#i originally made his scar larger but then i remembered he got that scar when he was five. and thus the scar would have shrunk over time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

good-beanswrites · 6 months

Note

Could you write a drabble for Mikoto and Shidou plus Blood? This request miiight be inspired by the fact that Mikoto mentions his body hurting a lot but doesn't seem to be receiving any medical treatment, either because Mahiru and Fuuta take priority or because there's no obvious cause, and therefore cure, to his pain...

👀👀👀 Thank you, this is such a good combo ough!! It's so interesting how much focus the others get when it comes to physical health, since Mikoto has clearly complained of his condition :( It looks like Milgram is trying to push the idea that he's completely oblivious to his alters, but I spun it where he's aware, just deep in denial. So have some Mikoto angst to get us hyped for Double!

Mikoto should be grateful. He was lucky. That’s what he kept repeating to himself. He had both of his eyes intact. Both his arms. He was strong enough to walk around freely. He wasn’t on the verge of death, or collapse. Thus, he should be grateful no one was offering him any help, because it meant he didn’t need it. He repeated it again. Maybe this time he would believe it.

With a groan, his body rolled out of bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up actually feeling rested. Everything ached. His muscles tightened with soreness. His throat felt as raw as his knuckles, though he hadn’t been using either. He had no desire to lift his arms over his head, or twist around too much, so he didn’t change out of yesterday’s uniform. Maybe the belts and buckles had made it difficult to sleep. The theory wasn’t a convincing one, but dwelling on things like that had never gotten him anywhere.

He ran his fingers once through his hair, combing out a bit of the mess. Looking in a mirror was the last thing he needed. He made his way to the dining hall.

The others trickled in for breakfast. His appetite, at least, hadn’t suffered. He hardly noticed the others giving him wide-eyed stares. What were they expecting? Of course he was looking worse for wear, given the circumstances. He ignored them, glad to focus on the hot meal before him.

A hand weighed heavy on his shoulder.

“Mikoto,” Shidou’s voice may have remained calm, but it was urgent. “Do you need some help?”

“Huh?” He shrugged his hand away, offering a weak smile. “I’m fine! Oh, I think Kazui was saving a seat for you over there, if you --”

“-- How about we go to my cell for a moment? Or yours, if that would be more comfortable.”

What was everyone’s problem this morning? Mikoto did his best to keep his voice pleasant. “Really, man, I’m good.”

Shidou’s expression remained unmoving. Very carefully, he informed him, “you’re bleeding. Pretty badly by the look of it. You’re coming with me.”

Mikoto blinked. He looked over his shoulder, following Shidou’s gaze. The back of his uniform was torn across the center. A significant splotch of blood seeped into the material, growing even larger as he shifted to see it.

“...Oh…”

Back in Shidou’s cell, sad to have left his breakfast plate behind, he slumped into a chair. Shidou gathered together some supplies. As always, he got right to the point. “What happened?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t remember anything from last night. I don’t remember most nights, recently. I know that sounds crazy, but…”

“It’s fine. I have definitely heard crazier.” He smiled, something gentle and reassuring. As usual, there was something hidden behind his eyes. It was as if he already knew what Mikoto was up to late at night that earned him so much soreness the following days. He didn’t offer an explanation, though. Mikoto didn’t press him for one.

He winced as he was helped out of his uniform. Removing his shirt revealed the mysterious gash. Shidou’s eyes widened at the array of scratches and scars. Some were fresh, but most originated long before Milgram. Though he didn’t ask, Mikoto answered.

“I’m pretty clumsy, huh?” Maybe this time he would believe it.

Shidou was kind enough to pretend to. “Here, allow me…”

Shidou got to work cleaning and dressing the injuries. Mikoto closed his eyes. Even though the disinfectant stung, and sometimes those gloved fingers pressed a little two hard, it felt nice to have things patched up.

“Is there anything else going on? Are you feeling pain anywhere else?”

Mikoto could have laughed. He didn’t. “I’m just sore. And my head’s been killing me, but I’m used to migraines. Perks of the verdict, I’m sure.”

Shidou hummed in thought.

“Thanks, by the way. I’ll try to be more careful.” Not that he had much choice in the matter, it seemed. But he’d do his best.

Shidou kept his face straight, but there were traces of pain in his voice. “I will too. I’m sorry, Mikoto. If I had known… I’ve been distracted lately, but I should have paid closer attention.”

“It’s fine,” he flashed a grin. “I know the others are pretty fucked up. And I’m not dying or anything. I’m lucky, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Doctors don’t only treat the dying.”

Mikoto frowned.

It didn’t take much longer to finish treatment. Shidou gave him a few instructions about the bandages, then offered him a clean shirt. “You’re good to go. I’ll be checking in more often, now. I’ll see if I can find something for your head.”

“Thanks. Really.”

He returned Mikoto’s torn uniform. “You should talk to Es about getting a new one. Until then, you’ll want to clean this with --”

Mikoto waved a dismissive hand, heading out of the cell. “Don’t worry, I know how to wash blood out of my clothes. Er, that sounds bad. I’m just a clutz, yeah? The blood’s always been my own.”

Maybe this time he would believe it.

#milgram #mikoto kayano #shidou kirisaki #im so fucked up over mikotos state rn :(( im pretty sure his vd is going to melt me into a little puddle on the floor on wednesday #id need to do more research on what doctors are supposed to do but i think shidou knows mikoto is in denial and wants him to work through #the realization on his own first instead of forcing it on him - and telling him wont stop the late night rampages in his cell #and youre right - theres not an easy cure for the stress headaches and all that anyway so theres only so much he can do #but yeah itd make sense that shidou (and the others) were genuinely too busy with the 12yo and dying patients to notice his condition...#sorry for having a shirtless mikoto moment 😭 i didnt want to pull a meme but it was needed for the prompt 😤#i kept it in mikotos pov but when shidou mentions what doctors do hes having an internal crisis about if hes a good doctor rip #i do think mikoto only had one victim but still got into fights and stuff sometimes - hence others' blood on his clothes in the past #thank you so much for the request!!#the double hype has been Consuming me asdfsdf so this was a ton of fun to write ;-;#drabbles

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weasleygirl7 · 3 years

Text

A Glorious Purpose (Loki x Fem!Reader)

In which Loki watches his future and finds you play a much larger role than he had expected... SPOILERS FOR LOKI SERIES!!! Send any requests my way :) I’ve got some free time and I’m ready to WRITE!

The screen showed a pixelated version of the Avengers… and you. You who he had seen mere hours ago fighting against him, and then whom he had seen two versions of. He had smelled the cologne of the two Tony’s, just as he had beheld the two Y/N’s.

He hadn’t originally noticed you dressed as a guard until he had heard the subtle, yet sharp intake of breath, a breath not all that different from the gasp he had made moments ago when seeing his mother on this damned screen, a gasp of pain. You were clearly older, a scar on your cheek that hadn’t been there mere moments ago at the top of Avengers tower as you had nudged Romanoff with a grin as you settled into the elevator. This older you had locked eyes with him for a fleeting second until being broken apart by the commotion of the Hulk smashing through the stairwell door and sending everyone scrambling.

It had struck him as odd at the time, yes, but he had been preoccupied with other details (such as escaping) rather than wondering why the mighty avengers had decided to play around with time. He’d had only a couple of conversations with you until now, and none of them entirely delightful seeing as you were on opposing sides, and the recognition held in future you’s eyes had unsettled him more than he’d care to say.

Glancing once more at the table before him, Loki pulled out a chair and sat. The round device before him was no more complicated than anything else he’d seen before, and a twist of a knob later, he was skipping through his life on film.

Stop. His mother, dead on the floor. His doing, according to Mobius. A manifestation of the pain and suffering he had been supposedly born to cause. A shuddering breath escaped him.

Twist. Images of Thor and... you for some reason flickered past like voices on the wind, glimpses of some life he had never lived, some life he was meant to live. And Odin, his... well, the closest thing to a father Loki had ever known.

Stop. “I love you, my sons.” He saw himself, an older Loki, beside his father. Another shuddering breath escaped him. My sons… Odin had seen this Loki, this version of him, as his true son. He had not hesitated, had not made him an afterthought behind Thor. Tears welled up in his vision, and try as he may, Loki could not stop them. “Remember this place. Home.” He watched as his father died before his very eyes, saw himself stand beside Thor as brothers once more, united in their grief. He saw You, coming to his side and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Twist.

Stop. You, kissing him. His hands tangled in your hair. You pull away with a gasp for air, a smile playing on your lips as you trace a delicate hand across his cheek. “You are good, Loki Laufeyson, and you deserve good things.” His future self breaths a small laugh as he shakes his head, placing his hand atop your own. “You are the good in me, my love.”

Twist.

Stop. Thor, his hair cut and trimmed short, staring at Loki with… love. “Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were gonna fight side by side forever.” Loki drew yet another shuddering breath and looked away. Forever.

Twist.

Stop. You. You, on the Bifrost beside himself, Thor (missing an eye no less), and who appeared to be a Valkyrie from the stories his mother would tell them as children. You, weapon in hand and looking slightly worse for wear, sweat dripping down your face as you shot him a sly grin.

Twist.

Stop.Thor, a newfound patch on his eye, turning. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.” A sly grin on his future self’s face as he replied, “Maybe not.” A thanks from Thor, his voice deep and true, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.” Loki can’t stop the incredulous laugh from leaving his lips as he watches the scene before him. His soft brother, still soft. A quiet response from his future self, “I’m here.” A soft click indicating the opening of a door, laughter from offscreen. Your voice rings out playfully, “Oh please, don’t let me interrupt. I’d like to see this.”

Twist.

Stop. Himself, panting and suddenly thrusting a knife upwards at Thanos… who makes no movement of defense, a glittering gold gauntlet already adorning his fist. Loki’s smile falls into a grimace as realization strikes him. “Undying?” The giant asks and he hears scraping from the sidelines. A glance of his future self’s eyes turns the screen on you, beaten and bloody, struggling on your knees with a hand of one of Thanos’ children’s clamped tightly over your mouth. Tears fall from your eyes as you flail against their grip, fighting. This future Loki merely nods towards you. Thanos’ voice cuts through the silence. “Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.”

Loki stands to his feet and watches as his future self is lifted into the air by the neck, choked forcefully. He sees himself struggle to no avail, his suffering long and drawn out. His words broken and strained, “You... will never be... a god.” The snap of his neck. His death. Gasping and taking frantic steps back, Loki watches as his brother and you grieve over his body. Thor crying silently while you frantically shake his body, begging him to wake up and come back to you.

An explosion marking the end of the tape. He scoffs, despair and regret boiling up in his chest.

A glorious purpose indeed.

#loki #loki layfeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki series #thor love and thunder #thor x reader #thor imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki headcannon #marvel oneshot #loki oneshot #loki x you #loki series imagine

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glimmerglanger · 3 years

Note

Hey there! Hopefully it’s an OK time to make a request! I truly love your Alpha17/Obi fic, “Just Right”!

Hoping that a prompt of Alpha 17 finally making it to the Negotiator and pretty much stalking Obi and courting Obi in a very gentle and patient un-Alpha 17 way ends with some sexy and soft love making?

Anything will do! I just love this trope and the story you’ve created has been on my mind since it was published!

🥰😍🥰😍

Oooooooh! Well, I couldn’t quite do all the courting (that probably would have gotten longer than the original fic) but! I did do a little bit about the next time they run into each other! Thanks for the request! I have a few more in my inbox that I’m working on, as well!

