#the shitty dye job is in our hearts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insomniamamma · 4 months

Text

Spinner: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A/n: Okay, so this one got real personal real fast. Many of Spinner’s insecurities are my own. I meant this to be a soft little snuggling for warmth fic, but then things happened. Even in a world than hasn’t entirely gone to shit, it’s so hard to hang on to doing the things you love even if they don’t make you money or get you likes or clout. Also, I rabbit holed a lot about the spinning process and plant dyes but there’s only so much i can do. Any inaccuracies are on me.

Warnings: slurs. Mentions of past relationships gone bad. Shitty family dynamics. Reader is neurodivergent, diagnosis unspecified. Old enough to be married on outbreak day. Ageism. Bullying. Gruff Joel.

No one in Jackson calls you by your name. You’re Spinner or Weaver or Yarn-lady. Turning wool into yarn into clothing that spills out of your needles when you can’t sleep, socks and hats and mittens. You had a spinning wheel, looted from the historical society, but it was old and dry as a bone and the wheel split the one time you tried to use it despite how careful you were, so now it’s the drop spindle, the endless rhythm of it, a sensation so close to your own pulse that you don’t think much of it any more. Waste of time your father told you when you built a loom in the garage, your useless hobby your ex-husband called it as if he didn’t spend all his free time playing GTA and Zelda and Final Fantasy. Every family gathering since moving out a hybrid of when are you going to settle down, when are you going to give us grandkids, when are you going to get a real job, as if you didn’t spend half the year doing paid demos and plying your wares on the ren-faire circuit, good if not entirely predictable money, but it didn’t count because you didn’t make it in a cubicle farm.

You always knew you weren’t like them but could never quite pin down what made you different, what made you other, your Mom told me not to marry you because you’re a fuckin retard, your ex had spat during the fight that ended your marriage. And, for as shitty as your ex was, you knew he wasn’t lying about that part. Two brilliant sisters and then you. An odd afterthought of a girl. Got yelled at for staring at people when you weren’t looking at anything at all. Got yelled at for not making eye-contact, look at me when I’m talking to you.

Funny how they’re all dead and you’re still alive.

You hear folks talk sometimes. Waste of time if you’re asking me. They drug a whole container of clothes from the old Walmart. In your mind you grab them and shake them and yell in their faces that that world is never coming back, that we’re gonna have to get our shit together real quick or our grandkids are gonna be wearing untanned hides and rotting plastic tarps. But you don’t. You just spin your wool into yarn, and do your assigned tasks. Everyone helps everyone. That’s how things work here. Folks come and help you pick and soak and scour the fleeces. You show them how to card the wool and how to make drop spindles of their own and turn fleece into yarn, but most of them give you odd pitying looks. That world is dead, you want to tell them. It’s been twenty years. It’s not coming back, but you know in their secret hearts they don’t believe it.

Everyone helps everyone. So that means you help with the gardens, help with the harvest, help in the kitchens, reinforcing a gate or raising a barn or clearing brush for firebreaks. You’re at your best when you can work with your hands and not have to talk much. Everyone helps everyone and you know how people think of you with your wool and experimental plant fiber yarn and onion skin dyes and mordants. You can feel it even when they don’t say it right out loud. No place in this new world for people like you. Only the strong survive. So you put yourself on the roster for watch duty and patrols. Watch duty is fine by you. Sit in one of towers along the wall and peer out over the vast and unchanging dark, rifle leaned against the wall in case something happens, two way radio for emergencies only and it’s quiet and unchanging and you don’t mind at all.

Patrol is a different animal. Why do you keep signing up for this? Maria asked you, I know you hate it. Can’t make someone else do something I won’t, you told her, but that’s not the whole answer. You want to feel like you’re doing something real. Like you’re contributing. Like you’re not as helpless, as useless as everyone seems to think.

You show up for your assignment. A foot patrol. Day out and day back. Over night in a shelter house a little over halfway round the trail. You’ve got a bedroll and a change of clothes and the canvas bag you use for foraging. Your patrol partner eyes you skeptically and you curl into yourself. Everyone’s heard the rumors about Joel Miller. People shrink from him. You’ve seen it. When he comes into the tavern or the caff or the lending library people suddenly find someplace else to be. Figures. “You Spinner?” “Yeah.” “I’m Joel.” “I know.” “You good to go?” “Yeah.” He looks at you the way someone might look at an odd bug or a difficult equation, and then turns down the trail and you follow.

