be taught to fight, never endure hours of martial arts lessons, never cry or beg for their training to finally be finished for the day—

For the second time that day, a sudden noise startled Yoshi from his thoughts, and his head bobbed about at the low thud and scrabble from the living room.

Ah. Mmm… Yes. Of course. His beloved and innocent sons. One of his eyes twitched a bit, and he debated his next action for a moment. He didn’t especially want to interact with any of his children given his current… whole emotional situation, but, after a bit of hemming and hawwing, relented that he probably should go and check that no one was injured. Grumbling a bit to himself, he dragged himself to his feet, shuffling down the hall to peer around the corner and into the living room.

“Give up now! You’re no match for me and my super rad skills!” Leo shrieked from in front of the TV, his mouth set in a mischievous grin.

“Oh yeah?” Raph echoed his younger brother’s smile before leaping at his brother. “Watch this! POMPADOUR PUNCH!”

Yoshi noted dimly that whatever cartoons he had left them with had long been exchanged for one of his many films, which was now flickering across the screen. Donatello’s doing, he assumed.

“Mikey! Cover me! We gotta get to higher ground!” Leo yelped through laughter, throwing himself at the couch and attempting to climb up the back of it. Michelangelo, as instructed, koala-hugged his oldest brother’s legs in an attempt to slow him down.

“Donnie! Raph’s been got! You gotta stop Leo!” Raph barked, very obviously trying to rope the purple one into the shenanigans and include him in the fun.

Donnie gave a determined chirp and a nod in reply, his expression turning very serious in such a way that Yoshi had to smile a tiny bit.

“HA! I’d like to see you try! No one can stop a NINJA!” Leo crowed, striking a pose to mirror Yoshi’s own younger self on the television. It certainly wasn’t CORRECT, but… It wasn’t bad, either. His boys were still young, but Yoshi had, admittedly, taught them some of the basics of stances and things of the like when he needed something to keep them busy in the sewers… He was a bit surprised that his children had retained any of those lessons, but it was evident in how they held themselves that they did.

And… letting them watch Kung-Fu movies probably had an influence as well, admittedly.

Sighing softly, Yoshi leaned against the wall, resting his cheek against the cool drywall. He thought, absently, of how he and his cousins would play this way when they were small and met at family gatherings, and his shoulders slumped slightly, the tight muscles unwinding. He thought of how they would train together, coaching one another through difficult stances or sequences and celebrating when they finally got it down, and the heat in his cheeks slowly tempered and faded. He thought of the pride he wore so brazenly as a child— proud of his destiny, proud of his heritage, proud of the abilities he had built for himself. Proud to be a Hamato. He silently wiped at his face, brushing some of his hair from his face. He had thought he had run out of tears, but perhaps he hadn’t.

The frustration and anger were gone now. The hollow was simply hollow now— empty and worn. Yes, something had been carved out. He recognized the grief. And he was still completely sure of himself when he said that the Hamato Clan would never touch his children.

… But he supposed that, perhaps, he didn’t have to abandon every part of his past.

It might be okay if they dipped their toes into some of the traditions. Perhaps they could still be Hamatos on their own.

“Point!”

Had he fallen asleep for a moment there?… Yoshi cursed himself internally when he realized that he had missed the entire match in favor of old memories. His eyes refocused on the scene before him— his son standing over a somewhat shaken-looking opponent on the mat, the referee gesturing to Donatello in victory.

He was too busy lost in his thoughts to pay attention. He wrinkled his nose a bit, but he could see Donnie’s head turn, glancing to the stands to search for him in the crowd. As soon as he was able to catch his eyes, Yoshi offered a small smile and an appraising nod, which earned him a barely-contained beam in response.

As soon as the eyes had been removed from him, Yoshi let out a breath, slumping against the wall. A close one… Now was not the time to be worrying about such things. Given the family’s hectic schedule, Yoshi was not able to be present for nearly every competition his sons participated in… He owed it to them, at least, to be present when he did.

Though, truth be told, he doubted he had missed too much. He had known before the match had even started that Donatello would win. At an event this size, there would be very few other competitors who would pose any real challenge to any of his boys.

They were quite good. After all, he was the one who had taught them to fight in the first place.

---

Donnie caught sight of their father in the doorway just a moment later, pausing in his climb up the back of the couch to try to tackle his twin brother. The other three caught on quickly, glancing back around at Yoshi with wide eyes. The transition to the surface had been an adjustment for all of them, and they still sometimes had a bit of trouble remembering what was OK for the sewers VS OK for polite society— But generally speaking, their Dad didn’t always appreciate roughhousing and shouting, nor climbing on top of furniture.

