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ballofweirdsunshine · 14 days

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Red Tainted Glass.

Megumi Fushiguro x F!Reader

Warning: cursing, blood.

~TRIGGER WARNING~

word count: 848 (kinda short)

tried to make as accurate as possible🤭 this is my first fic✨

THIS WAS A DRAFT AND IT DIDNT SAVE HALF OF IT SO I HAD TO REWRITE😭

Summary: While finishing up a mission, your technique takes a large toll on you, making you cough up glass and blood at least 3 times a day. Now, you have to mask your distress from your friends, boyfriend, and just people in general.

Pilot : Hiding.

Shit.

Thats what you felt like.

Utter shit.

How were you gonna tell everyone, especially your own boyfriend?

Things are hard and complicated.

As you walked back onto campus, you felt the infamous sharp pain in your neck arrive once again.

You felt the sudden urge to cough.

Yet, you fought it back.

You can’t bear anyone knowing about your problems.

You continued to walk around campus to locate back to your dorm.

…

You soon find yourself on your bed, staring at the wall in thought.

It wasn’t like you were actually thinking about anything, you just needed to recenter.

Snapping back to reality, you find the urge to see what your peers are up to now.

The sun was setting so they couldn’t be doing a lot during this time.

Getting up from your bed, you suddenly drop to the ground almost immediately.

Your throat aches as you feel the iron taste of crimson blood touch your tongue.

You clench your eyelids tightly before coughing violently.

“How the fuck do I find myself in situations like this?” You thought while dribbles of blood and chunks of glass come piling out of your throat.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes while you feel your body start to tremble and shake rather quickly.

You try to fight back the drops of salty tears before it spills out of your weary eyes.

You feel a stop to the aching pain in your throat, as you let out a shaky sigh of relief.

You sit up and off of your trembling knees while you decide to quickly clean up your bloody mess before someone checks out all of your coughing commotion.

…

“What the hell am I gonna do? Even if I do decide to tell someone, who?!” You ask yourself, pacing around the room nervously.

”Maki? No, she’d just stress me out more by urging me to tell everyone. Panda? Nah, he’d accidentally tell someone off the bat.”

“Ugh! Deciding is hard.” You whine, dramatically plopping yourself on your bed.

“What is causing this..?” You mutter under your breath, staring at the floor hopelessly.

——————-

“Hey, has anyone seen y/n? Gojo-sensei said that she had gotten back from her mission a couple hours ago.” Yuji asked, walking into the room, rubbing the back of his neck while quickly scanning the room.

“You worried?” Megumi said, not looking up from his book to acknowledge his pink haired friend.

“A lil. She still owes me that dango and I was really looking forward to it!” The pinkette whined dramatically.

“She probably needed a break from you two bozos.” A orange haired girl retorted, pointing at Megumi and Yuji.

“Hey! I’m not a bozo!” Yuji shouted, feeling offended by the sudden negative comment.

“But if you wanna check on her, I’m not stopping you. If anything, she’s most likely sleeping.” She spoke as she lifted up her forearms in defense.

“Sleeping? She’s scary when cranky! You check on her, Fushiguro!” Yuji shrieked, obviously afraid of you when woken up.

“Just don’t wake her up.” Megumi replied dryly, still not even shooting a single glance up from his book.

“I’ll wake her up for sure! Not only because she’s scary. You’re her boyfriend so if anyone could get her to open her door, it’s you.” Yuji shuddered, ignoring his sea urchin haired friend’s suggestions.

“Fine.” Megumi sighed defeatedly, setting down his book and walking towards the dormitories.

While walking, the faint smell of blood lingered in the air.

It wasn’t enough for a human with normal smell to detect but it was still there.

Megumi arrived at your dorm, raising his arm to knock but stopping himself from doing so.

He felt nervous.

He didn’t feel nervous often.

He really didn’t.

Why was he nervous now?

He pushed his confusing thoughts away for later and pulled himself to knock.

“Y/n?” He called out.

No answer.

“Huh, that’s weird.” Megumi thought. “She normally answers the first time..”

He knocked again.

No answer.

Ok, now he was getting worried.

He softly placed his palm on the door handle, slowly wrapping his fingers around the handle.

He opened the door to see the lights completely out, making the room almost impossible to navigate.

Your body wrapped in blankets, back facing Megumi and breathing slowly with slightly unkept strands of h/c colored hair visible.

“She’s asleep, that’s all.” Megumi thought to himself, closing the door and letting out a soft exhale of breath he was unintentionally holding.

“So, is she in there?”

Megumi jumped at the sudden question from his pink haired peer.

“Yeah, she’s just sleeping.” He responds, turning to Yuji as he quickly regained his calm composure.

“Got it.” Yuji answered, shifting his gaze elsewhere.

“Come to mention it, y/n has been a bit more secretive lately..” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re at least right about that.” Megumi responded dryly.

“Maybe we should ask Kugisaki about it! She’s a girl.” Yuji suggested, lighting up at his sudden idea.

“No, I don’t think we should bother her.”

“If ya say so.”

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

Thanks for reading! I might make this a series but I don’t know yet. Depends on how much attention this post gets! Bye!

-Sayori <3

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #nobara #yuji #tokyo trio

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vikingknight90 · 3 years

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(Had to reupload this as something went wrong previously.)

How did Moroha get her ribbon? Inspired by a lovely fanart I had to put this into words. If this isn’t close to how she actually got it, I’ll be rather disappointed with Sunrise, haha.

I hope you enjoy ~

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Kagome finished putting the laundry over a rope tied between two aspen trees rustling in the early spring wind. She closed her eyes and drew the wonderful scent of washed fabric blended with the fragrance of newly sprouted poppies and bluebells by her feet, greeting her before they did anyone else on that humid day where the sun’s rays had been gently caressing them for an hour or so. The miko straightened the last, honey colored sheet in her hands to rid it of wrinkles and was about to bend down for her basket when the sound of soft crying reached her ears. Moroha?! Kagome nearly stumbled over her basket at the noise and hurried towards her and Inuyasha’s hut where the sound seemed to originate from somewhere behind it. Moroha had eagerly wandered out to play along with Kagome heading out with the laundry, and she had let her. Kagome’s heart swelled at the little bundle of energy Moroha already were at barely four years old, and figured there was no stopping her heading out around their hut to explore and be a child, what would be the harm. But now she cursed herself. Moroha had gotten hurt. She must have fell, hurt her knee, bumped her head or been bitten by some big feudal era bug or something. What if she was bleeding? Kagome’s steps hastened as the sniffling becoming louder, and prepared herself for the worst when she rounded the corner to where her daughter’s distress was coming from. The sight that met Kagome, however, confused her so much she almost forgot to feel relieved.

Moroha didn’t seem to be hurt. Not physically anyway. She was sitting on the ground, her back towards Kagome, and holding something in her hands Kagome soon realized was a mirror. She stood still for a moment and observed as Moroha plucked at her hair that mirrored her own dark color, pulling chunks in the air, then patting them down again, with a body language Kagome saw was clearly upset. Another quiet sob from her daughter’s mouth snapped her out of her staring bewilderment.

“Moroha?”

The young girl jolted and nearly dropped the mirror as she turned towards her mom. Her dark brown eyes that also mirrored Kagome’s had tears in their corners. Her chubby cheeks were red and puffed, giving away how she’d wiped and rubbed them. Kagome felt as if her heart would burst at how sad Moroha looked right then, but simultaneously the cutest she had seen with her daughter’s big round eyes clearly looking to her for comfort.

“Moroha! Darling, what’s the matter?” Kagome hurried over and picked Moroha up, snuggled her face against hers and used the sleeve of her miko dress to wipe another tear rolling from the young child’s eyes.

“Mommy, I’m…” Moroha sniveled and responded to the comforting embrace by leaning against her mother’s chest and clutching at her dress. “Shhh, my baby. Just tell me what it is.” Kagome leaned her cheek against Moroha’s head and used her fingers to tuck some ebony strains behind her ears. “Mommy… how come… how come I don’t have ears like daddy?” “What??” Kagome wasn’t sure she had just heard right. She shifted Moroha in her arms to look her in the eyes, a smile she couldn’t help appeared on her face, though by the look in Moroha’s face, it wasn’t the reaction she wanted. “What did you just say, sweetie?” Kagome had to hear it again, she couldn’t quite believe it.

Moroha pouted and avoided her mother’s bewildered gaze. “Daddy has such cool ears… why don’t I have them? I have really dumb ears.” “Moroha...” Kagome couldn’t help that a laugh escaped her lips at the end of her name, and she hugged her daughter tightly at the revelation of her so-called distress. She suddenly realized why Moroha had been pulling her hair in apparent triangular shapes in front of the mirror. Had she been trying to make her hair look like Inuyasha’s ears?

“My sweet little girl, is that why you’ve been crying?” Kagome giggled into her daughter’s hair and Moroha squirmed in her hold.

“It’s not funny, mommy!”

Kagome heard her daughter’s still tear-ridden voice and suppressed her laugh, realizing this really was serious for Moroha.

Of all the things I worried my daughter would cry about, this was not one of them.