He doesn’t say much. Which is a relief. Last time you were on patrol you were paired with Ez who could not shut up for the life of him. That trip out and back was a running commentary of things Ez missed and things Ez remembered and a million other things you could not give the faintest of shits about. Joel doesn’t try to engage you in conversation and you are glad for that. A soft hold up means he needs a moment to go take a leak in the weeds, and you creep off too to do your business. You’ve seen plants along the trail that you could use on other patrols, sumac berries and oak galls, but you never said anything, just tried to remember on the off chance you’d be out here again.

“Joel? Can we stop?” The question surprises you as you ask it. He turns to look at you, “This is curly dock.” You hunker in the tall weeds on the side of the old road, logging trail most likely, frantically clipping stems and pawing roots out of the ground, dirt plating itself under your nails, scrabbling for what you can get before Joel tells you to hurry it. Even dried out and dormant, it’s still good. “What’s it for?” “For making dye. If I can find the right mordants I can get some nice golden yellows from the roots and the seeds. I’m still figuring it out.” “How much you need?” Joel hunkers down beside you and starts slicing off the flower heads that look like clusters of coffee grounds. You shrug. “I was just gonna fill this bag,” you say, “I’m still testing it out.” Joel stands and you yank a few more roots out of the ground. “I’m gonna make a blaze,” says Joel, slicing lines into the bark of a young cottonwood. “Huh?” “So the others’ll know there’s something useful here.” “Thank you.” Joel nods, folds his blade away, puts the knife back in his pocket. He turns and continues along the winding game trail and you follow, small smile playing at your lips. Useful. Not a word often used for you and what you do, you and yours. The other artisans. Figuring out how to tan hides and dye wool and save seeds because that world isn’t coming back. They’ve managed to drag a few trailers of that world from the Walmart, teams of horses foaming around their bits, sweat darkened flanks and for what? Clothing and shoes and cans and dry goods for now. There’s only so much to be looted. And then what? That world isn’t coming back. Even if cordyceps went away, that world isn’t coming back. Who could fix the world? Not Fedra, that’s for damn sure. Not the folks in town who talk too much.

He stops walking and you almost collide with him. “Look.” You follow the track of his raised hand over his shoulder, a herd of deer crossing the path, a buck standing stone still, looking at you with shimmering black eyes, antlers curling up like old tree branches, while the does and yearlings cross behind him, all long limbs and flicking ears and quivering noses, and you feel yourself smile. You remember a time in your life when seeing deer in the back yard was a magical thing, you and your siblings and your parents pressed to the curve of the bay window, watching them pass through the trees like shadows. Even after everything you’ve seen since, your heart contracts with the old wonder. “They’re beautiful.” You glance at Joel and see the curve of his smile, the way it dimples his cheek. “They are.” The buck flicks his ears and springs off into the gray light, the rest of the herd gone like ghosts, and the wind stirs after them, and you pull your coat closer, tuck into yourself. The faint spats of rain against your cheeks have turned into a steady, miserable drizzle. Nothing to focus on but how cold you are and Joel’s retreating back, and you silently curse yourself for not dressing warmer. Bright blue sky scrimmed over and swallowed by low, blank clouds, not quite cold enough to snow, but the damp air makes your knees and hips and knuckles throb. Should’ve dressed warmer. Fall in this part of the world can turn on a dime.

Not too far now, he says, but by the time you reach the shelter little pellets of sleet are mingling with the rain. Shelter is a rough, drooping structure with yellowed plastic sheeting taped over the small windows, crude wood stove blacked with smoke, ugly welded chimney poking up past the sagging roof. Joel hunkers in front of the wood stove. Folded cots lay against the wall and you pull one out and unfold it, smells like mold and motor oil, and you get another one, one for you and one for Joel. “Shit,” he murmurs low, “Wood’s all punky.” “Will it catch?” “Yeah. Maybe.”