Yoshi gave a soft exhale of laughter through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He was sure that, eventually, they would all figure out that freezing upon eye contact would immediately clue him in that they knew they were breaking the rules, but… not yet.

Not yet.

“You changed the movie.” He remarked, wandering into the living room to join them.

“We wanted to be ninjas.” Mikey volunteered from the floor, his little head popping up from behind the cushions. “Like you, Daddy!"

Of course. Ninjas like him.

He bit the insides of his cheeks. That? Maybe not… today. But…

“ … How would you boys like to learn to talk like ninjas do?"

[ next chapter ]

#sorrywhatnowau #sorrywhatnowaufic #fanfic #rottmnt #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfiction #thank you very much to my beta readers! i linked them both on a03 #livsinpjs #and #one-evil-rottmnt-enjoyer

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agentmarcuspike · 8 months

Note

Ziggy pls may I request our favourite man Marcus Pike and number 28? 🥹

you don't have to ask me twice

prompt: getting the giggles together over something that isn’t that funny pairing: marcus pike x reader word count: ~650 ⚠️ drabble, not proof read ⚠️

You’ve both worked late every day this week, and your cupboards are as empty as your stomach is when you finally get off in time to stop by the grocery store.

The urge to grab a frozen pizza you and your boyfriend Marcus can share and run home is strong, but you know for a fact that the last edible thing you have at home is half an oxidized bottle of white wine and a jar of orange marmalade, so you decide to stock up properly with all the basics.

The paper bag nearly rips on your way up the five flights of stairs to the apartment you share, but you soldier on, and almost trip on your cat, Max, on your way through the door.

“Oh, careful, baby!” you say as he weaves through your legs, purring loudly.

“You talkin’ to me, honey?” Marcus yells from the kitchen.

You choke down a snicker and follow Max, who goes directly to his food bowl.

Marcus greets you with a big smile, and the fork on its way to his mouth freezes mid air when he sees the shopping bag you plop down on the counter.

“You did the shopping?! Thank God!” Marcus beams, his smile growing even bigger. He moves to kiss your head, his breath making you scrunch your nose, and he starts unpacking the groceries, a meow escaping Max as he passes him. “I hear you, boy, you hungry?”

“Dude, you smell like fish, what were you eating…?” You bend down to pet your cat where he’s waiting in front of his empty bowl, your face still in a slight grimace.

“Sorry,” Marcus smiles. “I haven’t eaten since lunch, and the only thing I found was some canned tuna in the back of the cupboard.”

A silence follows as you look from Marcus to Max. Marcus stares into the now empty paper bag.

“Did you buy cat food? The big bag in the closet is empty.”

Something is starting to dawn on you, but you bite your cheek.

“No, I didn’t, cause we still have some wet food for him.”

“Really? Where?” Marcus looks at you expectantly, ready to open whichever kitchen cabinet you tell him to.

“... In the back,”

His eyes go wide and he waits for you to finish.

“... Of the cupboard.”

His mouth opens slightly as it dawns on him too.

“Next to the canned tuna?” he says, voice full of hope and denial.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out laughing. You stare at Marcus, wide-eyed, waiting to see if he’ll gag or giggle. His fingers pinch the space between his eyebrows as he leans over, and for a second you think he might be crying. But then a snort escapes him, and you let yourself laugh too.

Tears spring from your eyes and you fall on your back as Marcus bends over, both of you heaving for air at the same time. He leans his hands on his knees as he gathers himself, shaking his head.

"I'm too tired to even be sick."

He grabs the tuna can from the counter and dumps the rest of the smelly contents into Max’s bowl as he leans down to join you on the floor. Your lips meet in a soft kiss, and he rolls on top of you. He’s about to ask permission to deepen the kiss with his tongue when you pull back and cover his mouth with your hand.

“First of all, it’s like making out with a cat. Go brush your teeth,” you tcommand, and he bows his head in embarrassment. “And second,” you continue, “You might be full, but I still haven’t eaten.”

Just like he always does when faced with the opportunity of taking care of you, Marcus sits up.

“I’ll cook you something,” he promises. “How ‘bout a quick tuna bake?”

You slap his cheek playfully as you roll over groaning, but your cheeks are sore with a satisfying ache after laughing so hard, as a grateful smile grows on your face.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x you #idk what this is #or if it fulfills the prompt but it's something!!#thank u charlie <333 #my writing

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 3 months

Text

The Producer

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 2, 137

Summary: it’s my birthday and wanted to do something fun, alsothis was my excuse to create my dream cast for a live-action Powerpuff Girls film!