Kagome sighed and kissed Moroha’s forehead before she put her down and leaned on her knees in front of her, meeting Moroha’s eyes that were still shining from tears and an adorable annoyed look on her face. “Sweetie, your ears aren’t dumb. You have the same ears as me, didn’t you know? You have your mother’s ears.” Kagome smiled and tucked her hair behind her right ear to show Moroha, wondering if her daughter somehow hadn’t realized that before.

But Moroha only pouted further and stared at the ground.

“I don’t care. I want daddy’s ears.”

Kagome saw Moroha’s expression grow more defiant, and she sighed and leaned her head in her hand, wondering how long this would be a thing.

What do I tell her? There isn’t really a nice way to say that it’s impossible for her to have ears like Inuyasha, not when she wasn’t born with them.

A thought struck Kagome that had her mind temporarily be distracted from her daughter. If she were to have… more children with Inuyasha, would one of them eventually be born with his ears? She tried to picture a baby in her lap with adorable little dog ears peeking out of his or her hair, and giggled fondly at the mental image.

She was brought back to the present however when Moroha saw her humored face, made an angry turn and uttered: “I’m going to my room!” almost too fast for Kagome to reach out and grab her, but she just made it.

“Now hang on, Moroha. Come with mommy instead.” Another idea hit her, and Kagome’s face lit up.

“I might not be able to give you your father’s ears, but I can give you the next best thing.”

“The next… best thing…?” Moroha sniffed and let her mom take her hand and gently lead her into their hut. Kagome sat Moroha at a straw chair and picked up a bigger mirror she’d also brought from her world that she sat in front of her.

“Now just sit here for a minute while mommy goes to get something.”

Kagome bopped Moroha’s nose with her finger at the request and saw that the little girl still was teary eyed, but intrigued. Her eyes shone with wonder now at what her mother meant by this “next best thing”.

Kagome was hoping. She really liked this idea herself, but she had no idea if Moroha would. She just had to give it a try.

Pushing apart the straw door to the part of the hut where she and Inuyasha slept, Kagome went to the corner were some boxes of various contents were stocked, many with more stuff and remnants from her own world that she had periodically brought over in her time travels. The miko pulled out one at the bottom, the layer of dust covering the lid revealing how it was probably years since it was last opened.

She drew a deep breath and pulled the lid off, and a rush of nostalgia engulfed and warmed her as she looked down at her old school uniform. The white and green fabric complimented by a red ribbon by the neck piece brought back memories of her family, her old home, and she had to swallow some tears building in her throat while she gently stroked her hand over the outfit she had once worn every day to this era, and now it had been years since. She was older now, and a mother. Kagome wondered if she could even fit into the old teenage outfit anymore if she wanted to. A solemn laugh escaped her lips at the thought.

Mom. Grandpa. Sota. Buyo. I hope you’re all doing alright.

Kagome ended up staring at the uniform longer than she had intended when she heard Moroha shifting in the chair in the other room and a half curios-half annoyed “Moommmy” reaching her.

“Be right there.”

Kagome’s eyes went to the ribbon, still a bright red after all these years, exposure to the elements and wear and tear. She reached down and untied it, pulled it out and examined its length and form.

Good, it should do.

Kagome was nervous when she returned to Moroha, holding the ribbon behind her back. Moroha clearly saw her arms hiding something and a smile finally emerged on the young girl’s face, revealing a tiny fang by the corner of her lips.

“What have you got there, mommy? Show me!”

“Just a minute, Moroha. Turn around and look in the mirror first.”

“Okay!”

Moroha excitedly shouted and turned around, her little arms and legs fidgeting in anticipation as her mom came up behind her with an equally excited smile.

“I’ll be doing something to your hair, okay? Now you close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say so. You got that?” Kagome inquired while still keeping her arms behind her, giving Moroha a mock-stern expression in the mirror.

“Aww, really mommy? How long do I have to close them?”

“Till I’m done with what I’m gonna do. It’ll only take a minute, two tops. I promise.”

Moroha’s face became a pout again, but then she saw her mother’s expression become a playfully pleading one in the mirror. It made Moroha realize she wanted to be a good girl right then and listen to her mom. So she closed her eyes and barely contained a squeal when Kagome’s hands gently pulled at her hair and did something that Moroha couldn’t figure out. It involved tying her hair up, she found that out soon enough, but how would that give her her father’s ears? Moroha’s heart dropped a little. What if mommy couldn’t keep what she had told her?

About two minutes passed of her mom pulling and twirling her hair before she finally said the words. “Alright, open your eyes!”

Moroha opened one eye first, nervous for what she would see. Her other eye flew open a second later. Her jaw dropped. Kagome put her fingers to her lips as she smiled in anticipation for what Moroha would think. She didn’t have to wait long as a giant smile soon spread on Moroha’s face, revealing both her fangs. Her eyes sparkled and she leaned towards the mirror while her hands reached up and petted the red ribbon sticking out of her hair, emulating two distinct triangular shapes.

“Mommy… ! I look… I look like daddy!”

Moroha squealed and jumped to her feet on the chair, nearly toppling over so Kagome reached out in case she’d fall, but Moroha didn’t even notice. Her attention was entirely elsewhere.

“Ears! Ears like daddy’s! I have ears like daddy’s!”

She squealed again and finally turned around, jumping into her mother’s arms who barely got to brace herself and caught her with a groan followed by a laugh.

“You like it, sweetie? Your daddy’s ears are made from a ribbon your mommy used to wear all the time while I was younger. So you take good care of it, okay?”

“I will!” Moroha sang in Kagome’s arms and wrapped her arms around her shoulders and cuddled against her neck while she let out an adorably, bubbly laugh that made Kagome’s heart swell and she embraced her daughter back, planting kisses on her dark locks and feeling the ribbon tickling her cheeks as Moroha kept giggling and nuzzling her collarbone.

A sound of rustling and footsteps from the outside reached Kagome’s ears, and she let out a playful gasp against Moroha’s head, before she whispered “Did you hear that? Sounds like daddy’s home.”

Moroha could barely be contained anymore as her face lit up like the sun and she wriggled in Kagome’s arms to be put down. Her little feet took off towards the straw door as soon they touched the ground and Kagome followed. She had to see this.

“Daddy!”

“Moroha?”

Inuyasha hadn’t expected to see his daughter come running towards him at such a speed and bent down to open his arms for her, not really noticing the ribbon at first but the ecstatic expression on his little girl’s face.

“What have got you so excited?” Inuyasha couldn’t help a tiny chuckle as Moroha reached him and jumped to his arms, a blush on her face from the joy of seeing her dad again and be lifted in the air by him, and she giggled and snuggled into his robe like she had just done her mom. Inuyasha fussed a little at the sudden display of affection that Moroha hadn’t really expressed to this extent before, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t warm his heart to look down at his daughter cuddled into his arms, an adorable smile on her face while she rubbed against his robe. He just now noticed the red ribbon in her hair, and a quick sniff made him realize it was the ribbon of Kagome’s old uniform. Why was Moroha wearing this all of a sudden? The shape it created was initially lost on him.

“What a nice ribbon you got, Moroha. ‘Your mom give it to you?”

Inuyasha looked over at Kagome now who stood by their hut’s entrance and was going to give her a greeting smile, but his face fell into confusion when he saw his wife looking on them with a humored expression. What was up with her?

Moroha jolted at her dad’s question as if she’d almost forgot what had made her so excited. Before Inuyasha got to ask Kagome what was up with the face, Moroha shifted in his arms and beamed up at him.

“I did, daddy. Look!” she reached her chubby arms up and rubbed at the ribbon, her smile once again revealing two tiny fangs.

“I look like daddy now! I have daddy’s ears!”

“Ehh? … you… what??”

Kagome knew it was coming and had tried to suppress it, but her laugh erupted now at the sight of Inuyasha’s utterly dumbfounded face. The hanyo’s jaw dropped as he stared down at his daughter, and only now realized how her ribbon indeed had the same shape and placement as his ears. Before he realized it, a blush was spreading across the dog demon’s face. He made some indistinguishable noises of embarrassment and bent to put Moroha down, but remained on her eye level.

“S… silly girl..!” he sputtered, only to be met by Moroha still tugging at her ribbon and sporting the proudest smile he’d ever seen.

“What’s up with that, Moroha? Why do you want a ribbon to look like my ears?”

Just like Kagome earlier, Inuyasha couldn’t believe he had heard right.

“Why? Because daddy’s ears are the coolest!” Moroha exclaimed while gesturing to the objects in question that started twitching as Inuyasha’s embarrassment grew further. Moroha saw this and laughed heartily and tugged at her ribbon “ears” again to mimic the movement.

“I found her crying earlier, Inuyasha.” Kagome caught his attention as she’d finished laughing and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“She was crying, wishing she had your ears. I had to think of something.”

She smiled empathetically at him to wordlessly communicate how adorable their daughter was, but also hoping he’d take the signal to say something nice to her.

Inuyasha still couldn’t contain his blush, but he sighed at Kagome’s hint and reached out his hands to feel at his daughter’s “dog ears”, making Moroha giggle further, a blush returning on her face as well.

“What a silly girl… you already have cute ears, Moroha. But you’re right, they do look like mine.” Inuyasha saw Moroha’s eyes beam with joy at his words and a silent adoration for him, and he cleared his throat and averted his gaze. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but a part of him did feel touched that his daughter wanted to look like the demon part of him to the point she had imitated his ears like this. Not to mention, the ribbon fit Moroha really well too. It only amplified his daughter’s cuteness, even Inuyasha could see that.