This is VERY SPICY. SO SPICY. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Feat: intercrural and bjs and Feelings that 17 wishes he weren’t having.

~~~~

17 felt jittery in his skin from the time he heard that the Negotiator was going to make a stop on Kamino. It was an...unusual feeling, and one he found he disliked immensely. He tried to burn it away sparring with his brothers and, when that failed to work, he grabbed a group of shinies and led them on a run around one of the longer loops on the city.

After the third such loop, he still felt itchy along his bones and gave it up for a loss, retreating to his quarters and the quiet of his fresher.

He’d received a few messages from Kenobi since they’d last worked together. They’d been the usual sort of thing. He’d kept track of mission reports coming out of the Third System Army, too, making sure they routed through to him and reading over the lines of text.

He scrubbed a hand back over his short hair. He’d wanted Kenobi to come to Kamino, wanted an excuse to go back into the field. He hadn’t expected this strange twisting in his gut when he finally got what he’d been hoping for.

That did nothing to diminish the feeling.

He blew out a breath. Kenobi was still a day away, but 17 could imagine him well enough, picture his flashing eyes and that pleased little smile of his. He recalled - their memories were, after all, perfect - the stretch of bare skin and the tight, wet, marvelous heat around his cock.

He’d imagined it all, often, while touching himself in his bunk.

His own hand didn’t come even close to comparing. But it was what he had. What he’d had, anyway, but Kenobi was coming to Kamino…

17 frowned around his bunk and wondered how one went about asking for a repeat of the three days they’d spent in transit, fucking on every available surface.

Kenobi walked into the city with his cloak damp and sodden across his shoulders and a grin on his face. He nodded a greeting at 17 and fell into a conversation with Master Ti, and 17 tried not to think about how easy it had been to capture both of Kenobi’s wrists in one hand, pressing them down against the floor and sliding into his body, impossibly, and--

Kenobi glanced his way, an eyebrow raising, and 17 met his gaze evenly, shrugging with one shoulder. He’d made no secret of how much he’d enjoyed their activities. It would be pointless to try to pretend he hadn’t thought about it. Often.

Still, he knew how to be professional. He set the thoughts aside and focused on the discussion.

17 managed not to dwell too much on what they’d done throughout the day, but that didn’t stop him from steering Kenobi back to his quarters when evening finally arrived.

His quarters were built larger than most places in the city. The ceilings were tall enough to allow him to stand easily and the bed actually fit his proportions; it would swallow Kenobi, make him look so small, sprawled across it. Compared to the cabins on the cruisers, his room must have seemed huge.

Kenobi looked around, nodded, and said, “Certainly to scale, I have to--”

And then 17 backed him against the wall, slid a hand against his shoulder, and curled down enough to kiss him.

Kenobi moaned against his mouth, shifting from a conversation into the kiss easily, like switching gears on a speeder. He tasted good, mouth hot and sweet, his hands sliding up over 17’s armor, and 17 had taken him against a wall, held him up so easily - Kenobi barely weighed anything - and encouraged Kenobi to curl legs against his waist, because they wouldn’t fit all the way around 17 and--

“How do you feel,” 17 panted out, drawing away just enough to speak, “about a good hard fuck?”

Kenobi rasped out a sound, hair still a little damp from the rains outside, and said, “Oh, I’d quite enjoy that, but, hm, our options are somewhat more limited, this time.”

17 frowned, keeping Kenobi tucked against the wall; it was easy, blocking him in, and satisfying on some deep level. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Kenobi said, clever fingers sliding along his armor, undoing latches, so he must still have been interested. “It’s been nearly two months since last I’ve seen you.”

“So?” 17 asked, not following, as Kenobi floated his chest plate somewhere across the room and placed it down quietly. He wanted to get his own hands on Kenobi, start taking off his robes, but once he started doing that, well…

Following the train of this conversation would grow harder.

“So, I’ve spent two months around all the men in the 212th,” Kenobi said, dry, and for a moment that made no sense as an explanation, until it did. Kenobi had explained, during one of the periods where they’d both needed a rest, how his people’s reproductive systems worked.

After two months, his reproductive organs would be perfectly compatible with all the men in the 212th. There was no way he’d be able to take 17. Not safely. 17 frowned, something twisting fast and hot and unpleasant in his gut at that thought, wondering if any of them realized. If they’d like the thought as much as he’d liked it, when Kenobi fitted him just right.

“Oh,” 17 said, drawing back, setting aside the flash of unknown emotion and a deeper sense of disappointment. Kenobi had been the only person he could--

“But I’m sure there are other options we can explore,” Kenobi said, following him, an arm sliding over his shoulders. “Unless you’re not interested?”

17 considered it. His disappointment almost had him shaking his head, sending Kenobi to his own bunk. But… they’d enjoyed themselves plenty, last time, and not just when he’d slid into the sweet embrace of Kenobi’s body.

And he didn’t want Kenobi to run off.

He frowned and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Kenobi grinned, pulled himself up to take a kiss, and said, “Come here, let me show you.”

Kenobi positively got lost in the middle of 17’s mattress, just like 17 had known he would. He looked small - smaller than usual, even - spread out across the sheets, bare skin all on display, covered in freckles and scars.

17’s cock ached, a solid throb of need between his legs as he stroked himself with the lube Kenobi had pressed into his hands. Kenobi had told him to get very slick before rolling onto his stomach, 17’s pillow shoved under his hips.

“You’re sure this is what we should do?” 17 asked, hearing the doubt in his own voice.

Kenobi glanced over his shoulder - kriffing hell, the way he looked - and flashed a smile. “I think you’ll quite enjoy it,” he said, “just give it a try.”

17 grunted, but, in truth, he felt utterly incapable of refusing Kenobi when he was all stretched out, back bowing from the pillow under his hips, the insides of his thighs slick and shiny with lube.

“Come here,” Kenobi coaxed, shifting his ass back and forth, and, well. 17 wasn’t going to say no to that. He slid forward, hands moving over warm, perfect skin, knees making the bed dip, tilting Kenobi back towards him.

It was so easy to blanket him. 17 could cover him completely, and had, before, on a battlefield to shield him from shrapnel. But there were no explosions in his quarters. Just slick, warm skin as he sank down over Kenobi, cock brushing over the curve of his ass.

Kenobi hummed, tilting his hips back further, and 17’s cock slid forward, easy, between his legs.

“There you go,” Kenobi murmured, pressing his strong thighs closer together and - oh - the pressure felt good, good enough that 17 rocked his hips forward, cock sliding on slick skin, feeling all the lean muscles in Kenobi’s thighs and--

And the hot, wet slide of him, of the place where 17 could no longer fit, and he groaned, frustration and want all tangled together.

“You feel so good,” he rasped out, hips dragging back and pushing forward again, feeling the head of his cock just catch at - at the edge of Kenobi’s body and oh he wanted, but he could only drag the top of his cock along, sliding between the tight pressure of his thighs, muscles flexing against him and--

He dropped to his elbows, his arms long enough to still hold him up off of Kenobi’s back. He could look down, across Kenobi’s bright hair and the bunch of muscles in his shoulders. He could see Kenobi’s hands, clenched in the blankets as 17 moved between his legs, lube making the glide easy, friction building up the heat between them, Kenobi’s ass hard and firm against his hips each time he pushed forward.

He could remember taking Kenobi like this. Force, he’d remembered taking Kenobi like this, so many times, cock sliding in instead of forward, he’d be so tight, so wet, so hot, and--

17’s orgasm caught him by surprise and he groaned, head dropping forward as his cock jerked between Kenobi’s thighs. He shifted his hips back, unthinking, wanting the come all over skin, not his pillow and sheets.

“See,” Kenobi started, tilting to look over his shoulder, “I--oh!”

He looked gratifyingly startled when 17 pushed onto an arm, grabbed his hip, and flipped him onto his back. His chest was flushed - but only a little - and his cock stretched up towards his stomach, still hard.

17 could fix that. Wanted to fix that, so badly it made his jaw ache.

He shifted around, put a hand on Kenobi’s chest to keep him still, and bulled his way between Kenobi’s legs, curving over.

He tasted his own come, when he licked over Kenobi’s cock, sliding his lips down over heated skin. His come was everywhere, there always seemed to be so much of it when they did things together. It streaked over Kenobi’s thighs and--

And 17 couldn’t help but bringing his other hand up, sliding over skin, between Kenobi’s legs and - kriffing hell - it was there, too. He groaned, helplessly, and Kenobi echoed the sound, fingers scrambling at 17’s hair as he rubbed two fingers through the slick smear of his own come.

Kenobi cried out, all thick with pleasure, when 17 slid those two fingers over him, and then, with a renewed throb of want, into him.

Kenobi felt so tight around his fingers, hot and wet and squeezing. He knew how thick his fingers were, wondered if they were just about all Kenobi could take in his present state, and the thought made something in his spine go all white hot.

He bobbed his head, sucking as he moved his hand, curling his fingers while Kenobi’s legs curled up around his shoulders, while Kenobi gasped and tried fruitlessly to squirm under him, the sounds escaping his throat getting thicker and louder and--

17 swallowed when Kenobi gave it up for him, smiling at the feel of Kenobi’s body squeezing around his fingers, clenching in waves. He slid his fingers back and out, giving a last suck, after a long moment, and Kenobi gasped his name.

He looked...dazed and relaxed, sprawled on the bed, uncomplaining about 17’s hand on his chest, his heartbeat translating up into 17’s fingers. He looked...soft. And peaceful. And 17 felt, again, the way he had on their trip, that he’d very much like to keep Kenobi looking that way all the time.

He shivered at the thought, shook his head, and said, “You’re right, that was a good idea.” He cleared his throat, and, before Kenobi could start gloating, pulled both of Kenobi’s legs up, over one of his shoulders, and went on, “Do you think it would work like this, too?”

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #spicy #SO SPICY #not safe for wizards #follow up to Just Right #alpha x obi-wan #obi17

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Learn to Fly

CW: Self-loathing, some internalized victim-blaming, references to parental death and grief, VERY vague reference to past noncon once or twice

Note: I made a decision to switch a little of the timeline around, so Laken and Chris’s breakup at this point happens after the original conversations about the Speak Out Arc start happening but before the Olympics themselves. I’m folding this bit into the larger Speak Out Arc.

Follows Time Apart and It Doesn’t Work As Well As You’d Hoped

He curls up on the couch in the coffeeshop, sipping something warm he barely tastes. It might have coffee in it - he feels a little drowsy, and that usually happens when there’s just a little caffeine.

Maybe that’s just because he hasn’t slept since Jake was hurt, not really. And he’s slept even less since... since he and Laken broke up.

Outside, there's unseasonable heavy rain. The clouds are low and heavy, a deep gunmetal gray that blocks out the light and has the streetlights on at 9:30 in the morning. The raindrops seem less to fall than to slam into the ground with terrible violence.

The baristas talk in low voices about how grateful they are for the rain, burying the wildfires outside the city in a deluge the heat can’t overcome. Chris likes the rain, too, if only because it reflects the inside of him, suggests that the world can tell he is a storm within himself and reflects it to him.

He takes another sip.

He hasn’t showered in three days. His hair is dulled with it, like a penny left too long in the dirt. He’s dressed himself like he used to, back before when he was still learning he was a person and not a pet - in one of Jake’s hooded sweatshirts over his compression shirt, so oversized on him it’s nearly a tunic, and a pair of mesh basketball shorts. His knees still look knobby, he thinks.

He can see the ghosts of the bruises there that used to never quite heal before his Sir sent him to his knees and made new ones to lay over them. He can see a couple of scars, some from training when the baton would crack into the backs of his legs and send him dropping like a stone, some from gymnastics, some from just being a kid.

Chris’s eyes lower, to look at his own hands holding his coffee cup. He put star stickers on his nails last night, and a few of them have already peeled off. Those that remain glitter, just a little.

Something about the sight of it - the memory of when he put star stickers on Laken’s cheekbones at a concert until they sparkled under the starlight, laughing, a blur of bright eyes and dark hair - makes his throat nearly close, sends a new rush of tears to burn hot behind his eyes.

He has to close them to hold them back.

“You’ve had a hard time of late, have you, then?”

The voice is a rumble, cracked with decades of cigarettes and too much liquor, but Chris remembers it, anyway. At least, he remembers it now.

He turns to look up at the old man, in his shirt and slacks, a bit bent with age. There’s a merry twinkle in his slightly rheumy eyes, though, that shows that a young man is still there, under an old man’s experiences. There’s a slight smile on his face, warm and welcoming.

Chris swallows, struggling to find the words. They flit away from him, he has to chase them down, but eventually he manages to clear his throat and says, “I, I, um. I know you. You, you, you knew my dad.”

“I did, at that. Worked with him for years.” The old man settles onto the other end of the couch, giving Chris plenty of space, a nice wide berth for safety. “What’s got you looking like a television commercial for depression, hm, Tristan?”

No one calls him that.

Chris feels his heart twist, a little.

By the time they saw the meteor, Tris, it was already too late for anything but a blink or two. When it touched down into land, it was so big the end of it was still in space. Can you imagine anything so big? Can you?

No, Dad.

The earthquakes alone would have been immense thousands of miles away. Imagine, you’re eating leaves, living your life, and you see a shadow - and then in an instant, the world is shaking and you’re breathing glass. How does life go on after that?

I, I, I don’t know, um, um... how how does it?

It just does. That’s what’s amazing, Tris. It just goes on.

“Nothing. I, I, I broke up with my, my partner is all.”

“Hm, that nice young person who comes with you to the shops?” The old man nods, slowly. He’s got his own cup of coffee, plain black, steaming gently into the air-conditioning. Outside, the rain creates a curtain that walls them off from everything else. Chris can’t even see all the way across the street. He can barely see a woman with an umbrella racing from her car into the nail salon place off to the side.

“Yeah, them. I’m, um. It wasn’t anything they they they did.”

It’s something I did.

It’s something I am.

It’s something I’ll never stop being.

“Well, breakups do happen now and again. Usually the one who does the leaving isn’t the one who does the moping about and staring at rain, though.”

“I didn’t want to.” Chris sits back, keeping his coffee cup in one hand. The other drops to his stomach, to tap, soothing his nerves at being so close to a man he knows and doesn’t-know. His memories are there, fuzzy and hazy from being overwritten by fear and pain, but they’re there. He knows this man, Mr. Malley, who would watch him sometimes when his parents went out, or when his father needed to stop by work.

The memories are there, but they still hurt.

His head starts to throb, a pulsing pain behind his temples.

“I didn’t-... I, I love them, I d-didn’t want to.”

“Well, now, that’s a conundrum, isn’t it? Are you moving, then, Tristan?”

It hurts to hear his name, but it hurts in a way that feels good. He was that person, too, before he was Chris. He hums, low under his breath. “No. I, I, I just… you know, um, I’m just. I’m… hard. Difficult. To, to, to, to be with, to, um, to-... there’s a bunch wrong with-... with me.”

“You sound like your dad.” Mr. Malley laughs, a deep chuckle that rumbles more in his chest than out of his throat. “You know that? You sound just like him.”

Chris ignores the pain in his head and he turns, now, to look fully at Mr. Malley, blinking rapidly. “My, my, my dad?”

“Yep. Paul was a good man, and a good dad, but before he was that he was a scared boy with a baby on the way and a plan that might not work.” Mr. Malley sighs. “A scared boy who’d always had it a little rough, trying to make the world work for him when it did nothing but work against him. You were always his spitting image. He’d probably be tickled to see you still are.”

There is a sense, in Chris’s mind, of a blurry man with short red hair, sitting near him but not quite touching him, speaking with animation about how there are dinosaurs that lived closer to human beings than they did to other dinosaurs.

He remembers a man whose eyes sparkled with animated focus when he talked about the world millions of years ago, who loved him by sharing the information he held within his own mind.

He and his dad had understood each other, in ways that no one else did but his mother, and Chris was beginning to see that it had been her determination to know him that had fueled his mother’s actions, her endless support. The same way Jake and Nat were determined, and stubborn, and kept trying even when they got it wrong.

Everyone gets it wrong sometimes, but that doesn’t… that doesn’t mean they aren’t trying.

Maybe he got it wrong.

“He never broke up with your mom, but oh, he thought about it. You know, when he came to work with us, he had a plan. But plans… they have a way of going off the road and into a ditch. He worried he couldn’t make it work, he worried that it would be too hard for Ronnie to be with him and have a child, too.”

Ronnie.

Chris’s throat closes up, and he closes his eyes.

All right, Tris, I got you these so the noise won’t bother you so much. We’re going to have a good day at the parade, okay?