You and Joel sit on your cots and eat, bread and cheese brought from home. The fire in the stove burns low and ugly. Joel has set up lengths of firewood in a straggled ring around the stove, hoping the heat will dry them, but the cold creeps in, unroll your sleeping bag and try to rest. Sleet spats against the roof, against the plastic shrouded windows, wind blows hard enough to send huffs of smoke back down the chimney, not that the fire is doing much, seething hiss and low smolder, sluggish embers, weak orange glow that does little to ease the cold. You jam your hands into your armpits and curl yourself tight, crunch your eyes closed and wait for your own breath to warm you, but there’s no position, no way of tucking your limbs against yourself that does a damn bit of good, the cot creaks and squeaks with each shift of your weight.

“Stop movin around so much.”

You can see the slope of his shoulders picked out in the weak firelight, his back to you. Your throat constricts and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You lay with your arms crossed, peering up at the cobwebbed beams I won’t cry, I won’t, but the tears slide out of you all the same, fever hot where the rest of you is so cold, close your eyes and try to make yourself stay still, at least until Joel falls asleep. Your teeth chatter. You can’t stop it. You wonder for the millionth time why you’re still here, familiar poisonous rut that your mind runs in, why are they all dead and I’m still alive? Can spin wool into yarn while people snicker behind your back for it, you know that world isn’t coming back, the easy one where you could go to a store and buy a heavy coat to keep you warm, an electric blanket to keep you warm, once this is over, you hear them say sometimes, once this is over I’m gonna eat nothing but rare steaks for an entire year, once this is over I’m gonna buy my girl a ring, once this is over, we’ll never be cold, we’ll never be hungry, we’ll never be hunted once this is over. You feel your chest tighten. Your breath comes hard and fast. Your chattering teeth and ragged inhales betray you. You hear him move and tighten your arms across yourself, try to stop your tears and teeth.

Joel knows the sound of muffled crying. Tess would cry sometimes in the dead of night, curled away from him, when she thought he was asleep. Your shuddered inhale and tight clench of your shoulders give you away. His first impulse is to turn over and ignore you, let you blend into the spackle of rain and sleet and let sleep take him, but a dull spike of guilt lodges in his gut, can’t fix the world, but maybe he can fix this.

“Hey, Spinner, you okay?” You roll on your side, poke your head out of your sleeping bag to look at him, can’t quite meet his eyes, you shake your head. “Can’t get warm,” you say, “It’s stupid. My hands--“ “That wood should be a dried out a little,” says Joel, “Try and see if it catches.” You get up and moving around feels a little better, hunker by the wood stove and tuck a length in, flames licking low and yellow, you blow into the fire, hoping the wood will do more than hiss, more than useless white smoke of escaping water vapor, hold your hands in front of the low lazy flames and grey-ashed coals. You prod at the small nest of logs with a stick, turn one over and the fire licks up bright. You can hear Joel moving around behind you, scrape and rustle and he’s pushed the cots together, he’s unzipping his sleeping bag. “What’re you doing?” “I’m gonna zip these together,” he says, “It’s warmer this way.” Your cheeks and ears burn. You shouldn’t even be out here. Can’t even keep yourself warm. Can’t look at him. “You don’t have to--“ “C’mere.” You glance at him, his dark eyes shining in the weak firelight, “It’s okay.” You nod, more to yourself than him, crawl in beside him and zip the bag around the two of you, and before you can protest, Joel has pulled you half atop him, rubbing his hands briskly down your arms and back. “When we were kids, Ma got it in her head that we should go on vacation for Christmas and see real snow,” he says, the motion of his hands rucks your shirt up a little and he smooths it back down. “Colorado?” you ask. “Maine,” says Joel, and you laugh through chattering teeth, “Ma rented us a cabin out in the ass end of nowhere. I’ve never been so cold in my life. Dad showed us how to zip our sleeping bags together. It was warmer after that, ‘cept Tommy wouldn’t stop kicking me. Here. Give me your hands.” Joel folds your hands into his, squeezes your fingers, and then cups your hands in his, and blows, breathes into the cage of his hands around yours, you remember coming home from a day spent playing in the snow, cheeks and ears and toes and fingers burning as they warmed and your Mom taking your hands like this and breathing into them like this, and your eyes scrim over, sink your teeth into the meat of your lip but it does no good, the tears slip out. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” For everything, you want to say, but don’t. “Weather turned on us, that’s all.” Joel rubs his thumbs over your knuckles, “You don’t need to be sorry.” Presses your hands tight in his, holds them to his chest, and that’s how you fall asleep, warmed by his breath, hands folded together between you.