The dog demon peeked over at his wife again to see Kagome giving him a knowing look, as if she knew how touched he felt. He cleared his throat again and shook his head as if it’d rid him of the embarrassment, then lifted Moroha up into his arms again, another squeal from her mouth as he did so.

“Right, my little… “dog eared” girl. How about we go see Miroku and Sango and their kids? They told me they were taking them fishing by the lake today. You might be a little small…” Inuyasha said and lightly tickled Moroha’s belly which resulted in another giggle fit of the small girl, and she grabbed his hand to make him stop and playfully nibbled on it with her fangs.

“… but you like to spend time with Hisui, Kin’u and Gyokuto, don’t you?”

“I do, daddy. We gonna go see them now?” Moroha paused her nibbling at his fingers to ask.

“Well, if you and your mom want to.”

“Sure we do.” Kagome smiled from where she stood and watched as Moroha’s eyes glinted with excitement before she went back to test her fangs on her dad’s hand which finally caused an “Ow!” from Inuyasha and a mock-scolding, a humored smile on his face as he did so that Moroha answered with her own mischievous smile.

Kagome took in the moment of watching Inuyasha and their daughter embracing and teasing each other, an unspoken and endless love in their eyes for the other, and felt as if her heart would burst. Almost without realizing, she had folded her hands in front of her mouth, her eyes watering at the immense love and gratitude she was feeling at this very moment. Hands still folded and an almost melancholy feeling hitting her that Kagome tried to ignore, she prayed to whatever God existed that nothing would ever happen to take this happiness away from them.

#inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #yashahime #yashahime fanfiction #moroha #kagome #inuyasha x kagome #inukag #daughter #rumiko takahashi #sunrise

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Note

The sharing bed prompts I loveee that shit. What about “person A hogs all the covers and person B’s solution is to spoon them” and “does that feel good” with Rami as person B?

All right—I took some liberties with this prompt, and while it isn’t smut, it is fluffy and fun. Perhaps there needs to be a Part II, but for now, here you go : )

Y/N is the press tour director for Bohemian Rhapsody, so essentially, she is in charge of the boys. This is totally AU-ish, and this is also the first time I’ve written Joe and Gwil. Forgive me if it’s bad.

* * * * *

Having been on the road with the boys for several weeks, I knew it was never anything that was going to make my life easier when they started being exhaustingly charming to me and only me.

“Cut the shit, boys. What do you want?”

Rami grinned, but I shook my head, “Nope—don’t try that either. What do you want?”

Rami’s smile faltered, and he sighed. He licked his lips, tucking his bottom one between his teeth, and I turned away, refusing to let any of his ticks affect me now.

Everyone on the tour could see the way we looked at each other, but I had a job to do. Rami was an actor, and this press tour was only going to be one small part of his life. But for me, this press tour’s success could send my name right to the top of the PR list, ensuring I’d never have to work three jobs to make ends meet again.

And no one, no one knew that.

This was Hollywood; people weren’t interested in the rags to riches story anymore. All that mattered was what your life looked like, so I made sure to consistently project a strong, confident woman with nothing to lose.

Except that right now, it sounded like I was going to be forced to make a very difficult decision: to keep up appearances by giving over to the boys’ demands, or to buckle, revealing how much the success of this tour really meant for me.

Joe stepped forward and popped onto the edge of the desk in my hotel room, crossing his legs and changing his voice to a high, nasally pitch.

“Well, ya see Mista Sheffield,” Joe said in his best Fran Fine impression, “as the nanny, it’s clear ya been makin’ these kids work way too hard. If they don’t get a break, it could be very bad for their health—and yours,” he added with a wink.

Sighing, I pushed back from my desk and looked at Joe, who re-crossed his legs and batted his eyes.

“I’ll consider your offer if you put on one of Nanny Fine’s skirts, Mazzello.”

“Uh, did you not see the pictures of us in drag? Only Rami’s got the stems to pull that look off.”

I flicked my eyes over to Rami and he smiled, although it was a shyer smile than usual. However, I didn’t look back at Joe. Rami was almost always the leader of their schemes, so I asked, for the third time, what exactly they wanted.

“Since our stop in the next city has been delayed, we thought we could have some time to . . . explore Italy.”

“And?”

“We want to rent a car—”

You started shaking your head no, but Rami pressed on.

“We want to rent a car and drive. We have plenty of time to get there—”

“And if something goes wrong? My god Rami—we are talking about an extra 48 hours, not a week!”

“Nothing will go wrong. You have my word.”

“Those are the most famous last words in every movie, television show, and novel produced in the last century!” I said, my voice rising as I stood up from the desk chair.

“We’ve already mapped it out and it only takes twelve hours longer than the train you have scheduled,” Rami spoke in a rush, moving to stand in front of me and to grasp my upper arms. “We have our cell phones. And . . .”

“And?” I prompted.

“And you’ll be with us,” Rami finished, his voice low and soothing as his eyes burned into mine.

I had to close my eyes to escape his spell because what he was saying was actually not as unreasonable of a request as I had been sure it was going to be. Backing away from Rami’s grip, I sat down on my bed with a plop.

“What does Gwil say?”

“It was his idea.”

“Oy vey,” I said, flopping back onto the bed.

The bed bounced as Joe landed beside me, perfectly propped up on his elbow.

“Soooo maaaa, what do ya say?”

“If—oof,” I said bouncing as Rami landed on my other side.

“If Joseph Mazzello agrees to never impersonate The Nanny again, we can take the car.”

The boys laugh and plant twin kisses on my cheeks and I give them both a hard shove away from me.

“But if anything, ANYTHING happens, I am holding you, Rami Malek, personally responsible,” I said as I stood up and glowered down at him.

“Ooo, Ram, man. That means she’s docking your pay.”

“Don’t care, Joey!” Rami cried as he exaggeratedly sniffed the air. “Can you smell that?”

“What . . . should I be smelling . . .”

“It’s the smell of FREEDOM!” Rami roared as he thumped Joe on the chest, hard enough to make him groan, then start giggling.

A small wrestling match ensued before I yelled at them to get out before they broke my bed.

“Go tell Gwil the good news,” I begged, making them freeze as Rami’s head poked out from under Joe’s stomach after Joe had pinned him with his entire torso.

They scrambled off the bed, each of them fixing their hair as they hurried out of the room to tell Gwilym the good news.

I sat down on my disheveled bedding and bowed my head, praying to whatever god that would listen for this minor detour to happen without a hitch.

The boys, as high-energy as they could be, had been giving their all at every event and had been working ungodly hours. If I could do this for them, they deserved to enjoy it.

* * * * *

God.

The master of the universe.

The almighty creator.

The powers that be.

The flying spaghetti monster.

It didn’t matter what the higher power I prayed to went by, whoever or whatever it was, hated me.

No.

It loathed me, and I became convinced that it got off on circumventing any possible happiness I could have in my life.

I fought back tears as I followed the boys through the sopping cow field, at least I assumed that’s what it was because it was nearly 2 in the morning and the only lights we had were our dying cellphones (which had no service, of course) and one tiny flashlight that had been jammed between the seat in the back of our too-small rental car.

It certainly smells like a cow field, I thought as my foot landed in something that felt suspiciously more squishy than sopping grass.

We were all damned lucky that we hadn’t had anything other than our pride hurt when a whopping pile of mud from the endless rain slid across the road pushing our car over an embankment and into a field. The car had refused to start, and we waited for over two hours for another vehicle to pass.

It was getting cold, so I finally said, “We can’t wait here all night.”

The boys all looked out the window and into the pouring rain.

“Look at the sign,” Gwil said pointing at something that was on the other side of the immense field. “Looks like a vacancy banner.”

“Like the boss said, we can’t wait here all night. It’s not like a cellphone tower is going to sprout up from all the rain,” Joe said.

“Pop the trunk,” I said, moving to open the door and step out into the rain.

Rami grabbed my arm and spoke in a voice that was heartbreakingly earnest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I know,” I said, shaking him off and opening the door.

Luckily, we had all packed light and our bags were easy to carry. Rami tried to take mine and I refused; the last thing I wanted to feel at this moment was like a damsel in distress.

The walk took well over an hour, but it was exactly as Gwil said: a vacancy sign, except that none of us could have predicted that it was a place that made the Bates Motel look like a St. Regis.

We paused despite the pouring rain and looked at each other.

Joe nudged Rami, who faltered, but then took the lead and opened the ratchety front door, a chunk of sopping old paint glopping down on his shoe as he stepped through the doorframe.

We all shuffled in behind him, and it was clear the lobby was not meant for gatherings of people. Gwil and I stood elbow to elbow, a dusty shelf of outdated brochures brushing against my arm.

Rami angled himself forward and rang the rusty bell.

It made a pitiful ding that matched its home.

Rami’s hair was plastered to his head and falling into his eyes. While we waited, he slicked it back and I noticed it was almost long enough to tuck behind his ears when it was wet.