“Her family never liked him, for one. That’s a rough spot to be in, I think.” Mr. Malley is quiet for a moment, sipping his coffee and watching the rain fall. “Ronnie didn’t see it that way, of course. That woman was a freight train and God help anyone who got in the way. My late wife, God rest her soul, helped Ronnie with some things when her own family wouldn’t. She’d come over big as a house, eyes sparkling. You were a kicker, she used to say, kept her up all hours of the night. Just a girl, still, your mom, but she had a steel spine and she wasn’t going to live any life but the one she wanted. But your dad… he worried, that it would be too hard on her.”

“Having, um, having me would?”

“No. Having him. Paul was a smart man, you know. He knew his job would be trouble. He gave her chance after chance to go, if she wanted. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? She didn’t.”

Chris looks at his phone, lying on the little table in front of the couch. There’s some text messages he hasn’t looked at. Couple of voicemails he hasn’t listened to.

“Maybe he, he, he didn’t want to keep hurting her,” Chris whispers.

“Hurt’s a part of living, lad, take it from someone who’s given out his fair share of it and more.” Mr. Malley hums. Outside, a car pulls up, almost bumping the curb. “Perhaps you’re meant to separate from your young partner, Tristan, perhaps not. It’s like I told your dad, way back in the Stone Age. You choose if you love someone, to be sure, but they choose if they love you back. You can’t decide that for them.”

“But, but I’m-... but, but I’ve been… what I am, it’s-”

“I know what you’ve been made to do,” Mr. Malley says gently. “You don’t have to explain, lad. We knew.”

Chris’s lips tremble. He doesn’t want his coffee any longer. He sets it down next to his phone, on the little table. The baristas talk quietly about a date that one went on the night before, there’s a low sound of machinery. It all filters into Chris’s mind, a cacophony of sound he picks apart or doesn’t. Right now it’s hard for him to think around all the sound, but he tries. “Then, then, then why… if you knew, um, why… didn’t you-”

He can’t finish the question.

Why didn’t you save me from it?

“We couldn’t. It’s shite, is what it is, but we couldn’t. And by the time we could, you were with that nice young man who you live with now. I’m sorry for the time you lost, Tristan, and sorrier still I can’t give it back to you somehow. You’re your dad’s child through and through, but you’ve got your mother in you, too. You know what Ronnie did when there was something she couldn’t get through?”

Chris turns to look at this man, who knew his mother and father in ways he never could have. He swallows. “What?”

“She went over it. Or around it. Or blew it to smithereens and went through the wreckage. Whatever it took. They tried to kick you out of school when you were a wean, she fought them ‘til they realized they’d never win against her. They tried to tell her you wouldn’t read, she told them to go, well, to go sit on a thing or two and not to tell her what her boy could or couldn’t do.”

Chris thinks of Nat sitting next to him on the floor, patiently encouraging him to keep trying to turn the letters into words, despite his headaches, his tears, his certainty he’d never get reading back.

You will, Chris. I know you will. Just keep fighting for it. They won’t take anything from you forever, I won’t let them and you won’t let them either.

Don’t let them keep you from yourself.

“They told her she’d never have a happy life, having a wee one so young, but she built that happy life anyway with her own two hands and dared anyone to try and knock it down.”

“Someone… some, someone did, though.” The gunshots, his mother’s eyes going dull and blank, her whispered I love you so much, Tris…

“Sure. Yes.” Mr. Malley’s expression goes serious, and sad. “But it took breaking into her house at midnight and bullets to stop her. You’ve got plenty of your mom in you, lad. Plenty of your dad, too, he was always a stubborn git himself. Do you love this person you’ve broken up with? Hm?”

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation, even though his voice shakes and his heart races. “I, I, I do. That’s, that’s why I don’t want to-to keep hurting them by, by, by by being messed up from what, um, from what happened to me, I don’t… I don’t want to keep h-hurting them-”

“Let them decide how they feel about that,” Mr. Malley says, voice gentle and low. “Plenty of people are hurt and find their way forward together after.”

Jake and Kauri, laughing in the kitchen as Jake spins Kauri around in a circle, dips him backwards, presses a kiss to his nose that has him giggling.

Antoni at the stove, sighing but with a smile on his face, watching them. Being pulled into the hug not quite against his will, all three of them laughing then. Kauri bright and sparkling, Jake a deeper harmony, Antoni soft and genuine.

“Maybe it won’t last, maybe it will - but don’t let a hard past keep you from the people who love you. I’ve seen many ruined by believing you may only be loved if you’ve no pain inside you. We’ve all got pain, lad. Carrying it together’s a sight easier than trying to go it alone.”

From the car parked right outside, an elderly man unfolds himself, opening an umbrella to shield from the driving rain. Mr. Malley looks up and smiles. “Ah, right on time, must be ten sharp. That’ll be Cilly. D’you remember Cilly, lad?”

Chris looks as the man shuffles his way inside, pushing open the door. The little bell over the top jingles and the baristas cut off their conversation, standing up straight to call out a familiar greeting to a regular customer.

He squints.

“Not… not very well,” He confesses, a little ashamed.

“Ah, well, that’s not a problem. He and I’ve known each other a long time. I was an angry man for a while after my wife died, you know. Seemed a crime that I should outlive her, when Christa deserved to live to a hundred and six if she so wished. Cilly helped me carry that anger when I needed to be angry, and he helped me put it down later on.”

He gives a wave to the man - to Cilly - who looks at Chris and then back to Mr. Malley with clear surprise, then heads towards the counter to make his own order.

“Be angry, Tristan,” Mr. Malley says, a little heavily, leaning over to him on the leg as he pushes himself, with a grunt of effort to his feet. “You may need your anger, in the days ahead. But if you’ve a love to help you carry it, who wants to help you carry it and who will be angry right there with you, and you love them back… well… don’t let the wickedness of others keep you from the happiness you could have. You’ll be a poorer person for it.”

Mr. Malley walks away without another word, leaving Chris by himself again on the couch, tapping at his stomach, thinking. He keeps looking at his phone, thinking about all the texts he hasn’t read, the way he’s refused to call them back when Laken kept trying to reach him.

He leans over to reach out.

He stops, hand hovering just above the plastic with its colorful case, the sensory sticker on the back of it that Laken had bought him.

What happened after all the dinosaurs died, Tristan?

I, I, I don’t know, Dad.

Trick question, buddy. They didn’t. Paul’s eyes, bright and vibrant, gesturing to a bird in a tree nearby. Nothing stays the same and lives forever except alligators and sharks.

Right because, because they’re perfect.

Exactly. Dinosaurs died, sure, but they didn’t die, too. They just changed to suit the world after the one they knew how to live in was gone. Imagine, Tris.

Imagine what?

Imagine the world destroyed and in darkness, buried in ash. Everything you know is gone, ruined, wrecked beyond repair. And imagine… imagine that you learn to eat seeds and little mice instead of big animals and leaves. Imagine you become smaller and smaller. Imagine that your arms turn to wings, that your bones hollow out to carry you higher above the piles of ash that turn to grass and to life again.

What? I, I, I don’t, um, I don’t understand-... Dad, um, I don’t, I don’t... know what you mean.

Right, sorry. Just... imagine you’re a dinosaur.

He’d laughed. Okay.

Now imagine your dinosaur family is gone, and you have to become something else. What do you become? Being a dinosaur means dying, right?

Um. Right.

So imagine that you look at death and say, no thanks. No, you’re not going to be over. This isn’t it for you. Even a meteor the size of the entire sky can’t end you. Instead of dying out, no, you look at history, at geological time, and you say…

Paul had trailed off.

Say what? What, what do I say?

Don’t tell your mom but-... you look at the end of the world and you say... fuck this, I’m going to learn to fly.

Chris picks up his phone, finds Laken’s name and photo in his contacts. It’s a photo of the two of them together, Chris and Laken smiling and laughing as he smears whipped cream on their nose and they smear a cross of fluffy white into his forehead.

He dials.

They pick up on the third ring.

“Chris? Oh my God, Chris, are you okay? Are you-... are you okay, baby?” Their voice shakes, and he closes his eyes.

This time, he lets the tears slip out and run down his face. “H-Hey, Laken, um, I, I, I-... I’m… I wondered if you, um, if you could, uh… are you busy?”

“Am I-... Chris, where are you?”

“The, um, the coffeeshop-”

“I’m on my way. Don’t you dare fucking move.”

At their usual table, at their usual time, Cilly and Sean Malley start to talk amicably about the week ahead. But he keeps an eye on Paul’s boy, where he speaks a few sentences and then hangs up the phone, looking out the window at the rain.

It’s twenty minutes before a new car pulls up outside, and umbrella-less, the partner Sean has seen with Tristan before comes racing inside, a blur of black clothes and black hair and brown skin. Paul’s boy stands, and his partner throws themself at him so hard the two of them fall backwards onto the couch.

They start laughing, and shortly after to cry.

Their hands come up to either side of Tristan’s face, and they lean forward to kiss the scar on his forehead. He can’t hear what they say to each other, but he doesn’t need to.

Ronnie, he thinks, would like this spitfire person that Paul’s boy is so in love with.

That’s one wrong put right, at least for the moment.

One more to go.

Sean smiles and sips his cooling coffee.

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

Just Go On from Kimmy Schmidt

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼

This has been in my inbox for quite a while so I really hope you're still in the fandom XD As thank you for your kind message here is something really rather silly.

It had all started out with the stupid raccoon that rifled through Jaskier's bins. The mess it left behind was unbelievable, like a small, localised tornado had been by, specifically over Jaskier's bins. No matter what he did, how he weighed down the lids, there was a mess every morning. At first Jaskier tried to be more conscious of what he threw away, less food in the bins, even ate more healthily because the raccoon seemed more interested in sweet things most nights. Except for the time it seemed to go absolutely feral with the tiny styrofoam shapes from a delivery Jaskier had. When nothing else worked, Jaskier got locks on his bins. However, his raccoon must have been working out because the locks were forced off his bins and the jumper he'd put in the bin because of a hole in the elbow had disappeared. That was when Jaskier decided to invest in a wildlife camera, this was a raccoon he needed to see.

Setting it up, Jaskier did feel a little foolish. It wasn’t like the raccoon came by every night and this time he really wanted to see it. The plan was to catch it with the net he’d invested in and relocate the little bastard somewhere that wasn’t his bins. To make sure he got the raccoon on camera, Jaskier set out a couple of honey drenched pastries to lure it in.

Sleep was difficult, Jaskier wanted to watch the camera but he was an adult and knew he needed to sleep. With great difficulty, he managed to get some rest and even succeeded in going in to teach rather than call in sick so he could watch his tape. Instead, he invited Valdo over to watch with him, knowing that his claims of a muscly raccoon would never be believed.

“Right, drinks, wine?” He asked, already grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“I’ll order the pizza I guess,” Valdo replied, resignedly pulling his phone out. “Your usual?”

“Darling, I’m providing booze and entertainment in my home, you know the least you can do is buy me pizza.”

It was a tradition of sorts, Jaskier hated Valdo’s place, finding it too drab and grey. It didn’t matter that Valdo had magazine to prove that it was the latest fashion. And the bastard had the gall to say Jaskier was the one who pandered to the masses.

Now, they had wine in hand, the TV on and playing. Jaskier had to admit, it was pretty boring.

“Oh look, a moth,” Valdo drawled, sipping at his wine. “Maybe it flaps its wings so hard it messes with your bins.”

“Shut up.” The wine was disappearing at a steady rate and both their cheeks were getting rosy. Perhaps alcohol before food had been a rather unwise idea. “Here, I’ll speed it up until something comes along.” And something had to, the pastries were gone by the morning. They watched as moths, the odd cat and rat scuttled by.

“There!” Valdo yelled and pointed at the screen. As quickly as he could, Jaskier slowed it back down. They leaned forwards as one, seeing something large and dark move in the corner of the screen. Suddenly the darkness became a blur and both of them screamed, clutching at each other. A man stepped up to the pastries, hunching over the plate and stuffing them in his mouth at an impressive rate.

Just as they were over the shock, the man looked up. His eyes, like a cat, reflected the light as he looked at the camera, head tilted. Once again, Jaskier and Valdo screamed, leaping towards each other for protection, wine sloshing everywhere. It seemed the man had no idea what the camera was, giving it a good, long look before turning to have a rummage in the bins.

“That’s a really big fucking raccoon,” Valdo whimpered and Jaskier smacked him on the arm. “You’re going to need a bigger net.”

Laughing nervously, Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t know what to make of it, a large, long haired man with scary eyes had made a habit of rifling through his rubbish.

“Sleepover,” he declared. “You’re staying here. And we’re putting more food out.”

“You don’t want to encourage him! What if he’s, you know-” Valdo broke off, “-a vampire.”

“They’re not seen on films and their eyes don’t do that. Could be a shifter.”

“Sasquatch’s freaky cousin.”

“An eldritch horror!”

“A cryptid!” That actually seemed to fit. Still, cryptids needed feeding, Jaskier was not going to be mean. So far, other than his bins, nothing untoward had happened. “I’ll leave him some pizza.”

Drinking, Jaskier decided, was definitely not his best idea. He groaned as he sat up, Valdo snoring away next to him. He remembered most of their previous night and cursed; they didn’t just leave pizza, they left a note too.

Dear Mr. Cryptid, Please don’t eat us, eat the pizza instead. Love, Valskier

Rushing out, Jaskier saw that the pizza was gone, the note was crumpled on the ground and there was a bite missing from it. At least he now knew the shape of the cryptid’s bite.

“Wake up!” He poked Valdo in the side. “We need to watch this before work.”

It was the right choice. Jaskier spent the rest of the day thinking about the strange man with the even stranger eyes inspecting the pizza, giving it a sniff while the note was on top of it. And taking a large bite out of it all. While the pizza was given a second and third bite, the note had been inspected, given a lick before being cast aside. The camera also gave them a very good view of the man, bulging arm muscles, long, probably white or blonde hair. In short, Jaskier was fucked. He bought a whole cake and left it out that night.

The strange cryptid began to show up more regularly but at least he stopped making a mess of the bins. Jaskier tried leaving a few more notes but, after watching the man squint at the note before trying to take a bite out of each and every single one, he gave up.

“What’s the latest on your cryptid?” Valdo asked in the staff room. Rather than reply, Jaskier pulled his phone from his pocket and hit play on the video.

This time, it wasn’t his usual long haired cryptid man. Instead, it was two others with the same creepy eyes, scurrying past, snagging the hot dogs Jaskier had left out and shoving the bins over for good measure as they ran. His usual cryptid didn’t show up that night.

“I told you!” Valdo screeched, earning a few scathing looks. “You feed one and more come along.”

The following night, Jaskier put out more food, hoping it would be enough for everyone. He was almost scared to watch the footage the next day but was so glad he did. All three of the cryptids lingered near the camera, eyes flashing. However, Jaskier’s blood chilled when he spotted another pair of eyes in the background, watching but not approaching.

Looking back on the videos, he was appalled to find that an extra pair of glowing eyes was often in the background. Maybe it was a mate or a very shy cryptid. Either way, Jaskier wanted to see.

“Oh. It’s an injured one!” Jaskier breathed, appalled. He had upgraded his camera and had managed to turn the contrast up enough to make out a face. In a way, he almost wished he hadn’t because the sight was so terrible. The shy cryptid was scarred beyond belief, lip caught in a permanent snarl. He seemed the most distrustful of the camera, never approaching. But, once, Jaskier watched as a hand reached in front of the camera, snagged the sugar laden jelly pot and the camera was knocked askew. Just about visible after a few minutes was a broad back in a striped and spiked coat as it retreated. From then on, Jaskier made sure to leave soft foods out too.

“Didn’t you say your raccoon had a field day with styrofoam pellets?” Valdo asked. The school had taken a delivery of biology samples which arrived in boxes filled with the stuff. Together, Jaskier and Valdo poured as much of the pellets into a box as they could and they were left out alongside the offering of food.

That night, Valdo stayed over and neither of them slept. Instead, the TV showed the camera’s feed. It was about 3am, both of them were drooping when there was movement.

“Look!” Jaskier nudged Valdo who woke with a snort. On the screen, the original, long haired cryptid had a hand clasped around the wrist of the injured one and was dragging him into view. Behind them were the other two Jaskier had seen before. He gasped, “They’re a family, aren’t they?”

“They’re something alright. Maybe it’s cryptid double date night?”