Warnings: random celebrity cameos, lots of adorableness, Dieter being Dieter so some saucy suggestions

Check out masterlist here

“Dieter, who is that?”

“No one.”

Clara immediately popped up waving, “Hi mummy!”

You scooted over and kissed her on the cheek but kept that scolding glare on your husband.

“How many times have I told you not to bring her on set?”

“She wanted to see you.”

“Jojo!” she exclaimed.

“Did someone bring me a baby to cuddle?” Jack Black was already under a layer of makeup to portray said character, minus the big brain. Dieter plopped the eager toddler onto his lap which immediately started to jiggle.

“Pudding!”

“I’m 50% pudding!” Her laughter made it hard for you to be mad. Eventually you took her from the soft clutches of the actor.

“Say bye to Jojo.”

“Bye Jojo!”

You handed her off to Dieter. “Put her back in daycare before we start getting complaints,” you gave her another kiss on the cheek but kept up the stern face.

“Okay,” Dieter sighed and begrudgingly took Clara back to the on-set daycare.

It was a wonderful idea, an on-set daycare. Wonder why it wasn’t thought of before. It was thought up by the writer who had a child of their own and didn’t want to leave them with nannies. This brought several great people on to the project as they now no longer had to worry over who would look after their little ones of various ages. The director herself had a toddler and was overjoyed to have her close by and would bring her little Bianca on set. You were signed on as head of special effects makeup but mainly your job was bringing Mojo Jojo to life. Dieter was playing Professor Utonium and Clara had finally accepted the fact that her father was still the same person even though he had shaved his beard. Occasionally she would still glare at him with suspicion.

The whole cast and crew were very friendly, and everyone got on well. You had yet to meet the writers or producers, but they didn’t have to be on set as much as everyone else.

You read through Dieter’s script and absolutely loved how the film started as the Powerpuff girls were growing up and going to high school in Citysville while Professor Utonium had a mid-life crisis which gave Mojo Jojo the opportunity to lure his old creator into being a villain. But underneath the fun, cartoon-like joy was the fear of girls being made to grow up too quickly and losing childhood. You shed tears over Blossoms speech critiquing those who stole the chance for girls to be safe and not letting them stay children.

Right now, you were looking at the psychedelic set which was having its backdrop changed.

“Oh wow, it’s like Colour Out of Space!”

“It is,” you turned to the man next to you, “Wait, you’ve seen that film?”

*****

Dieter saw you in deep conversation as he left the set for the day and made his way over to the on-set daycare. Dieter loved the daycare as he loved being able to see his daughter almost anytime and give her a cuddle.

Clara had made several friends already as they had similar interests, mostly bugs. Bianca, the director’s daughter, had curly brown hair and brown eyes which immediately made them twins.

Dieter went over to the two girls, “Hello there Clara,” he said to Bianca.

The girls both giggled. “I’m not Clara,” said Bianca.

“You’re not?” he turned to Clara, “Hi Bianca.”

Again they both giggled. “I’m Bianca!” exclaimed her namesake.

“Daddy silly!” said Clara.

“Oh, I’m sorry Bianca,” Dieter said to his daughter who burst into even more giggles. He picked up the right little girl and gave Clara a big kiss on the cheek. Both of them waved bye to Bianca and Dieter gave an interested glance at her father who just walked in as Dieter walked out.

“Hello cupcake!” he carried her out to the car where you were waiting for them.

“You were being chatty with the producer,” Dieter said as he got in the car.

“Oh that was the producer? We were talking about Colour Out of Space. I don’t know anyone who’s watched it and I was so excited to talk about it with someone!”

Dieter mumbled something incoherent but shrugged it off.

“There’s something familiar about him but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. He is somewhat adorable like you.”

“Adorable?”

“Not as adorable as you. No one is as adorable as you. Except Clara.”

“She can out-adorable anyone.”

*****

Dieter had snuck Clara onto set the next day. He was going to introduce her to his on-screen daughters.

“This is my baby girl, Clara. Cupcake, these are the Powerpuff Girls.”

Clara looked at the three actresses and pointed accordingly, “Bubbles, Blossom, Buttercup?”

Emma Myers, Halle Bailey and Shioli Kutsuna reacted the way one would when meeting the small, adorable offspring of Dieter Bravo, they cooed and fawned over her.

You hadn’t noticed all this as you were having another nerdy discussion with the producer.

“I’m sorry, I never really got your answer before but, what is your favourite film?”