Meanwhile, Joe hadn’t missed the way I watched Rami, even in this dire circumstance. He was one of the many who knew how we felt about each other and he also knew that had been a strong part of the reason for this trip. Rami had confessed to him that he believed if he could get me to forget about the bustle of the tour, even for a day or two, he’d have a shot at figuring out if I was interested in him.

Joe’s insistence that I was just wasn’t enough. Rami wanted to be sure before he made a move, especially if it could mean turning the great dynamic we had established between all of us into something forced and uncomfortable.

“Hit it again,” Gwil said, his normally patient self becoming agitated. He hated to be dirty, and I knew he was thinking about a hot shower.

Hell, I knew we were all thinking about a hot shower.

Rami reached for the bell again, but before he could press it, a very old man shuffled out to the desk, his hoary head not more than a foot taller than the desk itself. He was wrapped up tight in a robe and there were slippers on his feet.

He began speaking in Italian and the dialect was so strong that we all looked at each other in utter confusion.

“English?” Rami asked in a desperate plea.

The old man cocked his head, little wisps of white hair billowing with his movement.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Gwil muttered, his voice tired.

“Rami—”

He turned around and looked at me.

“The key hooks on the wall.”

Rami nodded, his mouth puckering as he thought.

“We need rooms for the night,” Rami said, pointing to the keys on the wall. “Uh, camera, per favore.”

The man nodded, “Si, si,” and took two keys off the wall.

He began speaking once more, but Rami pointed to the last key hanging on the wall, trying to get another room in case one of the rooms was too small for all three of the boys to share.

“No, no,” the man said waving the two keys from the wall in front of Rami’s face and speaking some more.

It was clear we were getting the last two rooms the man had.

“La moneta!” he barked when Rami held his hand out for the keys, and we all reached into our bags for whatever we had in Italian currency.

The old man gave us a total and Joe counted it out. After the man recounted the money, he handed the keys to Rami and pointed toward the darkest section of the motel.

Again, we all cast a glance at each other, but once we were back outside in the pouring rain, Rami took the lead and walked off toward the dark rooms.

He tried one key, then the other and reached blindly along the wall for a light switch after the door had creaked open. A single lamp flicked on, and we were greeted by the smallest room I had ever seen. There was an ancient television propped up on a stand, one chair, and one bed that looked to be no bigger than an extra-large twin.

Rami glanced at me, then hurried to the next door, shaking the key furiously in the lock to get the door to open.

It was the same room, right down to the extra-large twin bed.

Rami looked at Joe and Gwil and said, “I don’t suppose the three of us could—”

“Oh for pete’s sake, Rami. Come on,” you said tugging his jacket’s sleeve and hauling him back into the other room.

Joe and Gwil exchanged a look, and despite their exhaustion, smiles crept across their faces.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Rami turned around and locked the chain.

With a sigh, he started to apologize again, but I cut him off.

“Rami—no one could have predicted this would happen. I’m sure we will laugh about this . . . if we don’t get axe murdered in the night.”

“Did you ever see that episode of the Twilight Zone where—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare plant some freaky image in my mind before we have to try to fall asleep.”

Rami gave me a small smile before he finally dropped his soaked bag on to the floor.

“We may have to wring out all our clothes,” he said frowning with disgust at his wet luggage.

“First, I’m taking the hottest shower in history,” I said, marching into the bathroom, then proceeding to scream as I collided face to chest with a mostly naked Gwilym.

Rami and Joe both burst in from their doors, and then they started laughing.

“Your faces,” Joe squeaked out.

Gwil and I looked at each other and broke, laughing until we cried at the absurdity of the entire situation.

Ever the gentleman, Gwil offered the bath, and yes, it was an old clawfoot bathtub, not a shower, first.

“No—you go for it,” I said patting his shoulder and following a still chuckling Rami out of the door who was swiping at the tears that had leaked down his cheeks during his laughing fit.

I collapsed onto the uncomfortable, putrid yellow chair, a puff of laughter escaping in intermittent bursts as I remembered the feeling of my nose colliding with Gwil’s chest.

“Damnit,” I growled, leaning back in the chair.

“What is it?” Rami asked from the seat he had taken across from me on the edge of the bed.

“My shoe strings are so wet I can’t untie them and my shoes are too tight to kick off.”

“Let me try,” he said, moving to kneel in front of my shoe. “Wow—okay. That’s definitely cowshit.”

Laughter burbled up from my throat again as I stared at Rami’s fingers working my shit-covered laces, and he looked up at me, his nose crinkled, his hair a mess, and I laughed harder until he joined in.

“When you win an Oscar for Freddie, I’m going to remember this moment,” I said, smiling down at him as he freed my right foot.

“Shut up,” Rami said with a smile. “Never gonna happen.”

“Why are you so afraid to let yourself want it?”

“For the same reason you’re so afraid this tour will be a disaster,” Rami finished with a grunt as he freed my left foot and sat back on his butt, getting ready to work his own tennis shoes off.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rami wiped his fingers on the shins of his soaked pants and looked up.

“You’re not the only one who came from almost nothing, Y/N. We recognize our own kind in this world.”

“But—”

“My parents worked really hard to make sure we had opportunities, but that was about all we had.”

“I didn’t know.”

Rami and I looked at each other, and for the first time I realized what we had in common: an insatiable hunger, a need to prove ourselves.

I know it seems like it only happens in the movies, but as soon as I made that realization, it was like a jolt of electricity went through my body. I had never wanted to kiss someone more than I did in that moment, and just as I was about to drop to the floor and close the distance, Gwil knocked from inside the bathroom.

“Your turn, Y/N!” he called.

I shook my head and stood up, hurrying into the bathroom.

By the time we had all rotated through, Joe going last and informing us with a loud, “Yikes!” that the hot water was all gone, I was exhausted and settled under the minimal covers on the bed.

Rami had been sitting in the yellow chair for the past half an hour, trying to get his cellphone to work.

“We’ll use the phone at the front desk in the morning,” I mumbled sleepily. “Let’s get some rest before the rooster crows. Cuz I guarantee there’s one roaming around out there unless the axe murderer was in the mood for chicken.”

Rami’s laughter was soft as he rose up from the chair and walked over to the light switch.

“Should we leave it on?”

“Try it.”

Rami flicked the switch and the room was plunged into darkness, but after a few moments, it was clear that the light from the vacancy sign was going to shine right through the damn-near sheer curtain covering the window.

“I think we’re okay—you locked the door, right?”

Rami fumbled along the door and double checked.

“Yup.”

I listened as he made his way back to the bed and he shuffled some sort of item of clothing off. When his cold feet accidentally connected with mine, I knew it was his socks.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Can’t stand to sleep with socks on.”

“Me either,” I said to the wall I was facing.

Rami moved around in the bed, attempting to get comfortable and to keep an appropriate distance between our bodies, but when I moved, he gasped as all the covers moved with me.

“Sorry,” I groaned.

“I think this bed is clearly meant for one person.”

“Or two people as tiny as that old man.”

Rami chuckled, and then he sighed.

“There’s a solution . . . if you’re okay with it.”

“Lay it on me, Ram.”

Rami said nothing, but he rolled onto his side and pressed his body into my back. He adjusted his arms, eventually resting his left hand in the dip at my waist.

“At least I’m getting warmer now,” I said sleepily.

Rami took that as an invitation and snuggled in deeper, sliding his arm all the way over my waist so he could spoon me.

“I really am sorry for all of this,” Rami whispered into the back of my neck.

“I’m not,” I said, reaching for his hand and pulling it up between my breasts so I could clutch it to my chest.

Rami hummed contentedly, and we both drifted off to sleep.

#Rami Malek #Rami Malek x Reader #guest starring #Joe Mazzello #gwilym lee #fluff #bed sharing #bed sharing prompt #BoRhap fic #BoRhap

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ofwolvesandbutterflies · 6 years

Text

Synonyms for Painful - Part 1; SHINee’s Key

20 - difficult; had anyone told me before, I would’ve laugh and said they’re stupid. Only now without you here do I realize how difficult living without you is.

A/N: hullos, I’ve finally decided to post this Part 1 of ‘Synonyms for Painful’. In case you’re new, I will not be posting the sections of this series in chronological order because none of the parts, unless mentioned otherwise, are really connected at all, unless indicated. The numbers before the prompts are just for organization purposes. Without further ado, please enjoy part 1!

and yes... i did take some artistic license to key’s character.

you should also listen to this nice song as bgm; (x)

I only have one thing to say about working in an office building; it’s boring as hell. There’s no dragons flying around setting buildings aflame with their fiery breath, there’s never a damsel in distress hanging precariously with one hand from a ledge of a 50-story tower. There’s no dice of destiny deciding your fate; dice that -with one roll- could grant you all the treasure in the universe or trap you in a slow, excruciating death.

Yeah, nope. It’s pretty boring.

Every day it’s the same thing. It’s just me and my office, Kim ‘Key’ Kibum in our shared office as the hours tick by slowly with only a flickering light bulb hanging above us. From the crack of dawn to the first sign of nightfall, our bgm is the the quiet buzzing of the weak light bulb.

The most exciting thing that’s happened throughout our relatively uneventful careers must have been

that day a storm burned out the electricity in the building and Key and I played poker and b.s. by candle light for the rest of work day. Long story short, life as us was really boring and repetitive and neither of us had a problem with it. We both preferred the serene and recurring safe haven in our shared office. We both preferred life boring.