You don’t speak of what happened. Just pack up your gear and head home, following him down the trail, it feels like he turns to check in with you more, but maybe you weren’t paying attention on the way out.

“Hey you got a package!” says Ellie. Joel misses coffee. Almost killed a man over a dented can of Folgers, misses the taste and smell and waking slow with a cup cradled in his hands. He’s barely staggered into the kitchen, barely nursed the coals in the stove into life, waiting for the kettle so he can have some herb tea that warms his hands at least, but Ellie is up and bright eyed and talking a mile a minute. “Package?”

“On the front step, stupid.” Joel rubs at his eyes.

“Why don’t you quit yappin and bring it in for me?”

“Lazy ass,” says Ellie, but Joel hears her grin, hears the door open, feels the puff of frigid air. Ellie plops an irregular bundle wrapped in string and old newspaper on the table. “I gotta go,” she says, “Gonna be late for school—“

“Hey! Did you eat?” But Ellie’s already out the door, leaving Joel to examine the lumpy parcel, rain-dotted darkening newsprint scavenged from God knows where. Joel unties the string and winds it into a careful coil, turns the bundle over to unwrap it. Thought I’d return the favor, the note reads. No name, but who else could it be? Broad scarf of thick cream colored wool with a pair of socks to match. He runs the pads of this thumbs over the precise rows of stitches, brings the bundled scarf to his face and breathes in, not unpleasant smell of sheep and grass.

“Oooooh, looks like Christmas came early!”

“Ellie!” Joel feels his face going hot.

“What? I forgot my bag,” she says, scooping said backpack off it’s hook by the door, heads back out into the bright, bitter day, frigid air blowing loose snow across the threshold, turns to grin at him, her split eyebrow quirked up. “You know she likes you, right? She actually smiles when you’re around—“

“Git! You’re letting all the warm air out.”

“If those socks fit you can thank me!” And then she’s gone, door closed behind her.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel says to his empty kitchen. Wraps the scarf around his neck, just to see how it feels, imagines your hands busied with knitting needles, maybe a spinning wheel like in Sleeping Beauty, hands that felt like ice in his, the uncertain way your eyes would fix on his and flick away, didn’t say more than three words to him until you happened on that patch of weeds in the ditch along the trail. Burdock? Curly dock? It looked like used coffee grounds on stems, but you were so happy about it. Your face lit up. You smiled. He sits at the kitchen table, hoping that Ellie hasn’t forgotten anything else, and peels his socks off, threadbare, thinning at the heels, so he can try on the ones you made for him. They fit perfectly. Gonna have to talk to that girl about prying into grown-ups business, the thinks.

You wouldn’t be here if not for Lina’s birthday, she came to your place with three cakes of beeswax, knows you need it for waxing the finer threads you spin, the ones for leatherwork, for sewing book pages onto spines, we’re getting together at the Bison! You should come! And Lina is one of the few people in town you like. She’s always been kind to you, never seems to mind when you start talking scouring and lanolin and how you want to start working with plant fibers. She’ll talk endlessly about her hives and how the weather effects the honey, what’s in bloom and what isn’t and how it changes the taste. So you sit with Lina and her handful of friends, drinking hard cider and wishing you were home sitting in front of your wood stove drop spindle in your hand, endless, thoughtless repetitive motion until sleep calls you. When you spin the things you’ve seen recede, slows your ever racing heart. You fidget, calloused fingers rubbing together, the motion you make when you spin, not wanting to be there, but not wanting to let Lina and the other half-dozen people you interact with down, an impromptu artisans meeting, you and Lina, Jimbo the paper-maker and his daughter, Tim who used to teach high school chemistry before everything went to shit. Joel’s here, him and his brother seated at the bar, talking over their drinks, faces serious. You feel yourself start to smile. You’re not sure if he’s been around more, or if you’ve started noticing him more, like playing punchbug when you were kids, there were Volkswagen Beetles everywhere if it meant getting to hit your cousin as hard as possible without getting in trouble for it—