“The question really should be what is my favourite film at the moment?”

He had a look that seemed similar to when your husband had discovered you put Kit Kats in something. “Wow, no one has ever asked me that before.”

“I always thought just narrowing it down to just a handful makes it really hard to decide.”

“Exactly!”

Dieter however, noticed this as he snuck Clara back to the on-set daycare.

“I saw you being very chummy with the producer today,” he asked you later at home.

“Oh we were having this discussion over The Wicker Man and wait, Dieter are you jealous?”

“No,” he mumbled.

You put your book down and looked at your husband. “Dieter, you have nothing to worry about. I’m ridiculously in love with you and nothing will change that. If Mike Flanagan showed up with a cheeseboard, I’d say thank you, but no.”

“But you’d take the cheeseboard?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

*****

The on-set daycare was filled with children eager for their parents to take them home. Clara made another friend called Ari. Her curls were golden honey so sadly she wasn’t a twin but her and Clara were best friends as they both loved spiders.

Clara saw her father enter the room and ran up to greet him. Upon getting closer, she realised this was not her father.

“Daddy?”

The man kneeled down, “I’m sorry bonita, I’m not your father.”

Ari came up beside her friend, “Papa!” She was welcomed with open arms by the man who looked like her father. Suspicions were already forming in her two-year-old brain.

You were picking up Clara today as Dieter was still rehearsing some last-minute choreography for the big crazy musical number where Professor Utonium has his mid-life crisis while also being seduced by all the Townsville villains including Him who was being portrayed by Yanis Marshall (aka, the dancing Deadpool in the Ashes music video, the voice provided later by Crispin Freeman and Kari Wahlgren) You walked into the room and found Clara in her one-sided glaring competition with the producer. She managed to break her glaring when you picked her up. She pointed at the man, “Not daddy?”

“That’s right, it’s not daddy. He looks nothing like him.”

But Clara went back to her evil glaring. The man who looked like her father but was not her father could only result in one conclusion.

“Evil daddy.”

“Why do you think he’s evil? He’s a very nice man.”

This man must be her father’s evil clone, it was the only thing that made sense. But it was hard for a toddler to explain this to her mother and the thought of explaining this made her feel tired and confused so she ended up just burying her face in your neck.

“I’m sorry,” you said to him. “Usually her dad picks her up, so she thinks you’re her dad. But he had to shave his beard and she must be missing it and saw yours so...” you shrugged.

“Oh no, that’s fine,” he turned to the girl in his arms. “Is this your friend?”

She nodded, “Spider.”

You both looked confused until you properly introduced your daughter.

“This is Clara.”

“Oh, nice to meet you Clara,” but she was too busy being tired and confused over the thought of her father having an evil clone to acknowledge this man.

Thankfully Clara had recovered when she was in the arms of her father, although he was confused when she was calling him real daddy.

“She’s missing the beard, as am I.”

He kissed both of you on the cheek, “I’m missing it too.”

Clara was overjoyed to see her actually father and not some evil clone.

“Not evil!” she exclaimed as she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Not evil?” he gave you a confused look, but you replied with an I’ll-explain-later look.

*****

The next day, you were immersed in your new book while on a tea break.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude your reading, but I couldn’t help but admire your book.”

Lifting your head, you came face to face with kind brown eyes, it was the producer who had become your new friend. There was a sort of familiarity to his eyes. You lifted up the book to show the full cover: Golem, Caligari, Nosferatu; A Chronicle of German Film Fantasy.

“My husband got it for me because he knew I’d love it. And I do.”

“So you’ve seen The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari?” he asked.

“Oh yes. Old films just have a certain quality to them modern films can’t replicate.”

“I completely agree. Is it one of your favourite films at the moment?”

“It is but I really like Nosferatu, mainly because it’s an early depiction of vampires. Oh, do you know the film Shadow of the Vampire?”

“Of course, a masterpiece to honour its original film,” you nodded in agreement. “Nicolas Cage produced that film.”

“He did?”

“Yes, he grew up with all those silent films.”

“How did I not notice?”

*****

It was the end of the working week and you and Dieter did not have to get up early the next day, so you indulged in tonight. Dieter was putting his heart and soul into every kiss. He’d been looking forward to this and slowly kissed down your neck. You were running your fingers through his hair, but suddenly, as your mind cleared, a forgotten thought entered your mind. You knew it would occupy until you found out, so you gently pushed your husband off you. Rolling off you in confusion, he watched as you left the bedroom. He quietly padded his way through the house, where he found you looking through your DVD collection.