I’ll admit to staring at him and his delicate features for more than was required time and time again, but it was hard not to. He was decorated with prominent cheekbones, a peaceful smile, and eyes that always scrunched up when he smiled, which was not often. He was around the smaller size when it came to men, perhaps because Asian men were infamous for being short, but he still managed to look good in it. Every day, he surprised me with a new variation to the strict dress code we were stuck working with. I always wondered where he got the money for such clean and professional looking clothes, after all, we didn’t have a very high salary.

Key got his nickname from my first day of work. I had forgotten my office key that first morning. Fortunately, upon walking through the hallway on the floor I was appointed to be in for the next long while, I was only mildly pleased to realize I was sharing an office with the attractive Asian male I had been sneaking glances at on the elevator ride up and that he had his keys. I still remember the way he looked over me, a half smirk painted on his lips when he realized one, that I was doomed to being his office mate for however long we were going to be working here, and two, that I didn’t have my keys.

Ever since that first day, we fell into a pattern of me ‘forgetting’ my keys, and him always there to greet me with keys, that half smirk I might or might not have fallen for and a cup filled with my usual white chocolate mocha.

Yes, it was boring. Yes it was repetitive, but we didn’t mind. So we kept it the same.

That is… at least until one day, he didn’t show up to work and I was forced to ask the secretary for a spare key. At first, I didn’t think much of it, after all, though we had each other’s personal numbers, we never really contacted each other outside of work. There was a good chance he was on sick leave, the flu had been passing through our building.

After about a month of becoming awkwardly acquainted with the secretary, a pleasant, small female with round glasses, dimples, and a crazy amount of unwavering patience, I started to get worried. After another week of racking up the courage to ask her if she knew anything about Key, I finally asked.

This time, I wasn’t met with the same, patient smile. In its place was a sad, sympathetic one. She stared at me with unshed tears painted in her eyes and handed me a plain manila folder. Upon entering the soundless elevator, I pondered the pain in her eyes and the sadness in the wordless silence she had greeted me with.

Arriving at our office, I finally opened the manila envelope, expecting to see a pink slip with his name on it or something. Instead, I was met with the appearance of a hastily written url on a torn piece of paper along with a neatly folded letter. Opening my personal laptop, I quickly typed in the url, not expecting much to pop up. I have never in my life been more wrong. What popped up exactly 0.72 seconds later was a news article whose headlines stopped my heart for a brief, jaw dropping second.

No. No. It couldn't be. Scrawled across the top of the screen were the following words; Terrible 10 Car Collision on the 805 north. 5 People Killed, 7 mortally wounded.

I scrolled down further with my hand shaking badly and tears collecting at corners of my eyes. The list of the deceased drivers finally crawled into view and the dam holding back my tears broke. His name was the first one there.

Dropping my expensive personal laptop, I slid to the floor in shock. I covered my mouth, the tears running down my face and bile building in the back of my throat.

I would never see him again. He would never be there to open the door for me with that snarky smile of his. We could never play b.s. again during our breaks and speak about the older lady next door who wanted to set him up with her granddaughter. I would never get that last cup of white chocolate mocha he always bought for me in the mornings. He was gone. Dead. And to think we were foolish enough to promise to marry each other if by the time we were 45 we hadn't found someone else.

After about an hour sitting there on the floor, crying my eyes out, someone knocked on the door.

Shakily opening the door, the secretary I had been recently getting to know appeared with a smile and letter in her hands. She left shortly after, saying she had spoken with our boss and that I had the rest of the day off.

On the letter was the familiar chicken scratch of my late co worker and best friend. I slowly read his writing, savoring the one sure thing I had left of the man I didn’t realize was my best friend until it was too late.

My favorite person in the whole world~

If you’re reading this and I’m not here… That means something bad happened.

I don’t know if you remembered that one conversation that happened a couple years ago, but during that conversation, I promised never to leave you. I know… it was a stupid promise to make, knowing separation is inevitable, eventually, one of us might have left. I guess it had to be me. I broke that foolish promise and I cringe to think I ever promised you something so impossible and unrealistic.

If you’re reading this… it also means there’s a possibility you don’t know how much you really mean to me. In the case that you already know, I’ll tell you again. In the case that you don’t… I’d swim across the sea for you even though you know I hardly know how to swim. I’d trek across the hottest desert to make sure you were safe and sound. I’d scale the highest mountain and throw myself in front of a train for you. Chances are though… I never told you all that. I’m saying all these things, yet I didn’t have the balls to tell you in person. I’m such an cowardly idiot.

You know I’ve never been the best expressing myself verbally. I hope you forgive me for promising such a stupid thing when we both knew life is short and could, in a flash, be gone. I wish I could promise to never forget you. I wish I could promise you all the dumb, fluffy things we ridiculed while watching those absurd romantic movies. I wish my promise never to leave you had not been the empty promise it ended up as.

My only wish now is to hope this somehow gets to you and that you’ll never forget me… Don’t forget to find that guy that’ll spice up your life like I should have when I had the chance.

Your Key for however long you’ll want to remember me,

Kim Kibum

By then, his written words were hardly visible from behind the torrents of tears falling from my eyes. I was torn. I was angry. I was in complete and utter despair. My heart was broken. I wanted with all my being for this to be a cruel joke. It’d been too long without him though. It wasn’t just a cruel joke. He was truly gone. And with him, he took a good sized chunk of my heart I didn’t realize he had grasped in the first place.

I took sick leave for the next week. I scavenged the new papers, I sailed through the news clips. My worst nightmare was confirmed. I would never have a steaming cup of hot white chocolate mocha waiting for me. I’d never see his beautiful naturally contoured facial features or hear his teasing laugh again. I’d never get to braid his hair while he slept, I’d never get to read the ending of that story he was in the process of writing.

Had anyone told me before, I would’ve laugh and said they’re stupid. Only now without you here do I realize how difficult living without you is.

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thecreativeangel · 7 years

Text

Hurricane (Peter Parker x Reader)

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: A battle against Thanos leaves your unconventional family even smaller and more divided than ever. As you dig through the rubble to find their bodies, tempers flare at the slightest touch, including yours and Peter’s.

Warnings: This oneshot is based off of Hurricane by Flurie, I highly recommend you check her out. Definitely swearing, and MAJOR angst. Describes blood, gore, being ripped in half, losing loved ones, death, Thanos being a lil shit, going mad... I cri so much, my poor bby’s.

Word Count: 1647. That’s... less than I usually do...

Your could feel their hearts hanging in the air, chipping apart to splinters. How does a person begin to describe how icy cold and searing hot the pit in your stomach is when all you want to do is vomit until the pain goes away. There was no time for tears, not for you. You, who desperately yanked at Black Widow’s arm, the only part of her exposed under the chunk of concrete that crushed her legs. Every pull was another sound of flesh ripping as you separated her upper and lower body, the blood beginning to pool into a puddle, dirtying the toes of your shoes. With one last jerk, you and her upper body skidded back, your butt landing painfully on the destroyed sidewalk, a few feet away from the largest pile of rubble. What remained of Natasha Romanoff wasn’t much, but you had to lay her next to the others. You had to.

So, you dragged her limp half form across, the smears of blood intersecting with others. There would be no proper funeral, but years of mourning. She was laid next to Captain America, who’s cracked in half shield was already loaded on the Guardian's last getaway ship. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave their most precious belongings, it would be sin, absolute sin. Rocket payed no attention to you as you placed Black Widow’s pistols down next to Captain America’s cracked shield and trudged back to the wreckage. It was harder than ever to keep your composure, almost impossible. This was harder than you knew it would be, but you held your strength in the most when wearing thin. Take everything in slow; that was the only way not to break down right now, that was what Natasha told you before she died.

Thor was standing over Loki’s body. You didn’t know if he was crying his soul out or silently brooding because it would hurt too much to look him in the face. Gamora and Starlord huddled together with Groot under Gamora’s arm, watching Mantis sit over Drax, weeping loudly and muttering like a crazed person. She had been trying to heal him for two hours now, pressing her bloodied hands against the hole above his heart as if she had the power to make it better. You guiltily decided she had gone half mad with anguish, most likely for good. Wanda Maximoff was lying on a stretcher in critical condition, but at least she wasn’t in heaven with her brother yet… Bruce Banner was now standing over Natasha’s half corpse and you joined him, not knowing what else to do at the moment.

“You didn’t have to tear her apart.” He murmurs dryly, still looking down at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Bruce…”

He whipped around to you suddenly, his skin tinted green. “I COULD HAVE FUCKING DRAGGED HER OUT MYSELF.”

His voice echoed across the abandoned street and you shrink back. Banner unclenches the fists at his sides, bringing his hands up to rub his temples and you choose this moment to slink away, tears pricking your vision.

Reaction wise, Peter Parker the worst of them all. You approached him at Iron Man’s body, the man and the suit separated, but you didn’t know which looked worse. He heard you come closer, curse the enhanced senses, and wheeled around, pale in the face and red in the eyes.

“Are you going to take the suit.” It was more of a statement that a question, harsh and dead.