“Oh look it’s the Artists.” You feel your jaw clench and Lina puts on her brightest, cheeriest, go-fuck-yourself smile. “Hi, Kev,” Lin chirps, “To what do we owe the pleasure?” “Maybe I want to wish you a happy birthday,” he says. Kevin and his lot. Supposed crack-shots. Take every opportunity for long patrols, ex-military if you believe their yap. Picked off some clickers and expect everyone to kiss their asses. “Consider it wished—“ “And maybe I’d like to know what we’re risking our necks out on perimeter for--“ And this shit right here is why you rarely leave your house, if it’s not Kevin it’s some other jerk wanting to know what you’re here for. Same question you’ve asked yourself so many times. Why are they all dead and you’re still alive? What are you here for?

“Maybe I want to know what you ar-teests are doing while me and my boys our out risking our lives in the dark.” You know how this will play out, how it always plays out, Lina will placate him with offers of hot honey and soap, the rest of you will bend the knee, make polite noises about how you wouldn’t be able to do what you do without people like him keeping you safe. Never mind that no one’s seen a proper pod of clickers or runners in months, a few lone stragglers and that’s it, your eyes flick up to Jimbo’s and you see the resignation there. Let him have his say, take the ribbing and move on, and you see Joel, pushed back from the bar, looking your way. Your face goes hot and your neck goes tight and you are angry, Kevin and his bullshit always makes you angry, but this is different, brighter and sharper, and before you really know what you’re doing you are up in moving yourself into Kevin’s personal space.

“How those Walmart socks holding up? Your little toesies start poking through yet? Getting a little thin in the heels?” He grins wide, hands on his hips, “You offerin to mend my socks, Spinner? Got a girlfriend for that. ‘Less you think you can do better-“ He laughs and his dumb buddies do the same— “What’s this shirt made of?,” you pinch a bit of his yellow and black flannel between your fingers, “Feels like a cotton poly blend. Probably more poly than cotton. Too bad.” “You tryin to flirt with me, here, Spinner? Bit long in the tooth for all that aren’t cha-“ “You know why wool is so much better than poly-cotton blends like this? Wool holds its heat even when it gets wet. You can wear wool in a rainstorm—“ “So what?” “So you’re gonna have a cold walk home.” You dump your nearly full pint of cider down the front of Kevin’s cheaply made flannel shirt, turn tail and bolt for the front doors.

“Woo!” “You tell im, Spinner-“ “You fucking BITCH!” “Don’t.” Joel’s voice the last one you hear before bursting into the snow-shot night.

You fetch up near the huge pine tree in the town square all lit up for Christmas, on the steps of the gazebo where the choir’s set to sing a few days from now, a rag-tag group led my Moira who’s got to be pushing ninety and teaches the kids how to read music and pick out middle C on the desperately out-of-tune piano in the Hall. They sound so sweet together. For now the square is silent save for the gentle ticking of snow falling on snow. You’re cold and you should go home, but your rolling gut says to sit right here and wait, a couple pints of cider and spent adrenaline roiling your insides. Stupid, you think. You’ve made things worse, Kevin and his goons will just double down, but you were so angry— “Hey.” You glance up from the nest of your hands and the gathering snow, feel Joel settle beside you on the step. “Hey.” “That was brave, what you did in there.” “How come I feel like I’m gonna throw up, then?” “You want me to break his legs?” You look up at him and he’s smiling, a little one that just curves his cheek. “You’re joking.” “Mostly,” says Joel. “If Kevin bothers you again, you come tell me-“ “You’re wearing the scarf,” you say, and feel yourself smiling wide, and now his eyes flick to the side. “It’s real warm,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.” And you sit in the silence together for a beat, mesmerized by the slow falling flakes, catching and haloing the strung lights. A few years from now, these bulbs will be candles, but for now it feels a little bit like it used to. Joel stands and offers his hand. “Can I walk you home, Spinner?” You let him pull you up off the step. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Tagging @oonajaeadira @grogusmum @sp00kymulderr @boliv-jenta @writeforfandoms @quicax3 @fromthedeskoftheraven @artemiseamoon @the-blind-assassin-12

#pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #tlou

85 notes · View notes

jujumin-translates · 2 years

Text

Event | the Rad Red | Chapter 8

*Clapping*

Rento: Banger job!