“Honey cakes, what are you doing?”

“I just remembered something that I need to look up. My brain won’t shut up until I do.”

He sighed sympathetically, “I’ll turn the TV on.”

You followed him with your Shadow of the Vampire DVD. You pressed play and stared intently as the opening credits played. You paused when you found what you were looking for.

“There!”

Dieter squinted at the screen, “Nic Cage produced this?”

“Yeah I only just found out. I don’t know why I didn’t notice this before.”

“No one really pays attention to opening credits.”

“That’s true. Until they point out that there were clues hidden like in Malignant.”

He kissed your forehead, “That’s what trivia pages are for. Is your head feeling good?” You nodded. “Would you like me to give you some now?”

“I’m sorry I interrupted us before.”

“No need to apologise. We’ll just back to what we started,” he started nuzzling your neck.

“I just need to…”

“You put away the DVD and I’ll turn the TV off.”

*****

It was the start of a new week, and everyone was back to work, and the children were happy to be back with their friends again.

Once again, Dieter found you deep in conversation with the film’s producer. He wasn’t jealous. Why would he be? He had occasional immersive conversations with his wife but not lately. You were both working on the same film so you’ve both been so busy with that and dealing with a toddler. The two of you were still intimate but Dieter still felt like something was missing when he saw you talking with such animation in your whole expression. It’s not like he wanted to punch the man in the face, but he liked thinking about it.

You were once again deep in conversation when you saw Dieter approaching the two of you.

“Oh, hey Dieter. Have you met the producer?”

He held out his hand, Dieter reluctantly took it.

“Hi, I’m Javi Gutierrez.”

Yes, that’s right! Javi is now part of the Love of Horror Universe! To find out what he’s been doing, check out @cevans-is-classic because they have this story!

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @glshmbl @cupcakehp @gswizzsstuff @nicolethered @blueeyesatnight @wannab-urs @meveispunk @morallyinept @djarinsimp

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror universe #love of horror #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #the bubble netflix #the bubble

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weak4skz · 1 year

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Hope is For Suckers

Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, idol au

Summary: Han and y/n have been friends since before they remember. But what happens if their friendship is severed by an unfortunate situation and Han goes off to be an idol while y/n is in college. When they connect through a mutual friend, what happens then?

Word Count: 1.3k (sorry it's short I'm just trying to get this chapter out)

CHAPTER WARNINGS: eating disorder, negative self talk/thoughts, body dysorphia, a lot of feelings, panic attack

NOT PROOF READ!!!

THIS IS NOT AN ACCURATE REPRESTATION OF THE PEOPLE MENTIONED IN THE FIC

A/N: Sorry for the really late update. I've been really busy and haven't been really motivated to write. I might but HIFS on hiatus until July but idk yet. Thank you for all the support though, I really appreciate it

want2besomeoneelse lixie-jisung-stan jisuperboard mentoslol i-dont-know-me-either mooncallerautumn poisonivy21

this is my current taglist. if your name is in read it means I can't tag you. also please comment if you would like to be added

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When we pull into Chan’s designated parking spot I’m so nervous I could puke.

“Hey,” Chan says, gently putting a hand on my knee to stop its bouncing. “They’ll all love you just as much as I do. But if you still want to go home I’ll drive you ‘kay?”

“No, I want to meet them.” I force out of my mouth. He just nods and we both get out of the car and begin to walk towards the door. When he opens it, the first thing I notice is the smell of freshly baked brownies. Then, I hear yelling and laughing coming from the living room.

“YOU landed on MY property. PAY ME THE DANG FINE.”

Then I fear another voice scream

“YOU’RE IN JAIL! I’M NOT GIVING MONEY TO A CRIMINAL.”

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY!!!” the first screams.

All of this over a game of monopoly?

“Boys” I mutter with a playful roll of my eyes. “I know right” Chan responds with a small smile.

Chan leads me to the living room. “Hey guys” he greets the six men casually.

“Hey Chan hyung.” one with mid length dark hair and glasses responds. “Who’s that?” he asks, pointing to me.

“This is Y/n. She’s a good friend of mine and older than half of you so show some manners and introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Jeongin” glasses says.

“Seungmin”

“I’m Felix”

“I’m sexy king Hyunjin”

“Man shut up.” the shortest says with a small laugh, “I’m Changbin”

“I’m Minho”

Then they go around again and tell me their ages. But I thought Chan told me they’re were eight members in his group? As I finish my thought, someone bursts in through the door.

“‘Sorry I’m late guys. Oh hi… what’s your name? I’m…”

“Han?”