Fascinated, they watched as the four of them inspected the box. It was the smallest of the lot, one of the two Jaskier had only ever seen together that stepped into the box, hands digging into the pellets. The grin on his face spoke volumes. The other once jumped in too, the two of them beginning to wrestled for who got to sit in the box. All while, the pellets were tumbling out, making the original cryptid and the scarred one hop back. They stared at the styrofoam like it had personally offended them. Without sound there was no way to hear it but Jaskier was convinced they hissed at it. Hesitantly, the scarred one picked up a couple and, without and warning, threw it in the air. They all darted away from it, glaring as it dropped. Once again, the smallest crept closer, darting in to pick up a handful and toss it into the air, sending them scattering again. However, when the styrofoam didn’t attack, he got braver, his mate stepping closer too. All too soon, they were all tossing handfuls of sytrofoam in the air and running around. It was all fun and games until the larger of the pair picked up the box and tossed it. The scarred one caught it but staggered and crashed into the bins.

Jaskier jumped as the clatter of his bins falling over rudely reminded him of just how close the cryptids were. It felt much more distant when they were just on his TV. Tense, he clutched at Valdo’s sweaty hand and they watched as the cryptids ran away from the scene. The next morning, Jaskier had so much styrofoam to clean up, he regetted ever listening to Valdo.

Now that he knew that the cryptids could play, Jaskier decided that they were probably intelligent beings, it was a simple matter of finding a way to communicated.

“I’ve written a will, told my parents I love them and cleared my internet browsing history,” he told Valdo. “If anything happens, you know which box in the bedroom to burn, right?”

“You crazy bastard, don’t go out there!”

Jaskier held aloft the tray of foods, trying to look self assured. “I have new friends to meet. Wish me luck.”

With that, he marched out, ready to settle in for a long wait, confident that Valdo would keep an eye on him via the camera. As he’d said, he had new friends to meet, he just hoped they wanted to meet him too.

#jaskier & valdo #jaskier #valdo marx #geralt of rivia #lambert #aiden #eskel #modern au #tldr: jaskier feeds some cryptids

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ranmanjuu · 3 years

Text

titled “shin shin”.txt

came across a post... a long, long while ago about a god of death type reader and got super interested, since of all the cyikemen games, ikesen is the one most surrounded by death on a larger scale (cause, war and stuff), so i wrote this at... 2020? almost one year before, at 21th of july. i had more of it written, but i really didn’t like it cause it felt too “quirky wattpad reader” and plus me just copying from the original prlogue without adding anything, so... yeah. enjoy!

(also, very important that anyone who wants to do whatever with this idea, feel free, no need to ask me)

You didn’t like your existence

To call it “your life” would be simply wrong; you don’t breathe, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep. All you are is a walking, talking existence that has a job to do until you fade away. You didn’t even like your job.

To lead a soul from their death to the Land of the Dead was a grim job. You learnt their regrets, their anger, their sadness, all which you knew was personal. But you had to be there. You had to ensure that their soul is at peace, so when the time comes to cross to the afterlife, they don’t get reincarnated as a ghost, stuck forever with their past emotions.

Shinigami, was your kinds’ name. God of Death.

You were a part of the blanket term ‘yokai’, or as some would call in other names such as ‘ayakashi’. Those who fall under the category were spirits, demons, animal-like creatures, or, similar to you, gods. For as long as you’ve known, supernatural creatures didn’t mesh with humans well most of the time.

Fear of unknown from both parties led to anger, rashness, and cut communication and involvement altogether for perhaps half your life.

You’ve existed for long; you stopped remembering the exact number after 1.000 years. All you did now was remember the year you came to the world, and do the math. But that doesn’t matter much, does it? The only thing you concerned yourself with is when you’ll fade away.

However, for your own sake, you do take a break. Such a job is heavy for the heart, and a walk doesn’t help as much, but it’s a nice thing nonetheless.

Kyoto. You were just done leading a soul that got caught in a traffic accident. You never traveled outside of the country, but would it really matter if you did? You still appreciated everything as it were; there has to be some light in a life to look forward to.

This particular city was rich in human history, you knew that. Maybe it’d be a fun thing to do, even if you didn’t have much an interest in it.

“All your famous warlord knowledge, packed in a mag! Come get one now!” A boy’s shouts filled the nearby streets, attracting attention from the occasional passerby’s. Including you. A Quick Guide To Your Warlords, the magazine read on the cover. Sounds interesting, and you were bored, so you took one and stuffed it in your pocket.

With a blank mind, you were brought forth to a temple by your wandering legs. Honno-ji. A small, quiet, quaint place. The setting sky burned up above as the small cries of the crickets sounded all around.

You’ve heard some stories of the small memorial in front of you. One of the unifiers of Japan died here—betrayed, as you remembered. But you can’t draw an exact name.

While drowning in your thoughts, the approaching presence coming to you was acknowledged but not paid mind to further. Until you shift your eyes to the side as said figure was in your peripheral vision—a man dressed in a lab coat. The two of you said no words, only continuing to gaze at the stone in front of you.

You only started to react when the sky above you turned darker and darker—not by the setting sun, but by the awfully black and almost purple clouds gathering up above you. That’s unusual, you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

The once bright and bold sky now rained down drops of water on your face. You didn’t even notice you shifted to your human form—and a look at your hands covered in specks of droplets confirmed that.

“What poor timing.” The man next to you said, causing your eyes to glance at him. He looked solemnly to the monument, then to you, “Are you alright? Do you have an umbrella?”

“No, unfortunately. I didn’t expect it to rain. . .” your eyes linger to above his head, where a set of numbers and a small text was visible to you only. The death profile, as the others call. A set of information that shinigamis can see in most creatures, usually entailing their names, time of death, and cause of it.

It’s a cursing bit of information; always reminding you of what you are.

Out of nowhere, a thunder ripped through the clouds and hit directly on the small monument—a loud crackle following along. Your arm flew up to protect the man next to you by reflex, as your body stood there in momentary shock. You’ve seen death by lightning, but that was unlikely to happen now.

You whipped your head towards the human next to you, who seems the slightest bit appalled, but stood his ground. A strange thing catches your attention. . .

His death date. It’s flickering—changing.

From a century where he was supposed to die. . .to the 15-16th century.

A date of death changing has been a rare thing that happens, however unlikely, but—it’s never jumped that far before! To the past, too?

Utter shock froze you in place as the numbers flicker back and forth, leading your attention away from everything else—him asking you if you were okay, and most importantly—

—the black ball that formed where the stone was.

“Watch ou—“ before you can warn the man, the image of him next to you twisted and distorted, slowly getting sucked in whatever it was.

And so were you.

Wait! He isn’t supposed to die yet—!

The world faded to black.

Ugh. . .my head. . .

Your vision fades in and out, clear then blurry, until you’re finally wide awake. The scenery around you changed drastically, what was first a small place in the city of Kyoto is now. . .a dark forest. You’ve seen this kind of environment before in your memories—you just don’t know how you got here.

The lab coat guy—!

You immediately stood up from the dirt beneath you, looking around and trying to sense his soul around you. Nothing. Pursing your lips in slight unease, you started making your way through the criminally underlighted woods.

You’ve roamed around in the forest before. Most of your time on this world, you didn’t settle in a house or anything, you preferred to just wander around like a lost ghost. You didn’t have a need for one—you don’t need shelter, not food, not clothes, nor drinks. You were a lost ghost.

The branches and rocks and whatever else you tripped on didn’t bother you. All you were focusing on is now just. . .walking. Without even a set destination. The only guidance you had was the occasional moonlight that peeked through the trees up above.

As minutes pass by, you start feeling a faint presence of human souls.

It’s distant, and not much from how weak it is, but I should go and see.

All other senses were rendered useless for now as you focused on the source of the souls, and slowly marched your way to it. It grew closer and closer, until you saw a faint light coming in the middle of the forest.

Two people, you now concluded. Your footsteps remained silent and your presence unknown as you creep near the light.

A fire was set in a small clearing, and you can now see the two people. A man with dark hair, dressed in monk’s clothes and a scar marking his face, with another feminime-looking boy, purple-haired in armor.

“Are you ready for this, Ranmaru?” The monk spoke in a low voice. “You’re about to kill the demon. Bring him down for good.”

Kill, huh. An assassination was about to commence.

“. . .Yes, Master Kennyo.” The boy—Ranmaru—spoke, wavering in unease but still tried to be certain.

‘Master Kennyo’ smiled; a bitter, unresting one, “Good. They’ve light the fire at Honno-ji, arrive there and kill him. I will follow shortly once the fire has spread,”

“. . .Understood.”

Clutching his sword until it shook in his hand, Ranmaru turned around and walked off from the clearing.

You overheard the conversation and calmly watched his figure fade away. It isn’t your place to intervene—not if this is fate, but even so—you’ll follow him. At least you can rest the soul of the victim.

In silent steps trailing him, you heard a last piece from Kennyo. “Finally, we’ll have our revenge. . .”

You took your time in following Ranmaru’s path. If whoever’s assassinated dies, it’s soul will still remain until they can go to the afterlife. Time stops for them as long as it takes to get their soul guided away from the living land. Is it immoral in a way? Perhaps.

Unless. . .you can stop them from getting killed. But often when you try to intervene, the death happens either way.

So what’s the point?

Nihilistic thoughts aside, you sensed more human souls coming your way; five, from what you can tell. But you paid no mind to that. Until it got nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and—

“Oof.” In your blank stated mind, you bumped into someone, causing them to huff in surprise. You yourself paused and looked—a brown haired man wearing red armor, “Hey, watch where you’re going—!”

His complaints died on his tongue as soon as he finally saw who he bumped into. His expression, from a slightly irritated frown, turned more into one of confusion, “Huh? Hey, what’s someone like you doing here in the woods? Nighttime, also? Such weird clothing, too. . .”

His spoken words made you raise an eyebrow, “Ignoring all that, I’m sorry for bumping into you. I just had some business is all.”

“In the dead of night? What are you, an. . .enchantress? Those stories of w-witches in the forest?” The man’s voice wavered more with each passing word. The quirk in your eyebrow deepens.

“I assure you, I’m not—“

“Yuki~! We leave you for a few seconds and you’ve already found yourself a partner?” A velvet and rich voice arose from behind the dark bushes and trees, all of them being pushed aside to reveal an auburn haired man, this one more built in his body.

The one you’ve been talking to—Yuki—blushed and shook his head vehemently, “Ugh, no! I’m not like you; we just bumped into each other is all. And I think it’s some kind of witch, too—”

The redhead man tutted at Yuki in a disapproving manner, “Now, now, Yuki. Have I not taught you how to talk properly in front of such a beauty all this time?” His attention turns to you, and in a second, his eyes lit in passion, “Forgive me for his prudeness, my goddess, dear Yuki needs a lot more lessons than I thought. However. . .if you want to be with a real man, I’m always up for service.”

“Will you stop flirting with everything you meet. It’s disgusting.”

Three more people emerge from the shadows, the small bits of moonlight pouring to their features. The one who spoke was a blond one, cladded in blue armor and with eyes that said he wanted to have nothing to do with any of this.

“But Kenshin, you can’t just turn away at such a beauty laid in front of your eyes.” The flirt replied to the cold comment with a smirk.

“Stop. Or I’ll kill you.”

The bickering of the two were left unnoticed as another man with dark blue hair stepped up, far closer than what you were expecting. His hand reaches and caresses lightly on your clothes, “I have never seen such a design or material like this before. How fascinating. Would you like to switch with one of my kimonos?”

“Yoshimoto, I’ve already claimed them! Don’t steal them right under my nose.” Flirt Man threw a light complaint, turning away from Kenshin for a moment.

“Art is to be appreciated by everyone, Shingen.” Yoshimoto simply responds, now tugging lightly at the sleeves of your shirt.

Okay, you’ll admit it. You’re slightly overwhelmed.

So far, you haven’t said anything, mainly because you don’t want to. It feels like anything you say won’t make the situation better anyway. But still. . .even in your long life, this is quite bizzare.

You observed each of them one by one. Then your eyes landed to the last one, the same brown haired man you saw earlier. Now, in. . .some sort of ninja attire. While you tilted your head in slight curiosity, you’re at least satisfied to see he was safe.

And his death date has changed, too. . .

Speaking of death, you’re finally reminded of following. . .who was it, Ranmaru? to an assassination.

Gently freeing yourself from Yoshimoto’s admiring touches to your clothes, you bowed slightly in front of them, “I appreciate meeting all of you, but I have to go.”

You don’t see Sasuke opening his mouth to say something, and neither do the others, as you walked off to the darkness.

You thought by losing your way from your unofficial guide, you wouldn’t find the destination. But luckily, even going in the same direction as he did led you to it. Honno-ji. This time, it’s in the midst of drowning in fire. You made your way through the front door and entered where the fire wouldn’t reach you—but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

And in the middle of the room not yet entirely covered in flames, was who you assume the victim, sleeping. The cause of death, “died in an assassination while the building was set on fire”, said as much. Dressed in black armor, you could tell he was important, somehow. Not everyone can casually wear one, despite the past few people you’ve met been donning it.

The text displayed above the man’s head displayed the same old. Nobunaga Oda.

On the other side, you see a silhouette approaching steadily, sword in hand. Ranmaru, you guessed. You double checked yourself to make sure you weren’t visible to the human’s eye, and you were just fine with watching another death as you have—

Until, for the second time today, the death date for Nobunaga Oda flickered.

You froze as what was 21st of July, 1582, blinked into a later date. Much later.

What. . .?! That was the second time today—what am I supposed to—

Your chest felt heavy, and your hands trembled in uncertainty of what you should do. Do you save him? Watch him die? Would he even die at this moment? Or would it be later? You’ve never been in this position—the answer was always clear. And now you’re terrified.

Your body swayed back and forth violently, as two sides fought in your head of what to do. But time was running out—he’d be assassinated if you didn’t take this chance. And he’d die. That’s the same as you killing him, you thought, and you’ve sworn to never do such a thing.

From your disarrayed thoughts, your legs moved on their own and walked to him. You’re saving him, then.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #cyikemen #*writing #scenario #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen ranmaru #ikesen kennyo #ikesen sasuke #ikesen yuki #ikesen shingen #ikesen kenshin #ikesen yoshimoto

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mvnvgedmischief · 3 years

Text

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it's wildly unremarkable.

chapter: 4/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 8 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Sirius knew that work was going to be high stress all day. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about the way he would continuously have to talk to people, when all he wanted was some peace. He wanted downtime. Time when he didn’t have to think about how he needed his paycheck to put food on the table, clothes on his brother’s back, pay bills to keep his lights on, wifi for homework. Regulus occupied his thoughts at all times, protecting him was Sirius’s only priority these days. He didn’t have time for anything else. Not his friends, not his interests, not music. Nothing could come between his focus and his brother’s wellbeing, because if it did, Sirius would never forgive himself. The consequences were too dire. So instead, he just wished for downtime that wouldn’t come, and prayed for the weekend to approach even faster.

The weekend, when he could finally sleep again, albeit not well. The weekend, when he had the time to take a breath, even if it was only brief. Because his weekends were also spent finding ways to better equip his apartment for his younger brother, going to long grocery runs so Regulus had lunch to take to school, meal prepping all of the things he couldn’t bring himself to eat for dinner. He was definitely tired of all of the ways his mind was spiraling out, he didn’t have the time. He didn’t fault Regulus for it, it wasn’t the teen's presence in his life that was causing all this stress. It really was his own fault. A bit of crying at that first hearing had given Walburga and Orion the satisfaction of a victory over him at that first hearing, and they seemed to crave more of that chaos. They wanted to watch their children suffer, and this was how they chose to do that. So instead he spiraled in the privacy of his own home, because he could practically hear the words they burned into his mind whenever he saw them, and feel the ache of old beatings.

But it was only Thursday, and that meant he still had to do this all day, and then get berated by the rest of the team for not attending their weekly bonding happy hour. If he was lucky, no one would ask him to go. He knew he should be less terrified of them asking, most of the people on his team were his friends. There was simply the question of Remus, and Sirius didn’t have the time to be thinking about him in the first place.