Banri: That was a nice finishing touch.

Juza: This should be no problem for the real thing.

Azami: Yeah.

Taichi: Even though our rehearsals are good, I’m sure I’m still gonna be nervous once the audience gets here…

*Door opens*

Director: Pardon us.

Omi: Good work.

Sakyo: Already done with rehearsals?

Rento: You’re a second too late. You’ll have to wait until the show to hear the performance.

Director: Tsuzuru-kun said he wanted to use the performance as reference for the script, so he’ll be here for the show.

Rento: RadRe is some top-tier stuff, so I’m sure he’ll be able to use it for all it’s worth.

Juza: RadRe stands for…Rad Red, right?

Director: Taichi-kun, you’re the one who decided on the name for the band. Is there a reason for it?

Taichi: I took “Rad Red” from “Radical Red” which means like, “intense red”!

Taichi: I originally got the idea from my trademark red hair.

Taichi: I’ve been thinking about for a while now how long I can keep this red hair, and how if I stop having my red hair, I’ll give up something that’s important to me and become an adult…

Taichi: I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I have no clue what the future holds, but I know I don’t want to let go of my red, which is what’s important to me no~w.

Taichi: I’ve come to believe that I’m gonna wanna keep dying my hair bright red, no matter how old I get.

Taichi: I also thought that maybe it’s possible to become an adult by letting go of something, but…

Taichi: Since we’ve met, all of the older members have always been proud to say, “I don’t want to lose on stage”.

Taichi: That’s why I’m also holding onto my favorite color that I found during my teenage years within some da~rk memories!

Director: Not wanting to change the parts of you that are important to you… The lyrics and the band’s name are filled with that wish.

Omi: It’s a great name.

Taichi: Ehehe, I know I put a lot of my personal feelings into this, but…

Juza: It’s your song, Taichi, so you were free to put whatever you wanted into it.

Omi: I’m glad you were able to put that into words into something that can be left behind.

Azami: That reminds me, the other day Taichi-san said that the person he associates with being an adult the most is Shitty Sakyo…

Azami: And to think he’s the one who’s still dyeing his hair blond at this age.

Sakyo: Hah?

Taichi: Ahaha! So how long are you going to be keeping your hair blond, Sakyo-nii?

Sakyo: Haah… Fine, I’ll be a blond, old man until the day I die.

Taichi: Yeah! Then I’ll have my red hair even when I’m an old man too!

Taichi: I knew you were always the “adult” I wanted to be, Sakyo-nii!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Sakyo: …Almost time.

Director: Tsuzuru-kun isn’t here yet, so I hope he’s okay…

Audience Member A: I wonder if Banri-kun and the others will be doing more music-related stuff in the future.

Audience Member B: Seems like it’s only a one-time thing.

Audience Member A: Maybe it’s advertising for the next play~.

Omi: Looks like some Autumn Troupe fans came here too.

Director: Hopefully this will put Taichi-kun at ease more.

*Door opens*

Tsuzuru: Just in time!

Manager: Barely made it~!

Director: Ah, I’m glad you did!

Tsuzuru: Haah, haah… The train… Was a little late and I was wondering if we’d even make it in time…

Omi: Are you okay? Do you need to get a drink?

Tsuzuru: Ah, I got a drink ticket but… How do I use it?

Manager: This kinda system takes some getting used to~.

Director: --Ah, here they come.

Taichi: Hya! Now I’m nervous because there’s so many audience members!

Omi: He seems surprisingly relaxed.

Banri: Taichi, thought you were gonna introduce us.

Taichi: Ah! We’re the Rad Red!

Taichi: Usually, we’re theater actors, so we’ll be playing one song as the opening act and then getting off stage right after, but…

Taichi: We’ve been practicing this song with all our hearts and souls so, please enjoy!