There is a pause, a moment of silence, and for a second I regret saying anything.

“Uh yea, I’m Han Jisung. How did you know my name?”

“Chan talks about you gusy all the time. I just assumed it was you because you were the only one missing. I’m Y/n''

oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh there is no way HAN JISUNG the man who is (partially) responsible for my villain backstory is the eighth member of Chan’s band

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick” I say, trying to excuse myself from the source of my impending panic attack. I speed walk to Chan’s bathroom and lock the door behind me. Once I get the feeling that I’m safe, I slide my back down the door and sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and burying my head between them. Then I try to regulate my breathing before I start hyperventilating.

Breath in, one two three, breath out. Breath in, one two three, breath out

I repeat it over anad over again until my breathing is as regulated as it is going to get. Then, I get up and fix my mascara and blot away the bits that escaped with my tears.

I walk out of the bathroom and find Chan alone in the kitchen. “Hey Chan, I’m feeling kind of sick so I think I’m going to head home.”

“Are you okay? You were fine when we were at lunch.” he looked concerned. Great, now I feel bad for lying

“I just got really bad cramps out of nowhere. And you know I get crabby wehen I don’t feel very well.” I try to end the conversation quickly so he doesn’t catch me lying. “Oh, I didn’t know you were on your period. I would have just brought lunch to your place. Let me go get my keys so I can get you home, kay?”

My period? Ohhhh, he thinks I’m on my period. Thank God he thought I was on my dperiod because I hadn’t thought that far into my lie. While celebrating that little victory, Han walks into the kitchen.

“Oh hey. I saw you were looking sick and I wanted to come check up on you” he said while grabbing a soda from the fridge. “Yea I just have really bad cramps.” I lied again.

“That sucks,” he started, taking a sip of his fanta. “Hey, I was just wondering if you went to Fairview High School. You kinda look like this girl I used to hang out with.”

“Uh yeah, I went there. I thought I knew you from somewhere but I couldn’t tell.” I responded. ‘A girl I used to hang out with’ huh. Was I really the only one that was thinking about our relationship for the past seven years. Not gonna lie, that kind of hurt. Because up to a couple moments ago I thought very highly of Han, I still considered him a friend. Because he had been my only friend for so long, I sort of held hope that he would be my friend forever. But I was too naive, I should have known he would forget me. I mean, I’m not that memorable; but I thought I would at least be more than a girl he ‘used to hang out with.’

Not a moment later, Chan comes back into the kitchen with my shoes. “Oh, hey Han. The kids are waiting for you so they can start a new game of uno.”

“Ok. Nice catching up with you Y/N.” I mustered the nicest smile I could at the moment and responded with a bitter ‘you too’ before moving to hop off the counter to put on my shoes.

Chan holds me down by my knees and kneels down to lace up my converse himself. “What were you guys talking about?” he asked after tying the first shoe. “We used to go to the same highschool.”

“Cool, were you guys friends?” Chan asks, now finished with tying both shoes. “I thought so” I mumble, mostly to myself.

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rosekasa · 1 year

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(kisses ask game) 43 & ladrien? 🥹

!!!! post reveal angst (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

send me a kiss prompt + lovesquare corner

43. kissing away tears

It comes out in one sharp burst of words as soon as she sets him down. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Adrien doesn't respond, gaze fixed on a puddle scattered in the concrete.

She hates this. Hates the way he won't look at her, hates the way she always ends up yelling at him, hates the fact that they keep having this conversation over and over again, as if it will make any difference to what he does.

Ladybug sighs, leaning back against the brick. She glances down at her fists. Still shaking.

"Adrien,” she says softly. “I'm not going to die again.”

He swallows hard, looking down at his ring. The sky is a blue square of light in his eyes.

She doesn't remember much about that fight. It started just after sunset and ended when it started getting light again, but everything in between is empty, a hollowness she can feel, trace her hands around the shape of but never be able to fill, no matter how many news reports she's read about it. All she knew was that it was a sentimonster — a giant, black wolf — and that the Tour de l'Horloge rang out only twice before she died.

Chat Noir had to take her earrings while the sentimonster was still on top of her.

She was back by the end of the battle, when he’d used her Cure on the city. She remembers standing up, brushing the dirt off her clothes, and bumping her fist against his once he came to find her. He didn’t mention what happened, and so she didn't either.

He speaks after a long pause. "How do you know I'm thinking about that?"

"Because you haven't looked me in the eye all afternoon." She reaches out for his hand. "Adrien. I know you're scared. But you can't keep putting yourself in danger just to save me."