He didn’t have time to think about the way his hair curled just the right way to fall into his eyes when he slept, or the way his caramel freckles made him look sunkist. He didn’t have time to think about the pink scars that ran down Remus’s face or how they got there. He definitely didn;’t have time to think of the comfort of his hand combing through Sirius’s own mop of unruly curls. So instead, he needs to put all of that out of his mind. It wasn’t going to help him do well at work. It wasn’t going to solve his problems. He didn’t have the time for this, nor did he have the emotional bandwidth. Perhaps that was why Sirius was conveniently avoiding the idea that he had asked Remus on a date. With some luck, Remus would think he was just an asshole who ghosted him. That was definitely complicated by the fact that they worked together, that he couldn’t just disappear. He wanted to, he really did, because there was simply no time.

He set up his deliverables as though he had made tons of them, because his employment in this company rode on it. Just two months ago, he was pegged to be promoted within the next two cycles, and now he could barely hold on to his sanity enough to handle his workload. He was so fucking tired, and he had so much on his plate. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the long day of meetings ahead of him. He had no true motivation to do his job right now, all he knew was that his exhaustion was no excuse. He knew that his boss, Alice, was giving him a whole lot of leeway right now. She was probably doing more than she should to help him. Being a mentor on the senior design team didn’t mean she needed to keep tabs on his personal life and pick up his slack.

“Sirius–”

When Sirius focused back into the meeting he was calling into, it occurred to him that they’re talking to him. So he did what he always did, blamed it on a shoddy connection.

“Oh, sorry, can you repeat that? My audio cut out.”

“Remus was saying that some of the poems could probably use illustrations, and he was wondering if you had any ideas on which ones needed it.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Sirius was glad that he knew the people on this team, that Peter and James were as close to him as anyone could be. Because otherwise, he’d probably be fucked.

“So I was looking through them, and I was thinking Bite, Magick, and Love I could probably use larger scale illustrations. But at the same time, we don’t want to crowd the book. How attached are you to the current order or page arrangement?”

It felt too close, but he was lucky that he had at least read the titles of some of the poems in the first half of the book. Sirius knew Remus didn’t actually know what his level of involvement was. He thought it was just doodles, but Sirius would be responsible for presenting everything from kearning and font choice within the pages, to illustration and cover art to the design team. He was integral to the success of this book as a product, and he needed to start acting like it.

“I’m pretty attached.” Remus sounded cold to Sirius, and he wondered what exactly he had done wrong in this meeting. And yet, he didn’t have time to think on it. He needed to keep things moving, keep getting valuable information out of the author. Hook up be damned, Sirius needed this book to actually get off the ground.

“Okay, well we should get a meeting on the calender to discuss. What poems and what scale of illustrations you want–”

“Shouldn’t you be deciding what the illustrations look like and the logistics of those. Isn’t that what you get paid for?” Remus really wasn’t making this easy on Sirius. But he had dealt with bigger demons and divas then whatever this attitude was. So he put on a light and airy smile, one they’d never know didn’t reach his eyes over the low quality webcam and nodded.

“If you’d like to take a hands off approach with the design work, that can absolutely be arranged. But in the case of a fledgling project with a new author, the design team, myself included, really hope to prioritize your artistic license so that we can get a better sense of your vision for your literature, should Quill move forward with other publications in the future. We can provide a completely in-house service, with as much input as you feel necessary during the design process, and deliver collateral towards the end of the project when final edits are done, if you would prefer, Mister Lupin.”

Sirius practically wanted to scream. He needed Remus to stop fucking with his job, with his livelihood. He couldn’t lose this project. He needed all of the billable hours he could get if he was going to justify the overtime he needed in order to provide for his brother. This was ridiculous. But his clinical and polite answer must have thrown Remus, because he didn’t get much more attitude out of him. The back and forth had ended. So instead, Sirius pulled up his deliverables for the week, which included new iterations for the covers, and twelve illustrations for the three poems he had mentioned.

He noticed the way Remus looked at his drawings, like he was pained by whatever his thoughts were, and Sirius wants to scream that he’s under no obligation to think that they’re good. But then he remembers that Remus seemed to be nitpicking on purpose, based on his critique of the design system itself. Sirius didn’t have the time to deal with that level of petty, just because he hadn’t been answering. He was too busy. He had too much on his plate. So instead he continues his presentation.

“I don’t like any of these. Maybe you should start over.” Remus sounded vindictive, even mean. Like he was doing this out of spite. Sirius could feel his heart drop in that moment. He didn’t want to start over. He didn’t have the time.

“What do you not like about them?” Sirius is trying to salvage his work while he can.

“The vibe is off.”

“Oh, is there something specific that throws it off or...” Sirius trailed off, wondering what exactly he needed to change.

“No, it’s the whole thing. All of them are just off.”

Sirius needed to think quick on his feet. He didn’t have the time to start from scratch, so he pulled up his original thumbnails that he had discussed with Remus.

“These are the original sketches we discussed. I moved forward with the ones we talked about. I’m happy to rework those sketches,” no, he wasn’t. “But if there’s another sketch that you think would fit your vision better, please let me know.” He felt like he was pleading with Remus not to hate his artwork. He’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a blow to his self esteem to hear that everything that he did was bad.

“No, I would suggest you start over.”

Sirius nodded, his mind immediately whirring with ways he could start over and re-design this project. He really didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to do hundreds of thumbnails to get set on thirty, only to be destroyed in a meeting again. Especially when Remus seemed so excited about all of his illustrations before the meetings. It felt like too much. He didn’t have the energy for this kind of behavior.

Luckily, Marlene directed the conversation away from Sirius’s work. The rest of the call went on without a hitch, like the only person who’s work Remus had a problem with was Sirius’s. He knew that it was more likely for Remus to have a problem with him, because design work was usually something an artist thought of as easy; however, this felt calculated and cold. If Sirius had been avoiding Remus before, it definitely wasn’t about to get better. So instead, he listened to the end of the meeting, and started the project all over again. He could do this. It was an unremarkable critique. It didn’t matter.

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babypinkhearts · 4 years

Note

heyy! can i ask for a killua x fem! reader, where the reader is a healer and killua comes back with major wounds/scars from a fight and the reader has to take care of him,even thought she's just a novice hunter 🥺 thank you and take your time. have a nice day!💞

ahh i was thinking about writing something like this! i tweaked with it a little, i hope you don’t mind 🥺 thank you so so much for requesting! <3

pairing: killua zoldyck + reader

warnings: descriptions of wounds, blood, and slight agnst. overall fluff 🥺

with every footstep, the grass below you rustled.

heavy pants left your lips, the feeling of exhaustion slowly increasing. you fought the urge to stop, though your legs were practically screaming in protest.

every stride had gotten faster, the adrenaline fueling your speed.

you needed to get there as quickly as possible.

no amount of certainty could calm you down - your head was spinning and the aching feeling in your gut wouldn’t loosen.

the dreadful phone call you had recieved only minutes ago was stuck on replay.

the fright that was easily heard from their tone of voice - it haunted you.

“y-y/n! you have to come! killua-“

at the mere sentence, you had hung up and rushed to where you last saw your group.

he promised you that he’d be careful.

he promised that he’d come back unscathed.

he promised you that everything would be alright.

it were bare promises made by the link of your two pinkies.

now, he had broken it.

killua was strong and skilled. you knew that. he had endured a lot within his entire life.

rarely was he ever injured.

which meant that when he was, it was bad.

reluctantly had you let him and gon leave without you.

their reasoning was that you were “the most important element of the team” and with your abilites, it put you at a valuable position.

though you weren’t as nearly skilled as they were in combat, your ability to heal wounds made you the anchor of the group.

if someone got hurt - you’d be there to save them.

but regardless of how powerful your nen was - it didn’t have the ability of preventing injuries.

all you could do was make them better.

you wished there was a way to shield your friends from harm’s way. you hated to see them in pain. yet - you were grateful you were gifted with the power to eventually take that pain away.

it was hard to see in front of you - the moon barely granting any light to your surroundings.

you trusted your pure instincts to lead the way through the dark forest, mentally giving yourself words of encouragement to ease your anxiety.

he’ll be okay.

you’re going to help him.

don’t slow down now - you’re almost there.

and with another turn, you faintly made out the sight of bright green clothing.

a boost of energy ran across your body and you suddenly began to sprint. your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest - the aggressive pounding becoming admittedly concerning.

“gon!”

you watched as his head snapped up, his eyes growing wide as he noticed you.

you reached him in mere seconds, panting heavily. sweat ran down your face - your figure tembling in exhaustion.

you couldn’t stop - not now.

hastily, gon grabbed your wrist rather roughly, pulling you along as he headed toward a larger tree.

your head spun as you followed him, the lack of rest slowly catching on to you.

you disregarded your condition - eyes trailing on gon’s dark hair.

he hadn’t said anything.

“w-where is he?” you questioned, fear crawling on your skin as you noticed his lack of words.

his back was faced toward you, his head down low as he increased his pace.

“gon? gon! where’s kil-“

as you turned the corner, you felt like you were going to pass out.

upon a tree laid a far-too-familiar boy.

his body covered in wounds.

never, had you seen injuries as bad as the ones your eyes were currently laid upon.

for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

the condition he was in was almost scarring - you felt sick to your stomach.

“killua!” you exclaimed, dropping to your knees beside him. your hands shook as they cupped his face. his chest was rising rather slowly, each breath labored.

to your relief, his eyes slightly open, half lidded as they gazed upon you.

the blue was rather dim, now supporting more of a depressing gray.

the sight made you let out a whimper, your head quickly shaking in disapproval at your action.

now isn’t the time to panic.

“o-okay,” you breathed, swallowing the sob that threatened to come out. “you’re going to be okay - alright, kil?”

it was more of a rhetorical question.

and as much as you didn’t want to admit it -

it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

“stay strong for me, please.” you begged, gently pressing a hand on his abdomen - where his most severe injury was.

killua jolted against your touch, hissing at the painful contact.

the wound was deep - blood had completely soaked the clothes around it. from what you had seen - it looked like a miracle that he was still conscious. the blood loss was extreme.

“i know, i know.” you cooed, smoothing out his hair, trying your best to comfort him.

the amount of energy it’d take to completely heal him would be.... draining.

but if it meant that he’d be alright in the end - you’d do it a hundred times again.

lifting his shirt, you smoothed your hand across the damaged skin, whispering an unintelligible phrase under your breath.

killua had seen you heal people dozens of times.

he could never exactly hear what you muttered to yourself before you healed someone.

he was sure it was the name of the ability - but he never dared to ask. since you said it so lowly each time - it was clear you wanted it to remain a secret.

your eyes closed in concentration, carefully directing your aura to your hands.

you had been blessed with an ability to take away pain.

something that so many people craved - you could easily do in within seconds.

the aura in your hands glowed a bright white, shielding the view of killua’s injuries.

it grew slightly difficult to keep your hands in place - your eyes shutting even tighter as you drew a deep breath.

killua laid still, his eyes widening as the aching pain all over his body began to dull away.

all traces of blood were fading - the deep wounds on his skin slowly closing.

is this what angel’s breath felt like?

he could hardly remember.

when he had originally experienced it, it was on the lands of greed island.

his hands had been severely damaged due to the game of dodgeball against razor.

an adrenaline-filled memory, to say the least.

he recalled the use of the angel’s breath card.

when it had been used on him, it felt like a refreshing gust of wind. it had happened too quick for him to completely remember.

but this - your ability felt much different.

from the second you laid your hands on him, he immediately felt better. the comfort of your presence - you were the angel.

nothing was too quick. he could perfectly engrave every single detail in his mind.

he could see your nen.

he could see his injuries being restored.

his eyes didn’t miss one detail.

and he certainly didn’t miss the look of desperation on your face as you gently comforted him, begging him to keep his eyes open.

“killua?”

he blinked, nearly jumping at the sudden call.

you sat beside him, your expression full of relief. exhaustion was also part of it - but you could manage with it.

you had done your best.

with the amount of pure concentration it took - you managed to stop all the bleeding and heal all of the major wounds.

thankfully, your best had been enough.

“how do you feel?” you softly asked, your expression full of worry.

you felt guilty that you couldn’t completely heal him - you lacked the energy to. any more longer and you’re sure you would’ve passed out.

killua attempted to sit up, though immediately fell back, a groan leaving his lips.

your eyes widened, your arms wrapping around his torso to help him.

“i-i’m so sorry i couldn’t be more use - i promise i’ll heal you better, just give me five min-“

a harsh pull into his chest shut you up.

with a surprised gasp, arms wrapped around you. you felt him bury his face into your neck, his breath slightly tickling you.

“i should be sorry, idiot.”

you froze.

“i promise you i’d be careful.” he continued, closing his eyes. “i’m so sorry for breaking that. along with everything else.”

slowly, you copied his actions, embracing him.

he shouldn’t feel guilty. especially after what he just went through.

“don’t be. i’m just glad i made it to you on time.” you whispered. you felt his grip tighten.

“thank you for that.” he breathed. from his hold on you, he still felt your body shaking.

it was reasonable - a few minutes too late and he could’ve died.

the mere thought of it drove the two of you anxious, the need to embrace one another growing stronger.

a quick thought circled your mind, your head lifting from killua’s shoulder as you inspected the area around the two of you.

gon was no where in sight.

sensing your tensed body, killua pulled away, raising a brow at you.

he noticed your wandering eyes, realization hitting him.

“he went to get everyone else.”

you blinked, tilting your head at the white-haired boy.

the sudden absence of your green-clothed friend worried you, anxious thoughts appearing in your mind.

“how do you know?” you questioned, furrowing your brows.

killua sighed at your cautious self, shaking his head. he knew you were still on edge - rightfully so.

“i told him before he contacted you. in case of an emergency like this.” he explained, his bright blue eyes looking at you.

relief soared through you, a sigh leaving your lips.

“alright.” you replied, nodding.

your gaze turned to killua, scanning his face.

a few small cuts were scattered across the skin - though nothing bad.

“we need to get you cleaned up.” you mumbled, gently running a thumb over a tiny bruise on his jawline.

killua hummed in response, his eyes closed.

with a heavy sigh, you leaned against the tree behind you.

for a moment, it was peaceful.

the wait for the rest of the group was filled with long talks.

you almost lost each other.

you felt the need to bask in one another’s presence.

for every laugh that was shared, you felt your heart grow more and more.

if you hadn’t been there in time...

you could’ve lost him.

though, here he was.

right beside you.

a smile on his face.

staring at you with the most loving eyes you could ever imagine.

and you thanked the world for it.

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og-danny-dorito · 3 years

Text

Jason Todd : Assassination Jobs

[ A/N: kinda wrote this by the seat of my pants ksjdfndksjnf- it’s basically just how i think jason deals with assassination jobs and a story pertaining to the one time he really did do one and why he did it. not really an x reader but i guess you could technically place yourself in the woman’s place. she’s the one who calls upon jason to help with her issue but it doesn’t have any self-insert elements. kinda more of a really long headcanon ]

⚠️ TW : stalking, abuse, violence ⚠️

jason doesn't usually do assassin work. it requires a lot of coverups, connections, planning and is overall a huge mess, so he kinda just avoids it.

there have been a few times though, where he’s made exceptions.

most of them just had good pay involved or something like that, but the one that’s probably the most commendable to him is when a woman came to him one time with a very vague request. how she got his line he had no idea, but regardless by the time they actually met up she seemed kinda,,, nervous.