Azami: Hope you enjoy it.

Juza: Yea.

Taichi: The song is an original composition, composed by Ban-chan, who’s standing next to me, arranged by the manager of our theater troupe, and with lyrics written by me for the first time in my life.

Taichi: The reason I wrote this song was to leave something big behind in my last year of being a teenager…

Taichi: I wrote this song in the hopes that when I listen to it as an adult, I’ll be able to vividly remember who I am now.

Taichi: I looked back on my teenage years, when I went through a lot of tough times, did a lot of things I shouldn’t have, and lost myself in tons of different ways to be able to write the lyrics.

Taichi: But even so, I put all my thoughts about the incredible bond with my friends and my identity into this so I don’t lose sight of them anymore!

Taichi: I wanna sing with Ban-chan, who is next to me right now. He’s one of my greatest supporters and my friend and also both the leader and rival of Autumn Troupe.

Taichi: So listen up! This is “Dawn of the Red”...!

*Dawn of the Red stars playing*

Director: !!

Director: (Wow, the sound is resonating through my whole body. I didn’t know live house music could sound like this.)

Director: (It’s like the power of a storm hitting a punching bag… This is what Autumn Troupe is all about…!)

Sakyo: It ain’t a bad song.

Omi: …I agree.

Tsuzuru: …

Manager: Yeah!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Applause*

Taichi --.

Taichi: Thank you so much!

Taichi: We’re also performing during our play on Veludo Way, so definitely come to see it!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Door opens*

Taichi: We’re back~!

Banri: ‘Sup.

Director: Welcome back. Did you have fun with the opening?

Taichi: It was super fun! Everyone loved the song!

Banri: There were people from the music industry and whatnot, and it was interesting to hear what they had to say.

Juza: The atmosphere was a lil’ different from the usual company-related openings.

Azami: Yeah, didn’t seem like it was ending anytime soon, so we just decided to head back.

Director: Good job, everyone.

Tsuzuru: Taichi, can I talk to you for a sec?

Taichi: ?

Tsuzuru: When I was watching you perform today, I got an idea for the Autumn Troupe script.

Tsuzuru: I wanna write a story about a band called “Rad Red” with that song at the end of it.

Taichi: Eh!?

Tsuzuru: I don’t want it to be just a success story, I want it to be a bitter coming-of-age story like what I felt from the song today.

Taichi: Uwaah, really!? That’s crazy that a script can be written from just a song…!

Tsuzuru: If you have any other requests, lemme know.

Taichi: Any other…? Hmm, well…

Taichi: I want the main character to be a guy who yearns for an intense red, but thinks it doesn’t suit him.

Taichi: I want it to be a story where he can finally sing that song with confidence at the end.

Tsuzuru: …Got it.

Tsuzuru: I feel like I’ve got the whole plot of the story figured out all at once. I’ll definitely make sure the story will be an important one for you, Taichi.

Taichi: Thank you so much!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3!#a3! translation #taichi nanao #banri settsu #juza hyodo #azami izumida #sakyo furuichi #omi fushimi #rento kinozaki #isuke matsukawa #tsuzuru minagi

28 notes · View notes

tender-rosiey · 3 years

Note

Last part! Maybe👀

But the latest post was so pure that I started to tear up😭💕💕💕

Thnx alot it really was a bless and made me smile from the the rough week I had lately🥺❤

Okay lets get down to business~

From giving birth to how they took care of the child to raising him/her or maybe twins👀💕to growing up u can divide it to parts if u want i won't mind😊❤

Same characters Atsushi/Chuuya/Dazai

❥ BSD characters as parents

Includes: Dazai, Chuuya and Atsushi

ᴀ/ɴ: I am really glad you liked it, dear; I am honored that you find my writing as such and I hope everything gets better for you. I hope you like this as well and my apologizes it’s late; this was so heart-warming to write oml 🥺💘

Dazai Osamu:

Dazai would be terrified I tell you

Like what if he does something wrong that leads them down the path he loathes :(

That’s why you reassure him alongside your beautiful baby

Let’s say you had a girl cause I think a girl would help in making dazai be more smiley and affectionate cause you know how most girls when young like affection?