His fingers loosen around hers. Slowly, he slips his hand away and puts it in his pocket.

She stares at the space where it used to be, pretending that didn't sting.

"What if it were me?" he says.

She looks at him. "If what were you?"

"If it were me that had to die that night." Finally, he meets her gaze. "If you had to see me like that."

"That's…" She trails off. "I don't know."

He lets out a scoff. "Yeah. Thought so."

She raises her eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me."

"You'll just yell at me again. Just like you always do."

Her mouth falls open. She wants to be sympathetic. She does. But it's hard when he becomes cold like this, when it feels like she has to smoke him out of the walls he's built around himself.

"Adrien," she says coolly. "It was one battle. And I came back. If anything happened to me again, the Cure would fix it." She looks at him. "What the Cure can't fix is if Hawk Moth gets hold of our Miraculous because you jeopardise our plan by throwing yourself in front of an akuma."

He sets his gaze on her, hard and unyielding. "Wouldn't you do the same for me?" he says. "If it were me who'd died?"

She swallows hard. “I’d just use the Cure."

He scoffs. “Bullshit. You’d tear up the whole city.”

A deep breath leaves through her nose. She wonders, briefly, if this is why he keeps doing this. To teach her a lesson. To get even with her.

"I'm not saying that I'd handle it well," she says. "I'm saying that, sometimes, shit happens. But I have my Cure. We need to remember that. We can't just toss away all our strategies just because we're scared. That's not the way we've ever done things."

His silence is cold and sharp. "Because back then I could look at your face without remembering what it looked like when you were dead."

His voice cracks mid-sentence.

Any further argument dies in her throat.

Adrien yanks his hand out of his pocket and fumbles with his ring. He slides it off, and holds it out to her. “Take it,” he spits. “Find another Chat Noir. One who wouldn’t care if you died.”

She stares at him. "You're not serious."

"I'm completely serious." His voice is shaking. "I can't do this job anymore. Not if it means having to be okay with seeing you hurt for the sake of the battle."

She looks down at his ring. A thin thread of sky light traces the shank. He's not taking it back.

Her first instinct is to tell him to put his ring back on and agree to talk about this when they've both cooled down. But this feels like more than just something said in the heat of the moment. Something that he might actually… want.

And… she doesn't blame him. It would be easier, wouldn't it?

At least the next time she died, he wouldn't be the one to see her body.

She closes her eyes, a lump swelling in her throat.

But she's not sure anyone else would save her the way he did. Take the risk of wielding the Ladybug against a canine sentimonster just so they could possibly summon the Cure by the end of it.

When she opens her eyes, tears are streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. Reaching up, she touches his face. "You're right. You shouldn't have had to see that."

His fingers curl around his Miraculous.

He squeezes his eyes shut, lowering his head. "I thought I lost you," he says quietly. "That— that whole battle, I just remember knowing you were lying there, knowing what happened to you, so sure that I would never see you again—"

She steps closer right away, pressing herself as close to him as she can, fingers sliding on his wet cheeks and into his hair while she kisses the tears off his face.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll always stay alive."

"Always?" he asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

She holds it firmly, watching every shard of light glitter in his tears. "Always. For you."

#miraculous ladybug #ladrien #alizeh writes #ask

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jellyfishdoodler · 6 months

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I know I dont post fanfics here but I'd like to try? If yall arent into it I can move them to my general shitpoat blog 💛

Drummer Boy

Requested by @vanessasepticeye who wanted a oneshot of Jackie playing the drums to get his emotions/ anger out, similar to Gwen Stacy.

TWs: Angry Jackie, mentions of his dad, mistreatment of drumkit

Word Count: 1,226

A small thought in the back of Jackie's head wants to kick himself for leaving his window unlocked, but right in this exact moment he could not give any less of a shit. Vaulting into his bedroom from the fire escape, Jackie pulls back just enough of his strength to not hurl his patched backpack through the drywall. He tears the blue mask off his face so the elastic no longer digs into his skin, crushing the soft material in his hand as he stalks around the room. He finds his drumsticks on the cluttered desk and trades them for the mask with a pathetic and unsatisfying throw. The piece of fabric flops from the wall to the table without a sound and Jackie can feel a scream burning in his throat, so instead, he stomps towards his lovingly beat-to-shit drum kit. It was half duct tape at this point but it still worked, and it's not like Jackie could afford a new set anyway.