“Who cares?” He says, twisting his mask in his hands. “‘Cuz I don’t. I don’t care what happens anymore. I don’t care if his body fricking rots here, I don’t care if Thanos shoots me down himself.”

“Great way of thinking.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks loudly, temper flaring. “How ironic to hear that coming from you. What did you do to save him?”

“Don’t-” You say stepping closer. “Don’t give me that shit. I-”

“You failed!” Peter yells harshly. He never yelled at you. “We all failed! I could have done instant kill and I didn’t because I was fucking scared!”

“You’d have died if you activated instant kill,” You counter, trying hard not to explode. The temper had to be kept inside, fragile and composed, but still inside.

“I DON’T CARE!” Peter roars, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you roughly. “MR. STARK WOULD BE ALIVE NOW IF I HADN’T BEEN SCARED!”

“Shut up with your mourning!” You seeth, regretting every word of defense that was uttered. So close to breaking down, you ached to let him in, to tell him you understood. “You’re not the only one-”

“Who did you lose?” Peter asks incredulously, throwing his hands up. “No one, because you’ve got no on-”

You shoved him back with all your strength. He didn’t know the several times your life nearly ended because he was never there. Peter was never there when your hurricane came, he never knew. Your anger was several times the flame, too much for you to take, your mind roaring at you to tell him, to make him know what he missed. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but they weren’t sad tears, they were angry. Furious. Livid because…

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, ASSHOLE!” You scream, pushing him back again. “I LOST NATASHA! SHE ADOPTED ME, CARED FOR ME WHEN I WAS LIVING ALONE ON THE FUCKING STREET, I LOVED HER LIKE A MOTHER AND YOU STILL BITCH? HOW’S AUNT MAY, HUH PETER? HOW’S SHE DOING, SAFE AND HAPPY IN BOSTON?”

You gasp for air, loving to let go of the poison inside you. The sky evening sky burned red against your skin, ashes falling like a eerie rainfall. Words flowed out of your mouth, mixing with relief, weakness and self doubt. Peter stepped back, stiff as a board. The world you knew, the world you kept to yourself spun and churned around him in the wind. This was it, your hurricane had broken loose, the weathervane spinning out of control, fragile and exposed. There was a pained look on his face, but then again, that only scratched the surface of what he was feeling. The worst possible moment you chose to break down and give into the ache, letting him in. It’s all you knew, all you ever knew was this hurricane, standing there, rooted to the ground. Ashes were falling slow, dense like a pouring rain.

Peter moved. Rushed forward and tackled you in a hug, squeezing you like letting go would mean instant death.

“Let go,” You mumble stubbornly in protest, attempting to pry his arms from around your waist. Peter would deal with the pain like you did. Now both of you would know the hurricane. He would fall apart slowly under the pouring ash rain, just like you did. “Let me fucking-”

His sob made you forget everything. Peter Parker was sobbing into your suit, his chest spasming in heaping cries, burying his face deeper in the material. Peter Parker was broken.

“I’m s-sorr-” He couldn’t finish before another convulsion and he wailed pitifully, hiding against your shoulder.

“It’s-” You cut yourself off. It wasn’t okay, nothing was okay. You watched his emotions flow, regretting everything, because it was just Peter, after all. After this, he wouldn’t stay the same, but you didn’t ever think of how it would change him. You watched his emotions go, knowing both you and him would never be the same. Everything was messed up, beaten, burned, obliterated, but those words weren’t comforting. “It’s okay...”

Peter responded with a muffled wail. “Peter…” You murmur softly, running your hand through his messy hair, over and over. “C’mon, we have to-to go. You shouldn’t l-look at him an-any more-”

You were weeping harder now too, choking on the salt water that poured down your cheeks. Peter heard your distress and raised his head, cupping your face in his hands and brushing away the flow with the pads of his thumbs. It didn’t help, the tears were still coming in streams, but then he gave you a watery smile and you couldn’t help but mirror it, staring into his red rimmed eyes.

“Who’s helping who, huh?” You murmur, causing him to chuckle. He would change, so would you, but you didn’t know how, and that was okay.

“I love you…” He whispers simply, pressing his lips against yours. You respond immediately, the kiss tired and lazy, open mouthed with the absence of lust. Right now, all you and him needed was a bit of hope and a lot of love, just enough to glue the shattered pieces back together. You close your eyes and grip his sides tighter, cherishing the moment of peace.

You pull away, taking his hands off your face and lacing his fingers together with yours. “We’ll rebuild the Avengers.” You suggest. He tries to turn behind and look at their bodies but you force him to look at you.

“We’ll rebuild the Avengers.” You repeat firmly, staring into his eyes.

“I know we will.” Peter says softly, tearing up again. Here you were, building yourself up again after such a defeat, like a true warrior. He was beyond proud. “We’ll be different after this, y’know. I don’t know how we will change…”

“Stay with me then,” You whisper. “We can save them, if we try.”

He squeezed your hand and sniffled. “‘Course we will. We always do.”

And so it known to you and him that life has a funny way of restarting itself. While everyone else is living peacefully, some take on the job of bringing the peace at the sacrifice of their own sanity. In a hurricane of heartbreak, misery, torture, pain and suffering, all it takes is to find the tiny drop of hope that, in your case, came in the shape of a lanky sixteen year old boy named Peter Parker.

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goggles-mcgee · 7 years

Text

You Are Watching: GHOST KING (part 22)

As soon as Mitchell left with Connor, Reyna slowly turned towards Nico and crossed her arms. “Why did you do that?”

Nico smiled as innocently as he could at her and chuckled, “What ever do you mean?”

Reyna gave him a look that let him know she didn’t believe a single word he said. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well your brother was telling me about how he would tell Mitchell how he felt but he didn’t want to do it at a party where he couldn’t get him alone without looking suspicious or something like that, so I told him that I would help.”

“And your idea of helping is knocking some poor kid into a giant ass bowl of punch?” Reyna asked in a dissapointed tone as one of her eyebrows raised.

Nico gave her another sheepish smile. “It was the only thing I could think of.” He weakly defended.

“What was the only thing you could think of?” A familiar voice interrupted.

The Italian quickly turned around and was pleased to see Will standing behind him wearing that dazzling smile he always wore. Nico smiled softly at him.

“Uh, nothing. You’re hear finally!”

“I’m sorry it took so long but the car kept giving us trouble and eventually I had to call one of my brothers to come give us a ride. To my surprise both of them showed up.”

Reyna looked surprised at that and chuckled. “Your brothers actually drove you to a high school party? Like actually?”

Will sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “Yup. They were even proud of me…? It was weird. I’m pretty sure Matthew teared up a little.”

Nico laughed at that. “Oh wow.”

“Yeah so that was how my night has gone so far, how about yours?” Will asked as he leaned closer to Nico and slung an arm around his shoulder.

“More interesting than I thought it would be actually.”

“Oh? Does this have something to do with what you and Reyna were talking about?”

Before he could even utter a single word, Reyna cut in. “He pushed Mitchell into a bowl of punch.”

While the dark haired teen glared at his best friend, Will gave Nico a shocked look and then he looked disappointed.

“Nico, why?”

“Okay she makes it sound a lot wprse than it was. It was to help Connor talk to Mitchell in private! I admit there was probably a better way to go about it but that was all I could think of. And it worked! They’re up in Connor’s room right now probably sucking face.” Nico defended himself as best he could as he pouted. He really didn’t want his somewhat boyfriend to be lecturing him when they could be hanging out with each other instead.

Sensing his distress, Reyna and Will decided to give it a rest - at least for now.

___________________

Things were going great. Will even somehow convinced Nico to dance with him, and he knew Nico took dance and everything but it was still surprising how good he had danced and how alluring he looked while doing it.

Their little group of Reyna, Lou Ellen, Cecil, Nico, and himself pretty much stuck together. And they were having fun, that is until Nico stopped laughing. Will had turned to him to see what was wrong, his eyes were wide open, his lips slightly parted and he went pale, well more so.

He and Reyna dragged Nico into a quiet part of the house, Reyna’s bedroom. He didn’t even protest, he just let himself be dragged and Will did not like that one bit.

“Nico, what’s wrong?” Reyna asked as she grabbed his shoulders and tried to get him to look her in the eyes. But they were so distant and unfocused.

Will was worried, really worried as he brushed Nico’s bangs out of his face and felt how cold the boy was. “No…” Nico murmured.

“No, what? You need to talk to us, Angel.” The blond stated as he cupped Nico’s face.

His dark eyes slowly seemed to come into focus but neither Reyna nor Will let him go.

“We need to get everyone out of here. Now. I don’t know how….I don’t know why, but there is a poltergeist here. A very strong one.”

“A poltergeist?” Will asked incredulously.

Now Reyna looked worried.

“Yes a poltergeist! And it’s not happy and it’s violent and we need-!!” A scream cut through Nico’s hysterics.

The three were silent until they heard more screams, and all at once they ran back to the party.

As they ran, they had somehow met up with Mitchell and Connor.

“What’s going on?” Connor asked worriedly.

“We don’t know! Let’s hurry!” Will answered as he grabbed Nico’s hand and felt it tremble.

They ran until they came into the room of screaming teens. They were trying to open the door, the windows, anything, but they weren’t opening. And a good chunk of them were frozen and starring at something with their mouths parted.