she was kinda jumpy and avoided eye contact so she didn’t look too confident or assured in what she was doing, she was looking all around her nervously as if she was scared someone would hear them, and on top of it all she had planned for them to meet in a secluded alleyway with little to no surveillance opportunity and in a sketchy part of town.

he wasn't stupid enough to trust her right off the bat, obviously, but he was smart enough to know that if she really did have some sort of thing planned out she wouldn’t have asked him if he knew there was no way anyone could see or hear them there. it was a bit odd but seemed safe enough, so he showed up.

now, jason went into this expecting something standard. maybe a boss was bothering her or there was a coworker she was having trouble with or something like that, but what had come out of her mouth left him feeling both astonished and, to put it simply... enraged.

he could see the way she covered her arms when she talked to him or how she tried to wear layers of clothing that would hide some of the wounds under her skin. it wasn’t uncommon to find people like that in the area she said she came from, or to find people like that in the whole of Gotham, but somehow knowing that she was desperate enough to call a literal vigilante for it and risk getting put on The Watchlist made him even more concerned off than it should’ve.

in simple terms, the woman said than an ex was bothering her. the ex had forced her into an abusive relationship that usually left her in serious condition or had her admitted to a psyche ward, to which she had almost ended her life as a result. they had broken up after the police got involved, but because of some sort of loophole the ex was able to get out of prison a few months early.

that’s when the stalking began.

she said that she remembered the feeling of being watched, or feeling as if someone was always on her back. the family she was staying with just thought that it was a result of having come out of a mentally stressful situation, but she knew for a fact that something wasn’t right. the packages of unknown origin went unseen by the police. the flowers that would show up at her workplace with a little note reading “i’ll be back soon” were discounted for her loosing her mind. even things down to the way she felt like things were missing in her room when she came back from work had scared her to no end, and she finally decided to put an end to it whether she would get help from her family/the cops or not.

that’s where jason came in. she didn’t really have any specific instructions for him to follow, just a picture of the creeper and a request for him to “get rid of them” in the quickest way possible. he was kinda confused that she didn’t want them to suffer, but he struggled with the decision anyway. there was a very real possibility that she had in fact lost her mind and was now sending him out on a wild goose chase, but he also knew that it was equally as possible that she was telling the truth. he had seen people like her be ignored and have their concerns swept under the rug, only to have their voiced listened to when it was too late

so he agreed to the offer, telling her to give him until the end of the week to get the job done

he didn’t feel right having her stay alone like that, and so instead he asked her to stay in a hotel nearby for a few days so he could draw the ex out and get rid of them quietly. she was really polite about it too, agreeing to whatever requirements he had listed out for her and all of that. just a nice woman in general, didn’t produce any complications and tried to make it as easy for him as possible.

and so that’s exactly what he did. he waited until the creep pulled into the driveway in a super sketchy car with tinted windows and talked to the lady at the front desk, who eventually gave them the room the woman was staying at. they didn’t seem like they were trying to draw attention to themself at first, but as he got out of his car and made his way to the room, he could see how the ex was getting more and more aggressive with knocking on the door.

they were saying all sorts of fucked up shit to her through the barrier like how she’d never get away from them, how she’d suffer the consequences if she kept running away like this, shit like that. jason could feel the adrenaline coursing through him as he got closer, his steps speeding up as he closed in on the assailant. they only had a second to react before he was already putting them in a headlock, letting go when their body fell limp and hauling their arm over his shoulder

it didn’t take him long to bring them to his car (skillfully masking it by making it seem like they were blackout drunk) before tying them and throwing them in the backseat. the place he took them to finish them off was something simple like the side of one of the nearby docks, and he left with a text asking his cleanup guy to come take care of the body. he went back to tell the woman that it was over, that she was safe now in some odd attempt to console her. make her feel a little better

it was only when he got there did he find her sitting with her knees locked to her chest on the bed, the whole room completely undisturbed save for the mug which had probably been knocked to the floor in her panic of hearing the ex on the other side of the door. he didn’t blame her, if he saw that creeper in a dark alleyway he’d pay them no mind- ...but that wasn’t the point. the point now was that she was sitting here with her knees hugged up to her chest and her breathing erratic, obviously having a panic attack

here’s where the odd part comes in

jason has never really been one for this sort of thing. not killing people, he knows all about that, but rather... emotions. or emotionally charged situations. they had always been uncomfortable for him, like uncharted territory in a way, that’s why it was surprising- even to himself -when he walked over there and sat by her, putting a hand on her back and just... rubbing circles there

for a second it looked like she was confused too. the guy who just murdered her abusive ex in cold blood without so much as a qualm to the matter was now rubbing warm circles around her back, sitting there like some sort of awkward dad trying to comfort a middle schooler who just went through their first breakup. it didn’t seem awkward or forced though, just... concerned. and it was confusing. but she didn’t dare try to get away from him, not when it was actually helping her racing hearbeat

and so they kinda sat there for a second with him rubbing circles on her back before she eventually calmed down, taking in large breaths of air and trying to relax herself before she ended up getting cramps from staying in the same position. jason kinda just watched though, only taking his hand off of her back when she looked fully undone. there weren’t any words to affirm what had happened, it seemed. they both knew that it was done, and it could never be undone.

but the larger male couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth once she had finally settled down, soft and without the familiar edge they normally had. “you know you could’ve asked me to make it painful for them. i would’ve done it if you had told me to.”, he said, the blank eyes of his mask tracking her every movement. she shrank a bit under the pressure of it, but made sure to keep her eyes glues to her hands in her lap. it had always been easier to speak that way.

how do you explain years of complex emotions to someone? the fact that you still cared about them but knew that there was no other way to get rid of the problems they were causing? for all she knew he could just be like the other supes out here, preaching evangelical bullshit without any knowledge of the real problems that made this world the shit hole it was. but... part other knew that wasn’t the case.

she knew in her gut that behind that mask was just another human being, littered with scars from a past that would never heal over. what superman would agree to killing someone, anyway? he wouldn’t, that’s how. she knew that only someone who understood what was going on would do that, take the risk to avoid it happening to someone else. the thought made the next words a little easier to get out of her mouth, even though she knew it sold the idea short

“i cared about them once, i wouldn’t want them to suffer like that.” and to that, he only nodded. it seemed like he understood, and for a second jason did. he didn’t want his mother to suffer, even when she had sold him out to a literal clown and watched him get beat within an inch of his life. it made sense in some odd way, and he couldn’t argue with it. so he didn’t

he stood and looked around the room before asking her if she needed him to bring her home, to which she politely declined and said that she’d just take public transport. and so he got himself together and made way for the door, to which the woman called out and asked him when she was supposed to pay him.

to which, with all of his conscience guiding his actions, jason stopped and turned to her.

“free of charge.”, he said. and then he left.

he left without feeling guilty about it for the first time in a while. he slept easy that night, with his train of thought on the right track and how mind stilled, relaxed and comfortable in his nearby safehouse. and for the first time in a while, a very very long while, he felt like he was doing something right. no, he wasn’t that poster-boy that every one wanted from him or the savior people needed, but he did his best. he did his best for the people that needed it and honestly, what’s more important? complying to a corrupt system, or protecting the weak?

and even though he had always known the answer to the question, he felt like he knew for sure what it was for.

[ Thank You For Reading! ]

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harveywritings92 · 4 years

Text

Someone flirts with you in front of them: Shay, Edward, Shaun.

Shay Cormac: Y/n's father had hired a new assistant undertaker at the funeral home, a one Mr. Ronald McFinley he was an average looking brown hair, gray eyes freckles and a somewhat spoiled man from a upper-middle class upbringing, His parents had asked (begged) Y/n's father to take him on as an apprentice as favor due to Ronald being barred from other medical education and practices.

*e.I. he's a spoiled brat who thinks he knows everything.*

Mr.L/n reluctantly agreed to take him on the Scotsman wasn't a bad worker but he wasn’t a good one either as Mr L/n or and another worker would have to fix any mistakes he had made in his haste and laziness.

Another thing that started to show was Ronald's very obvious affections for the undertaker's pretty daughter Y/n, often starring at her from afar or slacking in his studies daydreaming about an imaginary life together, he'd often abandon his post at work just to waste time and talk her.

The young y/ec woman however found him annoying she had a dislike for men like Ronald flashy, rich and obnoxious. men who only wanted a woman like herself; simply because she's pretty.... not because of her personality or her intelligence, No... Men like Ronald just want a pretty little ornament to hang off his arm and make babies for him.

Evident by the expensive gifts, clothes and money he would flash at her in hopes she'd swoon into his arms and every time she would send it back and every time she would say "No." each time Ronald would never get the hint.

That was until Shay came home, it seemed like any other day, Ronald was slacking in his studies trying again trying vain to get Y/n's affection and hand which her father had rejected when the young Scotsman had asked for his permission to marry her, it's was a silver and pearl necklace this time.

He cleared his throat to get the y/ht woman's attention and she sighed rolling her eyes waiting for his "My lovely or dear Y/n" spiel again only to noticed someone come in the funeral home someone who Y/n greatly missed tears welled in her eyes as a happy smile slowly found it's way on her face.

Ronald not seeing the man behind thought he'd finally done it and won Y/n's heart opened his arms wide thinking she was going to leap into his arms with happiness instead he was blindsided when she shoved him aside and tearfully called out

"Shay!" and watched as she ran into the arms of a very large dark haired stranger dressed in black with a scar on his face the gray eyed man stared slack jawed as the object of his affection pulled this "Shay" into a passionate kiss before pulling away eyes locked lovingly on each other.

Only for their moment to be broken by a seething Ronald who cleared his throat getting their attention, Y/n's mood dropped having her reunion with her lover interrupted. "Oh... still here um...Roy?" Ronald blinked in disbelief one kiss with this filthy street dog, and she couldn't remember his name?! a vein appeared on the Scotsman's neck.

"Ronald Howard McFinley." he hissed venom dripped on every word as he glared daggers at Shay who looked like he was about to say something only for Ronald suddenly reach out and slap him with a glove. "And challenge you... to a duel!?!?" he screamed as Y/n and Shay looked at each other than at Ronald"Are you serious?" the Irishman snorted but the brown haired man started rambling pistols at dawn and all that, before Shay sighed calmly lifted his left hand like he was going to ask a question.

Ronald quieted down to hear what the Irishman had to say only to get a palm-Strike to the forehead knocking Ronald flat on his arse, the gray eyed man rolled around on the floor holding his forehead and wailing all while the couple shook their heads at the spectacle.

"I thought your father was exaggerating, when he wrote you were being tormented by a man-child." Shay said as they stepped over the rolling man, Y/n clung to his arm affectionately. "Oh, Shay you know my father's bad at jokes." she stated as they when to somewhere private to be reacquainted. From then on, Ronald. Who was sporting a ridiculous bruise on his forehead started behaved himself and take his job seriously (Shay had few words with him) stayed away from Y/n and was best warn any other potential suitors of her scary husband to be.

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Edward:

They weren't together per say... mainly due to Edward's wife Caroline and Y/n respected that boundary no matter how much it hurt, But that still didn't stall the bubbling rage Edward felt the second redheaded man sat down next to Y/n taking up much of her attention away from him, he watched at the man said something that made his lass laugh...

Edward's lips curled into a snarled and averted his eyes to look at his ale not even paying attention to the barmaid who kept trying to get him to look at her and left in a huff when Edward wouldn't budge, Then Edward noticed something was askew in Y/n's voice her laughter seemed tight and forced, Edward swallowed pride and looked back at the the Y/hc who disappeared from her original spot he scanned the tavern and found her a few tables down from his, he grimaced seeing the y/nat woman squirming in in her seat as she shrugged the red haired man's arm off her for what seemed to be the umpteenth time on her end.

The assassin Y/n tried move away Red would follow her and plant himself right next to her. Finally Edward had enough the next time Y/n went to find somewhere to sit the assassin nodded at a few of his crew to sit up and start walking around in a cluster effectively blocking Red's view of Y/n.

Edward took this opportunity to grab her arm and pulled Y/n into his lap and shushed her, just as his men sat back down, they sat back to chest as Edward's larger frame hid Y/n from the Red haired man who looked around the tavern confused before noticing Edward.

"Oy mate you see where that tarty bar wrench went?" Y/n felt a growl rumble in Edward's chest Next thing she knew Adéwalé had lifted her out of Edwards lap she heard Red let out a girly "Eep!" as the blond pirate suddenly grabbed him by his collar and had pinned to the counter down by the back of his neck.

"That Lady is named Y/n and she no wrench, if I see you any of your friends near her again." Edward unsheathed his hidden blade and lowered it towards the red haired man's crotch. "I will cut your instruments off and feed em' to a shark, do you understand?"

Red went ghost white and nodded before Edward threw him of the counter. "Good. Now get out of my sight!" the blond hissed retracting his blade Red did as he was told before Edward grabbed his tankard gulped down his ale and got Y/n out of that tavern and back to the Jackdaw to help Y/n get Red's stench of her.

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Shaun: Takes place in AC III: before heading to the temple the Assassin's had stopped off in a very small rural town that acted as a base for the american assassin branch almost everyone in this town was an Assassin. Reader is a Civilian who got pulled into their group by accident.

They were in the laundromat/pizza parlor waiting for food and their spare clothes to dry, when Rebbeca alerted Shaun to Y/n's situation seems his girlfriend (no matter how much he denies it) has attracted a very unwanted guest, Shaun looked up from his lap top to see what Rebecca was prattling on about to see Y/n at her washing machine being hounded by a pimply faced teen who looked 16-19 years old who was getting very lewd and grabby with his unwanted flirting.

Desmond shot the British man a look and mumbled "say something to the little creep!" a Shaun lips formed a thin line as he observed them for a moment before going back to his computer seemingly not caring what was happening, Rebecca and Desmond were taken aback by this seemingly cold act they wondered if they had it wrong and that Shaun and Y/n weren't together?

Desmond was about to go scare the guy off, when Suddenly there was a shriek Y/n's back was pressed up the machine she held her arms against her chest, her bra strap were slipping of which pretty much told her friends that the perv had unhooked and tried to pull her bra off, Desmond got up only for Shaun to speed walk passed him with an eerily calm look on his face.

Rebecca and Desmond watched Shaun take his jacket off give it Y/n before turn to the teen who took a swing at the bespectacled assassin who dodged grabbed the boy's free arm spun him around pinned him to the wall, Shaun had the boy arm twisted painfully around his back. The blond's face was still eerily calm as he whispered something to the boy who's face contorted into horror before Shaun let him go the boy ran out of the Laundromat.

Shaun check on Y/n who went back her laundry and went back to Rebecca and Desmond who were gawking at the brit curiously. "What...What ya say to the little creep?" Rebecca dared to ask as Desmond went over Y/n to keep watch while awkwardly eyeing Shaun.

"I told Carmen Schultz, if he didn't back off now I was going to break into his house; 7555 Dune street , and I was going scope out his eyes with a melon-baller and then his rich parents would have to get him a eye pig to dragged his blind ass around town."

"Why a pig?"

"He's allergic to dogs."

"...Okay, I'm going to write a reminder for D to never to hit on Y/n."

Shaun just huffed and went back to his research as William returned from the the used car-lot with their new van.

#assassin's creed x reader #Shay Cormac x Reader #shaun hastings #edward kenway #edward kenway x reader #shaun hastings x reader #Assassin's Creed Black Flag #assassin's creed rogue #Templar x reader #assassin x reader #assassin's creed scenarios #assassin's creed imagine