Patrol was an absolute fucking nightmare today. First he had to skip breakfast due to an early call for help across town, then he got chewed out by an old woman for breaking her potted plant and was harassed into buying her a new one- which he then had to stop the plant shop from being robbed by some jackass who thought he was hot shit with a switchblade. He lost the comic book he was saving to read on his lunch break to the sewer drain, got completely soaked by a burst fire hydrant, was sent on a wild goose chase to track down a missing dog in the park where he literally got chased by geese. And to top it all off, when he saved the day and rescued two teenagers from a burning apartment building, he was the one who was blamed for the girl's broken leg, even though it was literally trapped under a solid wood bookshelf before he got there. But the girl's parents just wanted someone to sue so they could make some fucking money back like all of this was a huge inconvenience and not like they almost lost their fucking kids to a fire.

Jackie worked really hard to keep his composure until he got home. He has many years of customer service under his belt before he got powers and managed to smooth talk his way out of a lawsuit. But that encounter was the final straw for him. Jackie knew being a hero was a thankless job most of the time, hell he understood that those people were just scared for their kids, but everything throughout the day stacked on top of each other and he was left with a gross itchy feeling under his skin. He had to get it out.

Slamming himself down onto the spinning stool, the young man wasted no time taking his frustration out on the drums. Using the double petals on the bass kick to set a fast beat as he practically wailed on the set. He loved the feeling of the vibrations of contact traveling up his arms, it felt like clapping mosquitoes mid-air and off your skin so they dont drink more of your blood.

That same voice in the back of his mind reminded him he's gonna get another noise complaint from Mr. Smith upstairs, but right now Jackie doesn't care. The rapid beats of the snare matched the buzzing feeling rolling from Jackie's core down his arms and to his drumsticks, the crash of the cymbals almost dents the brassy metal as it covers his urge to yell in frustration.

He focuses on the patterns of his rapid fire set, picking up more pace and forcing himself to go faster.

Faster.

Faster-

Everything abruptly stops when his right stick snaps in half.

"FUCK!!!"

Panting heavily, Jackie just stares at the now uneven sticks in his white knuckled hands. Everything in the apartment is still and quiet aside from his heavy breathing. In the distance he can hear the neighbor's dog- Patty- barking up a storm down the hallway.

Jackie finally allows his shoulders to slump down as he unceremoniously lets the drum sticks drop to the floor with a deafening clatter in the now silent room.

He always hates getting this angry, he knows it's not good for his public image or for his own mental health. Fighting bad guys helps with most of it, but it still sneaks up on him sometimes when he's not paying attention. It scares him.

The hero gently rolls his neck and shoulders, letting air escape from his nose in a silent laugh at a memory flowing into his head.

If his overall deadbeat dad was good for one thing in his damn life, it was teaching Jackie how to funnel his emotions, primarily anger, through playing the drums. His dad said he was part of a shitty rock band when he was in school and that's where he learned to play.

One day, Jackie's teacher called his dad and told him about an incident on the playground. Jackie stood up for another kid getting picked on but broke another kid's nose in the process of defending them. That afternoon when he got home, instead of yelling at him like Jackie thought, the man sat Jackie behind the drum kit that sat in front of him today and taught him how to keep a steady rhythm.

"I had a similar problem to ya, kid." He started when Jackie was getting the hang of it. "Always letting my anger get ahead of me." Neither of them say that he still does sometimes, and he continues, "If you use these to just, yaknow, get what you're feeling out of your system, this way nobody around you gets hurt. You don't… go punching anybody you don't like 'cause you kept it in for so long." Jackie wanted to protest that he was protecting a friend but let his dad keep talking.

"You exhaust yourself playing these so you don't have the energy to let it boil in your stomach for later. On top of all that, the world gets to hear your heartbeat. It might not be pretty, but they get to hear it go strong and loud even if you can't say what you're feeling in your chest. Even if it's hurting. You use this as a way to help you let shit go. Because at the end of the day, if you let it be, if you let it fester, that pointless rage will rot you from the inside out."

Jackie does not know what to really say to all that. His dad isn't the best at pep talks but he thinks he gets his meaning. Even if the man is a hypocrite. He just counts the beats in his head.

It's one of, if not the only kind-ish memory Jackie keeps of his father. The man was a dick his entire childhood, but he did give Jackie this one thing that was good.

With that memory of a good Tuesday afternoon nearly 10 years ago gently floating in his chest instead of what was there before, Jackie picks up the busted drumstick and tosses it in the trash. Heading to the bathroom to finally shower away the long day's grime.

Tomorrow is a new day.

#my writing #jackieboy man #fanfic #jackieboy man fanfic #jse egos

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