Will felt Nico tug his hand out of his and turned to ask if he was okay but stopped when he saw what everyone was staring at.

There in the air was a boy suspended. His back was arched at an unusual angle, his mouth was wide open….and his arms…and his legs….they were being pulled into odd angles. It was terrifying.

And Nico…Nico was so pale but he looked angry. Will saw him practically lock his jaw.

And then everyone was screaming again as the boy started to fall to the floor. Some guys actually went to catch him. Probably his friends. As they checked on him to make sure he was okay Nico turned to look at some of the football players.

“Look, those doors aren’t opening right? Break open the windows we need to get out of here now!” He shouted.

Everyone looked shocked, but as stuff started to levitate and thrown around, they listened.

It was chaos.

Pure chaos.

Nico continued to glare up at the chandelier, it looked as though he was having a silent conversation with someone.

As soon as the football players got some windows out of the way the door burst open. People didn’t question it. They just ran.

Will nearly got trampled as he tried to get Nico to move. With the help of Percy, who seemed to come out of nowhere and Reyna, they got him out of there.

This was more excitement than Will wanted when going to his first party.

(( beta tested, beta approved ❤ @honestoafault ))

#gk #ghost king #gk pt. 22 #solangelo #conchell #nico di angelo #will solace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #percy jackson #connor stoll #mitchell pjo #gk pt. 21

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icenineporcupine · 7 years

Text

“Lonicera Paellax”

Ignis/Aranea (FFXV) | 3.2k words | I’ll tag it M but it doesn’t really deserve it

Authors Notes: Oh god, there wasn’t enough content for this ship so I made some??? Have 3,000 words of Ignis over-intellectualizing the entire universe, and Aranea being her generally sassy self. Pre-Altissia. Canon compliant where there’s actually canon to be had. Vague musings of Iggy’s backstory. Allusions to Aranea/Ravus.

“So what is this plant we’re hunting for, again?”

“Lonicera Paellax.”

“Great. Got anything more helpful than that, Ivory Tower?” Aranea’s voice was a taunting barb a few paces behind him as they picked their way through the beach rose and scrub pine of the Vannath sea-cliffs. “I’m not writing a dissertation. I’d just like to be able to spot the damn things before I’ve crushed them all to hell. These boots aren’t exactly ballet shoes, you know.”

Ignis smirked. Of course he new that the scientific name was useless in their current context, but he liked the sound of the words… and maybe the sound of her frustration.

“Colloquially, it’s better known as the Dawnshy Honeysuckle,” he clarified. “It’s a small flower of white, blush, or yellow—long and thin as a bugle, with five pointed petals resembling a star. Its season spans mid-April through late July, but it only blooms at night. I expect we’ll have some competition from the fruit bats.”

“Better bats than demons,” remarked Aranea, dryly. “It must make one hell of a syrup, if you’re willing to lose sleep to hunt for it.”

“The prince enjoys it with his breakfasts. And I can think of far less savory—or sweet—reasons I’ve lost sleep of late.”

She didn’t reply to that, and he hadn’t exactly expected her to. Still, any opportunity to bait her for information had to be taken. He couldn’t make heads or tails of their current situation: a seasoned dragoon on Niflheim’s payroll, and the chief advisor to the Lucian heir, making idle horticultural chitchat on a midnight hike.

He endlessly replayed the last half-hour in his head as they climbed. They’d left the others back at camp. Noctis and Prompto had more-or-less been asleep during dinner, and they’d quickly passed out afterward without lifting a finger to clean the dishes. Gladio had at least tidied up after himself, but after that he’d quickly retreated into his latest reading material. It was some pulpy spy-thriller they’d picked up at the last convenience store, but he seemed to be enjoying it, and Ignis wasn’t one to look down on a man for reading. So, with a soft sigh, he’d stooped to pick up Prompto’s overturned drinking glass and a plate of Noctis’ overlooked vegetables, and begun the task himself.

Aranea easing in beside him and reaching for the dishrag had been unexpected. He’d figured she would leap at the opportunity to remove herself from Prompto’s constant and adolescent flirtations. Frankly, he wouldn’t have blinked if she’d slipped off into the trees and abandoned their party entirely.

But there she’d been, drying the dishes as he washed them, and they’d fallen into an unexpectedly comfortable silence. She’d removed the heaviest of her armor, retaining her boots and belt atop a simple black leather ensemble, and Ignis couldn’t help but notice how much smaller she seemed without all the freakish spikes, and perhaps softer, too—but no less cryptic. As she’d taken each plate and cup from him, he kept glimpsing a jewel on her wrist: polished amber with some bit of flora or fauna trapped within. Something about it unsettled him—he felt like he was noticing for the first time, every time he’d spotted it.

“You own more cookware than weaponry,” she’d goaded. “Do you plan to fight the empire with forks?”

“A well-fed warrior is a better weapon than any blade he or she might wield,” mused Ignis. “Surely you’d recognize that.”

“Of course I would, but you can feed just as well by shoving a pig on a spit and tearing off chunks with your teeth. No cutlery required.”

“If you’re into that sort of thing…” he’d allowed, carefully.

“I’m into all sorts of things, specs,” she replied, opaquely, but when he’d risked a glance in her direction she didn’t return it.

When they’d finished with the dishes, she’d dropped casually into a chair across from Gladio and resorted to wiping the day’s blood off her lance. He’d belatedly realized she was still using his dish towel, and he must have sucked a breath through his teeth, because she’d met his eyes and seemed to know exactly what she’d done to distress him. But she’d made no move to apologize.

He’d spent a few long moments staring into the fire, restless in his rolled shirt-sleeves, and wondering if the atmosphere felt as tense to either of his companions. Finally, maybe out of desperation, he’d announced his plan forage for culinary garnishes on the hillside.

Gladio had simply nodded with a grunt, turning the page of his book. But Aranea had cast the now ruined rag to the ground, gripped her weapon with renewed resolve, and rose from her chair, asking if he’d mind a little back-up.

He certainly didn’t mind. It helped that Aranea was a great deal more than a little back-up. Three days ago she’d taken them by surprise while they were already being taken by surprise by demons near Costlemark. He’d wanted to be furious with Dino for even suggesting they visit the cursed ruin, but he grudgingly accepted that there was likely a royal weapon within, and Noctis’ need for the Lucian Armiger outweighed the danger of the jeweler-journalist’s ulterior schemes.

Ultimately, he’d only been furious with himself for not preparing better for the inevitable fight.

But she’d bailed him out of his miscalculations, descending from the sky like some Valkyrie of ancient myth, and driving her pole-arm swiftly through the largest demon’s throat. As it fell thunderously face-first into the dirt, Noctis had whooped in glee, and Prompto had squealed like child in admiration. Even Gladio had uttered a hearty hell yeah! But Ignis hadn’t taken the time to gloat. They’d needed to finish off the rest of the demons while they had an advantage.

That didn’t mean that the image of her arrival hadn’t burned itself upon his mind, though. Every so often it would occur to him again, like an unexpected flash of something that strangely resembled hope.

“You spoil him, you know.”

Her comment shook him from his meditation. He slowed and turned to face her, and the lamp on his belt tossed its lurid, green-yellow glow upon her. She threw an arm across her face with a curse at the sudden brightness, but then slowly lowered it, squinting at him as she met his gaze.

“Prince Noctis has suffered much in his short life, and if the current circumstances are any divination, he still has many more trials to survive. Cooking is one of the few ways I can grant him respite from that destiny. You didn’t have to accompany me.”

“I wanted to,” she replied, simply. Her eyes were the misdirecting, mossy green of garden stepping-stones, and her face lay as passive as the moon casting its light across Angelguard to the east. If she’d been chastised by his words, she didn’t show it, and any ill-will he might have fostered toward her seemed to hang in the air, suddenly unsure where to aim itself.

Why. His mind screamed. Why are you here? He had to know, but he knew better than to ask. A tactician never admitted to the question in his mind; the question was a weakness, to be concealed and mitigated through other means.

Something swooped between their faces, shattering their stalemate and sending them both ducking. She grabbed hold of his wrist to steady herself, and it shocked him so much he nearly stumbled himself.

“The hell?” she hissed.

“Fruit bats!” said Ignis, and right then he’d never been so relieved to see them. He righted himself and sent a hand through his hair. “We must be close! Let’s follow them.”

“Ugh,” she said. But she met his stride as they pressed on through the brush, chasing the barely-there silhouettes of tiny, winged devils against a carpet of constellations.

“So, who taught you to cook?” she asked, after awhile, “You’re very good at it.”

“My mother, originally,” he replied, “And eventually the royal chef and his staff.” He ended the sentence with a full-stop, careful not to sound wistful or uncertain, to leave no vulnerability exposed, and yet—

“What happened to her?” she asked, instantly, and he grit his molars.

“She was among the casualties of Niflheim’s original invasion of Tenebrae,” he said, “—as was my father, before you inquire further.”

“Didn’t mean to pry,” she said, “I’m sorry…” and she sounded so completely genuine in her apology that he nearly shuddered. That couldn’t possibly be right. Of course she’d meant to pry. He huffed a sharp sigh.