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lovelywingsart · 3 years

Text

Chase

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

Something actually fun and relatively cute for once! I've got a few of these cute things in store, both for already written and in progress! This was probably one of my favorite ones to write though~

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more! <3 **

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*Warning?: Lots of chasing, hiding, and a tickle struggle. Just a fun, dumb, cute time later in life.

Summary: After so many times of Emelia hiding his things, Karl is more or less fed up, and decides to finally do something about it. Will it stop her? Probably not!

Footsteps thundered down the corridors of the factory as Emelia ran, skidding around corners and narrowly avoiding metal pieces that raised in attempts to stop her. Her chest burned as she took rough breaths, feeling the flutter of her cadou with each inhale. It was always an odd feeling, even more so as it increased with the adrenaline that coursed through her veins now, but it wasn't one she had focused on. Instead, her focus was on escaping the angry man in pursuit of her. What had simply started as a joke has escalated with each moment passing as she quickly jumped over a barrel that had fallen and was pulled towards her.

"EMELIA!!!" Heisenbergs voice boomed behind her, sending shivers up her spine as it echoed through the nearly empty halls and caverns. She picked up the pace, nearly jumping over every little scrap and box to give herself a boost.

"SHITSHITSHITSHIT-" she gasped, ducking and diving into an open vent, making her way through and letting out a yelp as she heard the *CLANG* of metallic parts hitting the open end she had crawled in from.

Scrambling out of the vent, she darted to the open door and turned into another maze-like hallway. She knew EXACTLY why he was chasing her, but part of her brain couldn't wrap around exactly why he seemed so... so angry this time. Though she had to admit hiding his things had been a regular occurrence, she couldn't tell if he was messing around or legitimately pissed, his voice and the movements of metal around her almost making her believe the latter. But his missing tools and her eventual laughter upon his discovery of them being gone had set her up, and now she felt like she needed to run for her life.

It wasn't until she heard relative silence behind that she slowed down, eventually coming so a halt in a dark hall and gasping for air. No metal moved... No heavy footsteps... No labored breathing. No breathing at all, actually. Her muscles were burning from running... She felt her legs shake as she leaned against the wall, her throat burning as she gulped in much-needed air. Thankfully she knew where she was... And she knew where this hall would take her. It was a dumb idea, frankly, but it might have been dumb enough to work if it came down to it. She kept herself propped against the wall as she took a quick look around. There was nothing... Only dark, dimly lit halls with sounds of machinery whirring in the near distance. No other footsteps or noises. It seemed calm... She let out a relieved sigh.

Finally...

"Found you." Came a sudden low growl from mere feet behind her. She jumped with a yelp as she whirled to face Heisenberg, another chill running down her spine as the sinister smile he held. The sneaky bastard, how did he-?!

"SHIT-!!!" She yelled, taking off once more as he started to laugh.

"I know this factory better than you ever will, Emelia!! You can't run forever!!!" He called out behind her.

She nearly screamed as a metal rack was thrown across the hall in front of her, causing her to veer off track and head down another hall. The only thing that gave her slight peace of mind was that his laughter didn't SOUND threatening... Neither did his words as he spoke now. Or, not the 'normal' sort of threatening... She suddenly realized with another falling rack that this WAS a game to him. Why the hell did she think is WASN'T?? It was NEVER serious when it came to shit like this!! She mentally chastised herself for ever thinking so as she turned another corner that lead her back around to the original hallway she had been in. She was never in ACTUAL danger when it came to him, why the hell would she be now? Especially after all they had been through in past years?

Though the realization mildly put her mind at ease, she only started to run faster. No way in hell he was gonna catch her now... Not that he was in the first place, she thought, but now there was actual danger. Playful danger, but danger nonetheless. Now that it was confirmed as a game in her mind, her fear and need to escape only escalated. Heisenberg when angry was something she avoided, but she knew anger could and would wear down with time and activity. Give him a good chase for about an hour or so and he'd mellow out as he always did unless he was heavily determined, which wasn't always the case. An angry Heisenberg meant short, quick bursts of energy, and she could handle that. But a GAME?

She knew full well he'd play until he won.

Winning this game meant catching her- and she wouldn't let him. No way in hell she'd let him. She'd run all night if she had to, even mutating given the right situation.

She narrowly avoided more and more scrap metal pieces flying at walls around her, finally hearing heavy, brisk footsteps as she reached a larger, empty hall. She nearly skid as she turned another corner, busting her way through a heavy metal door and into a very large, very cluttered area. Piles and piles of scrap metal and old materials nearly reached the ceiling, and she wasted no time in maneuvering around and going deeper in to the place. She couldn't afford to hesitate now... She felt small vibrations in the metal pieces around her, ever so thankful she had thought to take out her own piercings before this. She knew it was how he would expect to find her having done so in the past. Not this time... No, she'd make him tear the place apart looking for her.

She quickly moved behind one of the massive piles, keeping deathly silent despite her burning lungs as she heard a low, dangerous chuckle erupt from deep breaths in the dim lighting.

"Oh, this was a bad idea, Doll." He growled, his slow footsteps now audible as he stepped along the metal pieces. Sure, he could easily use his powers for an airborne view. But what was the point if he couldn't make it fun and make her run? He enjoyed the chase, after all.

Emelia covered her mouth as she quietly ducked out of view, trying her best to keep her breathing in check as she heard him grow closer with every slow step he took. Her eye scanned the area around them, looking for any safe way out. She finally glanced at the metal pile behind her, her interest peaking as she saw a small hole behind a textured metal sheet. 'Yes!' she thought, crouching next to the sheet and poking her head inside. It looked big enough to barely fit her, but she found squeezing in wasn't too incredibly difficult as she began to fit herself between the scraps. She maneuvered herself into the small crevasse, scooting the piece of textured scrap in front if it as quietly as possible. Of course it didn't go completely without noise, however, as it created a small squealing sound that alerted Heisenberg immediately.

"You REALLY think you can hide in here, Emelia??" He called, instantly making his way towards the noise. "I didn't think you were THAT stupid."

She watched from her hidden position as he wandered past, his tied-up hair and sleeveless tank he wore looking odd amongst the scraps compared to his usual clothing. Granted, it wasn't necessarily a bad view, she had to admit, not quite used to seeing his bare, scarred arms anywhere except the upper levels and some workshop rooms down in the caverns. Seeing him down here with less than three layers of clothing was odd, and she couldn't help but pride herself in it. But her eye widened she realized he was breathing rather heavily, his shoulders heaving slightly with each breath; Did he actually RUN?? Oh god, she really WAS in danger... She heard him mutter something in what she could only assume was German as he looked, her heart dropping as metal scraps began to lift and fly off in other directions with only a simple movement of his fingers and head. Scraps and broken parts flew everywhere, creating a cascade of noises and bangs that rang in her ears. It was as if he realized her own lack of metal as he sent a sudden a small pulse of electricity into the scrap around them, making everything produce a low, vibrating hum before he frowned.

"So you were smart after all..." he muttered, obvious disappointment in his voice as the pulses were pulled back. She couldn't help but smirk, though that smirk was short lived as he seemed to freeze in place.

All movement stopped as he listened, concentrating between the still floating scraps in the air and the scraps along the ground. The amount of silence in those few moments were unnerving, and she held her breath. Did he know where she was? Did she give away her position somehow? What was he doing? He finally walked away with a huff, his head nearly on a swivel, and she released the breath quietly. She relaxed somewhat, very close to leaning back against the scraps, but stopping herself. If she made noise NOW, she was done for.. She closed her eye with a sliver of relief. Did he actually give up? Was he moving to another area of the factory? Could she run for it? And, more importantly, was he still around? She only peeked out once she couldn't hear his footsteps, though didn't even attempt to leave her hiding spot even though he was out of sight. Sure, she could have very well been safe, but for all she knew, it was a ploy.

As she was right.

She let out a yelp of surprise and covered her head as the wall of metal was lifted away into the air, creating a loud rumbling noise with scrapes and clangs once it was all off the ground. She was made suddenly aware of open space surrounding her as small pieces fell, and she looked at the now barren ground. Her gaze raised to the metal in the air with slight panic, watching it swirl around like a slow tornado. Heisenberg stood off to the side, clearly holding back a cackling laugh as she looked at the metal wildly.

"How did-"

"You think I can't tell changes in the air against these scraps with this?" He asked, nodding to the metal pieces in the air. "Shoulda' held your breath longer, Emelia."

It took her a moment to realize exactly what danger she was in, her eye flicking down to meet the gaze of the man who now approached with a purpose, a low chuckle escaping his throat.

"I told you Emmy, you can't hide from me." He growled, only to dart forward with growl.

Emelia let out another scream, this time laced with a somewhat scared laugh as she rolled out of the way before he could grab her, pushing herself up to run again as he nearly stumbled in attempts to twist and grab her arm. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears as she heard his running footsteps behind her, jumping off of metal sheets as he made them rise under her to slow her down. No, nonono, he would NOT catch her! Not like this!!

"BLOODY CHEATER!!" She called back over her shoulder, landing hard against a pile of scraps after jumping. She hopped away between feet and scraps as he nearly grabbed her again with a feral laugh. How in the hell did he get THAT close already???

"Says the dumbass who hid around METAL in MY FACTORY!!!" He replied, a new amusement growing in his voice to match the irritation he still felt as he turned and chased her again.

She could faintly hear a metal hiss and clicking each time his left leg hit the surface, giving him longer strides and an odd power to his step. She suddenly knew why it was so easy, ducking away as he attempted to grab her again. The ASSHOLE-

"WHAT-" she started, only to let out a surprised shrill scream as she felt arms wrap around her torso and nearly lift her up, her legs swinging as she still held momentum. She heard him laugh into her ear as she swore and squirmed, prying at his hands to let her go.

"Told you it was a bad idea, Doll!!" He growled, a malicious smirk on his face as he set her on the ground and tightened his grip, his face pressing to her shoulder.

"You cheating BASTARD!!!" Emelia growled, unable to completely hide the laughter in her voice as he began to drag her backwards. "That bloody LEG OF YOURS-"

"It's not cheating if I need it Emelia!"

"BULLOCKS!!!"

She felt him pause for a moment, almost feeling the smirk against her skin as she continued to squirm. There was a single moment where she could take a breath before she felt his hand at her side, a forced laugh escaping her throat as he pinched and prodded.

"Where are they, Emmy?!" He asked, thoroughly enjoying her new, frantic squirms and swearing between laughter.

"WHAT- WHAT ARE YOU- STOP-" She tried, her words broken by laughter as he continued to attack her sides.

"Not until you tell me where they are!"

"F-FIND... FIND THEM YOUR- B-BLOODY HELL, STOP IT!!!" She forced out, her laughter becoming more and more genuine the longer he held onto her. Even he couldn't help but smile, the sound echoing off the walls of the large area.

She swore she had tears in her eye as she continuously squirmed and yelled for him to stop, smacking his arm and shoulders when she was able to reach. But the tickling sensation only grew, and she felt her knees grow weak against him. Heisenberg let out an amused laugh as she slumped against him somewhat, still attempting to argue through the laughter.

"I'll stop if you tell me where you put them!" He challenged, more or less holding her up. She attempted to push his hand away, though was met with rough kisses along the back of her neck, his beard scratching against the skin and making her recoil.

"F-!!! F-FINE!!! FINEFINEFINE, I'LL- JUST STOP-"

"Swear it!"

She let out a shrill, squealing giggle as he purposely nuzzled his face into a sensitive area on her neck before nodding rapidly. He smirked.

"SAY you swear it!"

"I S-SWEAR- F-FUCK- I SWEAR I'LL TELL YOU!!!"

She squirmed in his arms until he gave a genuine laugh against her neck, a rare sound that made her pause for a split second before he finally relinquished his grip. She had tears in her eye, her face and throat sore from laughing and yelling; something that didn't happen often, but she couldn't help but feel a bit lighthearted when it did. There were still small, uncontrollable giggles from her as he helped her balance herself, but she was caught off guard once more as she was spun around against his chest. The giggles only paused for a moment with a squeak as his lips suddenly met hers in a rough, yet playful kiss. Neither could help but chuckle as it slowed, and she eased into his arms as he reached to hold her jaw, his thumb brushing against the long scar on her cheek. They stayed together for a few moments before he finally pulled away, highly amused as she gulped in air to catch her breath.

"I win." He chuckled, giving a smug grin as she rolled her eye.

"Go... Go f-fuck yourself, Heisenberg..." she managed, her head falling onto his shoulder as she held onto his arms.

"I have you for that, Emmy. Now tell me where they are." He snorted. Keeping his arms around her. She couldn't help but give a snorting laugh, shaking her head.

"Th-the workbench..." she mumbled, turning her head to glance at him as he froze.

"... Excuse me?"

It was her turn to smirk.

"You heard me, Karl."

"When did-"

"You ran out, and I snuck back in." She explained, her smirk turning into her own smug grin as he narrowed his eyes. "Why do you think I was coming out of the room when you started to chase me?"

Heisenberg was silent for a moment, his eyes searching her face. Emelia almost started to worry until he shrugged.

"Alright then." He said casually. She lifted her head for a moment in confusion, only to let out a surprised yell as he suddenly bend down and hoisted her over his shoulder.

"HEY-" She started to squirm again, only to give a yelp as he moved his head and lightly bit her side through her shirt.

"Don't move Emelia, or I'll use my cheating leg to kick you across the room." He joked. She let out an irritable growl, gripping onto his shoulders.

"Not before I crush it with my bare hands..."

He laughed, starting a brisk walk back towards where they had come from, planning out his own minor revenge silently in his head.

"I'd love to see you try."

#oc #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil oc #resident evil village oc #re8 #re8oc #re8 oc #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #Heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x oc #heisenberg fanfiction #lovelywingsart #lovelywingsocs #Metalworks fanfiction

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dibs4ever · 3 years

Text

Dick opened the door to his and Barbara’s house, inviting Bruce in.

It was a modest home, two story, 3,000 square feet with four bedrooms and 2.5 baths. He and Barbara could easily afford a larger house if they wanted. But this one was in a relatively safe gated community neighborhood with security constantly patrolling. Plus Dick and Barbara weren’t the kind to want a mansion of a home anyways.

“Make yourself at home. I was just defrosting some breast milk for Nate. “ Dick spoke pointing in the direction of the kitchen

Bruce nodded standing awkwardly in the doorway “So you’re babysitting?”

The boy he had raised let out a huff and a smile “I’m his dad, Dads don’t babysit.”

Bruce nodded awkwardly, watching as Dick walked away to the kitchen. After a moment Bruce stuffed his hands into his pockets and wondered into the nearby living room. There he found the product of his two original protégés. 7 month old Nathan Wayne Grayson. The infant was holding onto the edge of the couch. Using it as support for standing himself up. Bruce knew next to nothing about babies. But he knew his grandson was advanced for his age. Plus Dick and Barbara always boasted about how smart their son was. Reaching milestones well above his age.

“He pulled himself up last night Bruce, research says babies don’t typically do that till the 8 to 10 month range.” Dick had told him 2 weeks ago while on patrol. Back then the baby was only 6.5 months old.

“Hello” Bruce spoke softly, sitting on the couch beside where the infants hands clutched it.

Nathan let out a squeal

“I’m coming son, Mommy’s milk is taking forever to unfreeze!” Dick called from the kitchen, unaware the the baby was squealing at Bruce and not for milk.

The baby was staring up at his grandfather, mesmerized by the man. So much so that he forgot to hold onto the couch and began falling back. With his quick reflexes Bruce quickly reached out catching the baby.

Nathan looked up at Bruce, his little lip beginning to quiver, his bright blue eyes starting to water “Oh no, no, no” Bruce said quickly

Glancing over his shoulder Dick wasn’t coming.

He didn’t want Dick to hear the baby cry only to come into the room and find him just staring at him.

So he scooped him up and cradled him in his muscular arm.

It had been a while since he’d held the boy like this. “You’ve grown.” He told the baby