“There’s not much for you to be sorry about. It was before your tenure with the Empire, after all.” He made the comment lightly, but he thought he caught her grimace from the corner of his gaze. Maybe he was just fooling himself. “And honestly, aside from the recipes, there’s not much I remember of either of them. I fled Tenebrae with my Uncle, a diplomat, and we received asylum from the late King Regis. I’ve trained in his court ever since. A simple story, really.”

“Nothing juicy to tell the Emperor, you mean?”

“I mean, it’s a simple story—and a very simple sentence, in fact.”

She laughed, and it was a surprisingly soft thing—nearly a silent thing, like the flutter of the bat wings they followed.

“I was orphaned too—well and truly orphaned at that; no extended family,” she confessed, after a beat, “though I’m sure you’d already worked that out in that brain of yours.”

I haven’t worked out a single thing about you.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Are you?” she asked, almost amused at the thought. And for a moment he was struck with a vision he hadn’t prepared himself for. Aranea Highwind, as she might have been were she raised in the same halls as he. Fierce and free-spirited, but dressed instead in Kingsglaive fatigues, she vaulted recklessly off the top of the Insomnian citadel, only warping to her lance just before she hit the ground. She landed perfectly before him, and pushed the spectacles up the bridge of his nose with a fingertip, grinning wickedly.

He mimicked the imagined gesture with his own fingertip, and frowned.

“I am. I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry you were fostered by a furnace so foul as Niflheim.”

“It wasn’t all bad. At least not at first,” she shrugged, but she was hugging herself a bit as they continued, and he didn’t think it was because of the evening chill.

“All the same,” he said.

After some time, they finally found what he’d come for: a cluster of rocks near the top of the hill, bursting with honeysuckle vines. The blooms were easy to spot in the moonlight, and a hint of fire—trick of Lucian elemancy Ignis had tucked away in his satchel—soon made short work of their Chiroptera competition.

With the last of the magic, he lit and handed Aranea a torch to keep the bats from returning, and knelt to pluck a bloom from the vine. He unstoppered a glass phial and drained the nectar into it. But instead of immediately reaching for the next specimen, he paused, and spun the little flower between thumb and forefinger.

“If you’re contemplating giving that to me, you should know I’m not a flowers and candy kind of woman,” Aranea teased over his shoulder.

Ignis smirked, pulling a small burlap sack from his satchel and depositing the flower there instead. He hoped the fire wasn’t bright enough to reveal the way his cheeks had burned at her words.

“They brew a decent cup of tea,” he explained, moving along with his harvest now, meticulously collecting the dewy liquid and leftover petals. “And if you aren’t wooed by flowers, what should I make of the cuff on your wrist?”

The fire flickered abruptly, as though she’d recoiled her hand in surprise.

“What do you make of it?” she parried, and his stomach took a slightly sour turn. He continued his work as he spoke, flatly:

“A single sylleblossom, embraced by amber and framed in embroidered leather. Sable leather. Lovely, but contrary to the rest of your aesthetic. A well-meaning yet misguided gift, I should think -- from a well-meaning yet misguided Tenebraen suitor. Tell me, how long have you been seeing Commander Nox Fleuret? And what is the true nature of the errand you’re running on his behalf?”

Almost definitely too bold. What's gotten into you? He half expected her to drive her lance through his neck, just as she’d done with the demon. Some royal strategist you are.

“There are a hell of a lot of Tenebraen boys besides the High Commander,” she laughed, instead of killing him. “You, of anyone, should realize that.”

“Perhaps, but not many Tenebraens would encounter you, in your current occupation, and fewer still possess the assets required to negotiate with you.”

She huffed a defeated noise, and he chanced another glance over his shoulder. She was looking out across Galdin Quay, toward the place where the sky met the sea. The breeze licked at the flames of the torch in her hand, and her pale pewter hair.

“You’re a sharp one, specs. I gotta give you that,” she said, after a moment.

“It’s my job,” he replied; it was almost a reflex.

“Oh, I know. But not everyone is competent at their job,” she said. “It’s actually pretty rare.”

“If you think that flattery will—”

“For the record, I saw Ravus for maybe a year,” she cut in, turning back to him. “You pretty much summed him up: well-meaning but misguided.”

“And yet you still wear the bracelet.”

“Harder to misplace it if I keep it beneath my bracers,” she shrugged, snuffing the torch in the dirt beside her feet. Apparently she’d decided it was no longer needed. “I thought I would give it to Lady Lunafreya, after I see Noctis safely to Altissia, as a show of good faith from estranged brother to sister.”

“You expect me to believe--”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” said Aranea. “You’re way too smart for that.”

His head was spinning. He put the stopper back on the nearly-full vial of honeysuckle nectar and tucked it away in his jacket, for fear he would drop it.

“If that’s been your motive for accompanying us this whole time, why not just say so.”

“Who says Ravus is the only person I answer to?”

Ignis took off his glasses and squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars.

“You think I’ll just wait around, with Noct’s life in the balance, with the fate of the world in the balance, until Ravus and Ardyn Izunia conclude their bidding war for your allegiance?” He replaced his glasses and his free hand crept to the hilt of his dagger, easing it inch-by-inch from its sheath. “That’s not a risk I’m comfortable with.”

“Actually,” she said, so close behind him that he nearly flinched. So much for those boots not being ballet shoes, he thought, absurdly. His knuckles ached for how hard he gripped the dagger, but a moment later her fingers found his -- a soft, cool caress -- and coaxed him to abandon his defenses. “I was hoping you’d outbid them both, and settle things outright.”

Her nose brushed his earlobe as he turned his head toward her.

“Me,” he said. He hoped he sounded skeptical and not stunned silly, which was closer to how he felt right then. “With what funds, exactly?” he laughed, “I am Noctis’ advisor, not his treasurer. And the majority of Lucis’ wealth lies lost in the rubble of the Insomnian citadel. I have nothing to offer you.”

She laughed, and it sent lightning through him, head to foot. “Ignis Scientia, born of the lofty spires of Tenebrae, sharp as his daggers, wise-beyond his years. In the war rooms of Niflheim they whisper that he carries the weight the world and the life of the future King upon his shoulders, yet he never dreams of slouching. They claim he’s a master of history, military strategy, astronomy, anatomy, medicine, and the culinary arts. And yet he hasn’t the damnedest idea why I followed him up this hill in the middle of the night...”

“To be frank, I’d been betting on murder,” muttered Ignis, his mouth suddenly very dry. She slid her hand around his bicep and he was turning toward her in spite of himself. “Although, I hadn’t ruled out sheer boredom --”

“Shut up, Stupeo,” she whispered, and kissed him.

And oh, for the love of Etro, he’d had the damnedest idea. He’d known the entire evening, since she’d met his eyes across the fire, since she’d hovered at his side as he’d cooked, since they’d first pulled into camp. He’d known since she fell from the sky three days ago, backed by the afternoon light like an angel. He’d known and he’d insisted that he didn’t. Because this was madness. This was outright stupidity. Outright treason. He couldn’t trust her.

But he’d taken one look at her when they’d first skirmished, weeks ago, and for the first time, his mind had dared begin a sentence with I want, instead of Noctis needs. And right now, with his lower lip caught in her teeth, and her fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt, his entire body had resolved to finish that terrifying sentence as swiftly as he could.

---

“Seducing the strategist would be the best way to ensure Niflheim gets what they want from Noctis,” muttered Ignis, darkly, nosing through Aranea’s hair. At some point they’d wandered back down the hill to the campsite, but they’d opted for a spare quilt and the embers of the fire over the crowded comfort of the tent. The stone was hard beneath Ignis’ back, but it made the press of her body seem all the softer. “You’ve made a fool of me—are you pleased?”

She hummed idly, pressing a kiss to his throat and smoothing her hand against his chest.

“You know, I’ve never actually said I am working for the Chancellor. That’s been you.”

“Right,” said Ignis, yawning. “Of course. A completely baseless assumption on my part, I’m sure.” He was tired, but not beyond the capacity for sarcasm.

“Maybe I just have a crippling weakness for Tenebraen accents kept on short leashes by heads of state.”

He snorted, and brushed his fingers down her spine.

“We’ll see which of us winds up crippled from this whole affair,” he replied.

“Are you always this morose after you get laid, or do I need to try harder?”

“You’re welcome to try anything you like,” he admitted. “Short of putting me on a spit and tearing into me with your teeth, if your earlier comments are to serve as a benchmark.”

He pinched her thigh, and she squawked a curse and swatted at his hand.

“Quiet now,” he teased, “Don’t want to wake the children.”

“Make sure to keep telling yourself that,” she laughed, and slid down his body beneath the blanket. She left a trail of tiny kisses across his stomach, followed swiftly by the sensory deluge of her hair against his skin. If this is what all the philosophy texts meant when they said keep your friends close and your enemies closer, then he felt he’d done pretty damn well for himself.

#(please come suffer with me)#I haven't written a fanfic in 5ever #I just really love them verbally mindfucking the hell out of each other #ffxv #ignea?#ignis x aranea #ignis/aranea #it's from my days in milan boys #maybe somebody will come suffer with me?#my fic #oh god I wrote a fanfic #sorry I don't have an Ao3 so it's just going to hide here and rot #sorry it kinda just ends? idek #uhhh hi #what have I done #ignis scientia

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