Nathan blinked up at him, his eyes beginning to dry up

“I remember when you were first born. I held you and you only reached from the crease of my elbow to the bottom of my palm, now your legs hang over my hand.”

To his relief Nathan smiled. Showing he wasn’t going to begin crying

“Your parents are in for it when you start walking. I suppose I’ll have to pay for a baby proofing company to come both here and the manor to make sure everything is secure and safe for you when that time happens.”

Nathan grabbed Bruce’s hand in both of his and began patting it while chanting “Ba-ba-ba-ba!”

Bruce couldn’t help it, the side of his lip perked up slightly

“Who da thunk it. Ya know when your parents ...when Jim and I first introduced them a month after I adopted Dick. I mean they hit it off immediately but they were just kids ya know? But then as the years dwindled on their connection got stronger and stronger. Alfred told me there was something going on when they were 17 but I didn’t-“ he stopped “Why am I telling you this?” Bruce shook his head “I wish they’d get their minds straight this whole ‘arrangement’ they made is rather silly if you ask me.”

Nathan took Bruce’s index finger into his mouth and began gnawing on the side of it.

“Careful he’s teething” an voice spoke from behind him.

Bruce turned to see Dick entering the kitchen. A bottle of milk in hand. “Here buddy” he smiled.

Nathan released Bruce’s finger opening his mouth to the bottle. Dick nodded toward Bruce who hesitantly took the bottle and held it for the infant still cradled in his arm. With everyone in the family always wanting a turn with the infant it was rare for Bruce to get some one on one time with his grandson. To be fair it wasn’t like he put up much of a fight to get a turn. Honestly the baby intimidated him. He was afraid he’d do something wrong, hurt him, scare him, scar him for life. Despite Barbara and Dick’s persistence that the baby adored him. It wasn’t a fair compliment the baby had Dick’s personality. He loved just about everyone.

“And to answer your question Babs and I have finally gotten our head on straight.... sorta” Dick spoke from the recliner he sat in across from Bruce.

Bruce looked up to meet his eyes signaling for him to continue.

Dick nodded “I agree the whole ‘arrangement’” he held up his fingers to signify the air quotes “Is silly, I mean. We live together, take care of our baby together yet we aren’t romantically together? Just two friends who happened to have a child together sleeping in separate rooms, living platonically.” Dick chuckled. Glancing at his son who was nodding off to sleep in Bruce’s arms .

“But umm” Dick reached up scratching the back of his head, a nervous tick Bruce picked up on not long after he adopted him.

“Babs has hinted that maybe she would be open to us giving it another shot. Her whole point of the arrangement was we shouldn’t be together just because we have a baby together. But I think she’s remembering we loved each other long before the baby.”

Bruce smiled nodding his head, didn’t he know that. Heck he watched the love unfold before his eyes

“Well hopefully it works out” Bruce spoke in his usual voice

Dick nodded “Yeah, I can take him to his room.” he began to stand.

Bruce looked at Nathan, now sound asleep in his arm “No I can do it.”

Dick sat back down “Okay.” He looked slightly surprised

Bruce stood, slowly and carefully walking up the stairs to the nursery . “Well looks like you might get a perfect life after all kid. “ he gently laid the baby in his crib. “That’s all I want for my grandson.” Finally Bruce allowed a small smile to form on his lips. But only because nobody was there to see it.

#dickbabs #bruce wayne #dick grayson #barbara gordon #nightwing #batfamily #batgirl #batfam headcanons

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villainscomplex · 3 years

Text

could cry just thinkin about you

anyway i actually started working on @asanoyaweek21 like halfway through july after i finished my camp nano word count, but then i tripped and fell back into my princess tutu pit and ,,,,,,,,,,, yeah im late already

anyway asanoya week day one: soulmate au / the broom bc i will never get over the homoeroticism of the broom fight

Also on: AO3

Wattpad

FFnet

Quotev

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When Nishinoya Yuu is a child, he’s a coward.

He’s little, and there’s this ever present bundle of fear and anxiety writhing around in his chest. It means he’s scared, he concludes, and so he cries when he rides a bike for the first time, and then when he gets lost in the woods near his house, and then again when he comes across a dog bigger than he is.

It’s strange, he begins to think, as he grows. He’s sure that feeling must be his own, but sometimes he’s suddenly, explicitly happy, and sometimes when he thinks he should be happy, he’s so painfully sad that it aches in every fiber of his being.

When he’s eight, Yuu scrapes his leg from knee to mid-shin when he falls out of a tree. The pain is the first sensation he’s aware of, arm twisted awkwardly beneath him where it’d made a futile attempt to cushion his fall. Underneath it, concern spikes, bubbling with that familiar chill of anxiety. Yuu is too busy thinking about how much his arm and leg hurt to give it too much thought at the time.

Yuu is eight the first time he breaks his arm, and the cast itches so much that he’s tempted to tear it off the moment it’s on. Yuu is eight when he’s sitting in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s car, a cast on one arm and ice cream in his other hand. He thinks the scrape down his leg is going to leave a nasty scar, but it’ll look cool and he can tell people whatever he wants about its origin.

“You don’t seem excited about your ice cream,” his grandfather remarks with a little chuckle, lips tugging up.

Yuu huffs. “I am! I’m super excited!”

He thinks he is, at least. Yuu loves ice cream, and he always gets excited when he gets it, but that tugging little concern is still nestled deep in his chest and Yuu doesn’t really know what to do with it. He’s so used to it, like second nature, but somehow it feels foreign nowadays.

His grandpa laughs again. “I bet your soulmate is worried about you, always causing yourself trouble like this.”

Yuu stares back at him, ice cream halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Your soulmate,” the man says again, “everyone’s got one. Not necessarily romantic, mind ya. You can feel their emotions. It’s a little inconvenient sometimes, but you miss it when it’s gone. You’re always hurting yourself, so your soulmate is probably worried about you.”

Yuu thinks about his grandmother. His memories of her are faint, at best. He’d barely been old enough to remember her face when she’d passed, but he remembers how strange his grandfather had acted after, like something was missing from the core of his being. Yuu thinks about the word soulmate . There’s someone out there meant to be in his life specifically, and he’s meant to be in theirs. Yuu thinks about the little bundle of emotion in his chest, and he realizes that must be his soulmate.

He hadn’t thought to try and distinguish them until now, but it has him tracking his memories back as far back as he can, seeking that feeling in them all. Sure enough, the anxiety is ever present. Sometimes, it’s duller than others, muffled beneath other emotions, but it’s always there.

“I think my soulmate is a scaredy-cat,” Yuu announces, and then shrieks when his cold ice cream drips onto his exposed knee.

His grandfather laughs, and Yuu whines as he shoves the top of the cone into his mouth in a futile attempt to save the rest of it.

When he’s a child, Nishinoya Yuu is a coward. When he’s eight, his grandfather tells him about soulmates , and Yuu thinks my soulmate is scared of everything. It keeps him up that night, staring at the ceiling in a way that feels too ancient for a boy his age, but he’s come to a conclusion. If his soulmate is a scaredy-cat, then Yuu will just have to be the brave one for the both of them.

He tries to reach out to that little bundle of feeling with his resolve, wanting to sooth the turmoil there. It doesn’t change, but Yuu is determined. He’ll become strong enough for the both of them, and then he’ll protect his soulmate so they never have to worry again.

“From now on,” he tells the air, sitting up and jumping off his bed, “I’m going to be the bravest person ever! Then my soulmate will never have to worry again!”

His bravery starts by yelling past his bedtime. He tells himself that he isn’t scared when his mother shouts from the other room, he’s just being respectful by listening to her and crawling back into his bed, hiding under his blanket. If his heart is pounding in his ears, then that’s a secret between him and his soulmate.

With his new resolve, Yuu grows. He becomes bold and eccentric, loud and outspoken. He becomes a lionhearted boy, too much brilliance to fit inside a body as small as his remains. He becomes stubborn and strong-willed, never backing down from a challenge regardless of how much trouble it will get him into. Yuu embraces everything he has to offer, but he refuses to be sad.

That ever present pit of broiling emotions is constant, nestled deep in his chest like a second heart, and he doesn’t want to make his soulmate worry ever again.

Some days, it’s calmer than others. There’s times he nearly forgets it’s there, in the wake of some other hesitant, but excited emotion, and there’s times where it’s so strong that it wakes him even from a dead sleep. Those nights are the worst because he knows there’s nothing he can do as is, and his soulmate is having to suffer alone.

He tries to encourage them as best he can, wondering if they feel his emotions as strongly as he often feels their’s.

Yuu is in his last year of middle school when things begin to change. He’s taken to volleyball like a moth to flame. There’s something about being behind everyone like the final line of defense, the one everyone depends on to keep the ball in play; it’s thrilling, keeping his blood rushing in his veins and his heart pounding in his ears.

He wins an award, and he’s so full of pride that he nearly misses the faint little swell of happiness that comes from that bundle of feelings in the back of his chest. Maybe his soulmate does feel his emotions just as strongly.

The first time he meets Azumane Asahi, Yuu doesn’t think much of him. His hair is a little past his ears, curling up beneath the lobes and sticking up in the back like he’d recently been laying on it. His first impression is that Azumane looks as if he’s waiting for the entire world to come down on his shoulders. He easily dwarfs everyone, but he stands with his shoulders curled in, hands clasped complacently in front of him and gaze down, as if trying to avoid notice.

Yuu isn’t sure why, but it pisses him off, seeing someone who looks as big and strong as Azumane looking like such a coward.

He says as much to Azumane’s face exactly a week later.

Azumane balks. “What.”

Yuu puts his hands on his hips. “You’re huge and super strong, but you act like a total coward. You look like a skittish dog or something!”

“A dog…” Azumane visibly slouches lower.

Yuu would say his dejected expression is almost comical, if it hadn’t been the exact opposite of what he’d been wanting. Azumane reminds him of how he’d been when he was a child, anxiety ridden and glass hearted.

“Okay!” Yuu announces. “We’re gonna practice together!”

Azumane doesn’t even get out a response before Yuu is towing him back towards the court, determined to teach this boy the ways of reckless bravery and intense practice.

Yuu doesn’t know when or where he lost the plot, but somehow this becomes second nature. He finds himself seeking Azumane out in the hallway, barreling into the larger boy, or towing him behind himself from time to time. He meets Ryu and he meets Kiyoko; the former becomes his friend early on and both boys adamantly say they’re crushing on the latter.

It feels like a performance. Yuu knows Kiyoko isn’t his soulmate. She’s gentle and anxiously soft-spoken, but not in the same way that his soulmate feels like they should be. He doesn’t admit that maybe there’s this half formed idea about Azumane tucked away in the back of his mind, and everyone is better for it.

He wants to be sure. He has to be.

“I think I should trim my hair soon,” Asahi remarks offhandedly one day, when they’re leaving practice.

Yuu watches his fingers card through the wavy brown strands, a little contemplative frown fixed on his face. He tries to imagine Asahi with short hair like most of the others, and the image just won’t come to mind. Maybe he’s biased.

“No way, Asahi-san!” Yuu grins, reaching out to slap the other man on the back. “I think long hair suits you! It makes you look kinda wild, don’t you think? It’s cool!”

Asahi slouches into himself a little, curling a strand of hair around his finger. He hums noncommittally, allowing the strand to fall away, but he doesn’t comment on Yuu’s words. He just looks a little more thoughtful.

Yuu is only a little surprised when he really looks at Asahi one day and his hair is just past his shoulders. He’s got a little facial hair now, too, and something about it makes him feel more mature, older, like he’s finally growing into himself. Yuu takes a running leap onto his back the moment he sees him in practice that afternoon, and Asahi hardly sways beneath him.

The realization settles in; this isn’t going to last forever. He won’t always be able to be with everyone like this. Asahi has grown and filled out, fitting into the broadness of his shoulders. He’s steady and unyielding, and Yuu isn’t sure when he started to become something like this.

That pit of anxiety still lingers in his chest. It wavers, sometimes.

They go against Date Tech. Their defeat is crushing and miserable for everyone involved, but when Asahi doesn’t call out for the last spike, Yuu feels it like an anchor in the hollow of his chest. It’s painful, near suffocating, and he can see the sheer weight of it coming down on Asahi’s shoulders. Those negative feelings swirl up into his chest again, fought only by his own fury - fury at Asahi, for not calling for the spike.

Fury at himself, for not retrieving them.

He hates it.

“Why won’t you blame me?”

Yuu feels the anger before he witnesses it. This is his confirmation, he’s sure. There’s no doubt anymore; these emotions living alongside his own are Asahi’s. The first time he feels Asahi’s anger, it feels cold, like ice in his veins. There’s something sad about it, something self-sacrificing, like Asahi wants to shoulder everything and leave nothing to be spared for the rest of them. His fury comes like a wave of ocean water, painful when it enters his lungs.

Yuu turns on his heel. Asahi stands - no, Asahi hunches - in front of him. He looks like he had when Noya had first met him, shoulders curled into himself, back bent like the world itself is coming down on it. Maybe it is, this time. Yuu doesn’t know if Asahi has realized that they’re soulmates. Yuu doesn’t know if Asahi would even accept it.

Asahi doesn’t seem to be in a very accepting mood right now, and Yuu is in no mindset for motivation.

They fight. They fight before they’re even anything, before Yuu can say anything, before he can even confess to himself that he would have been willing to leave his soulmate behind for Asahi, even if the other boy hadn’t ended up being them. He doesn’t tell Asahi how he used to be a coward. He doesn’t tell him that the reason he works so hard and never stops moving forward is because he’d made a promise to both of them a long time ago.

He doesn’t tell Asahi that he’s terrified to lose him.

All he knows is that if Asahi’s anger is like ice, then his is like flames, raging and all-consuming. All he knows is that he’s furious, and he’s yelling, and then there’s a snap , and suddenly everything goes cold. Asahi’s feelings drop to the pit of his stomach and become cold there, and Yuu feels like the tightrope he’s been walking has finally given way.

Ryu holds him back, and all he can do is watch Asahi walk away.

He doesn’t cry.

Asahi doesn’t show up for practice the next day, and his lack of presence doesn’t go unnoticed. Yuu corners him in the hall. He feels like this is starting to become a cycle now, arguing and fighting over trivial things. It’d be easy to solve if Asahi just had a little more faith, but Yuu knows better. He knows how Asahi feels too well.

Yuu doesn’t care what others think. He bleaches his hair because he thinks it looks cool. When people tell him he’s too loud, he gets louder. He refuses to be looked down upon and spoken over. He’s been in detention more times than he can count, but it never stops him from repeated offenses.

Yuu doesn’t care what others think, but when Asahi walks away from him, it feels final. It feels like the end of something that never began. Nishinoya Yuu never cries.

(The people in the hall that day are silent witnesses to his tears, but nobody says a thing about them.)

Yuu isn’t much for thinking, so he spends all of his time in suspension doing, instead. He works and works and works some more, trying not to think of Asahi turning his back on them. On him. All he can do is hope Asahi will come to his senses by the time Yuu is back.

He doesn’t. Yuu goes back, and Asahi is still gone, so he leaves again. He loves volleyball, but he won’t be a part of it if it means leaving Asahi behind. Asahi may believe that he’s unnecessary, but they all know better.

It isn’t until he’s staring at the broad expanse of Asahi’s back again in the practice match that he really realizes, and for the second time, he feels like he’s really seeing Asahi. He sees someone who is trying for the people he cares about, someone who is finally learning to try for himself and he thinks that’s all I wanted.

They fix the broom together.

“We’re soulmates,” Yuu tells him, so abruptly that Asahi’s surprised flinch dislodges the two pieces again.

Asahi glances down. “I know.”

Yuu stares at him. “What.”

“I know,” Asahi says again, gaze soft and hesitant. “I’ve known since we met. You aren’t exactly quiet about your emotions, y’know. I never said anything because you liked Shimizu. You deserved better than someone like me.”

“Asahi-san,” Yuu intones, “you’re the only person I’ve ever liked.”

“What.”

“Oh my god.”

When Asahi laughs, it lights up his whole face. Yuu stares for a long moment, watching Asahi’s shoulders tremble. He feels Asahi’s relief wash over him like a second skin, settling into his bones themselves. The warmth of his joy is like a blanket.

“Well,” Asahi says, “I guess we’re both a little dumb then, huh?”

“To be fair,” Yuu huffs, “I didn’t realize till after the Date Tech match.”

Asahi laughs again, and Yuu thinks that everything is going to be okay after all. Asahi is finally starting to have some sort of belief in himself, and while Yuu knows his doubt and anxiety won’t go away overnight, they’re taking baby steps.

And if Ryu and Daichi give Suga and Kiyoko ten dollars each when they admit their newest revelation, then nobody is any the wiser.

#azumane asahi #nishinoya yuu #asanoya #asanoyaweek21 #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#my writing #marimo writes #back to my princess tutu brainrot brb

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