That’s why

Anyways so, the first months of raising said spawn of satan are like hell for our little brunette

I believe that what would happen is that our little girl would see him as the vomiting stop

So like if you fed her and gave her to dazai to help her burp then she will take it as the cue to vomit to which made dazai think she hated him

“But y/n she keeps crying and screaming when I hold her, she must hate me; she never does anything with you.”

One fateful day however he had to take care of his lovely daughter for a whole day

Cause you had enough of the bullshit of the house and decided to go on a hangout with your friends

So let’s see how he dealt with this, she was not accepting of him AT FIRST and he was on the verge of giving up

But dazai then started humming a song and gently cradling her and swaying her in his arms

Your little girl liked his voice and held his finger while he was calming her down and smiled

That made dazai’s day a lot brighter, but he managed to contain his excitement so he doesn’t scare her

And when you came home you found them sleeping and she was in his arms clinging to his chest as strong as she can 🥺

Now cause I am not going through her whole damn childhood I am gonna talk about her first step and first word

THE FIRST STEP HAPPENED WHEN you two were chilling like the good bad parents you are on the couch

And your daughter wanted to join you people cause apparently she was put on the naughty corner due to somehow spilling pink dye in the shampoo of your husband

So like the determined baby she is, she tried crawling but found out it’s taking too long

So she tried copying how you sweeties walk

And she did :D

So when you looked to her side to check up on her, you saw her walking to you with her arms in the air and then pulled dazai by his arms and told him that she is walking

And he whipped his head SO fast you were afraid he would snap his neck

He took lots of photos and videos

Now her first word was basically a competition between you dummies

“She will say dada first!”

“No, she will say mama first!”

“kukida!”

“…”

Great job, darling

And you both lost to a handsome and respectful blonde

Chuuya Nakahara:

S/N means son name btw 😚

“OH MY GOD Y/N HE LOOKS SO HANDSOME!”

chuuya sweetie we don’t scream beside a newborn child and a woman who just gave birth

I honestly think he would be g r e a t with children

Like sometimes he does take care of Q I believe and he gets along fairly well with Kenji

Who wouldn’t get along with kenji

Anyways he would be so excited and proud of the child you gave birth to

And he was basically fangirling

Chuuya and his kid will get along so well, like your baby would just beam whenever chuuya comes home

Also fight me if you think Chuuya Nakahara wouldn’t take millions and billions of photos and videos of his children

A L L OF HIS CHILDREN

Be it eldest, middle or the youngest of them

He views them as treasures that should be valued every single moment

awie, I love soft chu chu

Now onto the memories

THE FIRST STEP

Yes you are only getting the two major events, deal with it you lovely people

As i was saying

THE FIRST STEP HAPPENED WHEN YOU AND CHUUYA WERE IN A MEETING

And your kiddo missed you two :(

So what did he do?

Be a champion like his dad said

Tried his best to walk to the meeting room and he did

Did the guards stop him?

They just went soft and opened the door for him like he is a damn boss

And then you felt something tug at your leg and giggle

I will let you imagine how the rest of the meeting went with chuuya carrying you both excited about his kid’s first step

The first word was not something with a good aftermath for chuuya however—

“Dazai that absolutely and utterly shitty shithead!”

“Shitheath!”

“Shit”

“Shit!”

“NO STOP REPEATING AFTER ME! AT LEAST SAY DADA!”

Cue you entering

“Hey S/N!”

“Shit!”

“WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?!”

“Dada!”

“CHUUYA NAKAHARA I AM GONNA KILL YOU!”

“Oh shit! Dada!”

Atsushi Nakajima:

Nnnnnn

I believe he would have a girl

Cause he is such a girl magnet

Like kyoka and lucy

Reminds me of midoriya in that aspect

Anyways he would be so nervous to hold her but excited

Like “y/n I wanna hold her so bad but what if I drop her? :(“

He does end up holding her and crying tears of joy

What a cutie <3

Anyhow your daughter would cling to him like a koala and would only leave him when hungry or she absolutely misses you

He doesn’t wanna let go either honestly

BUT COME ON

YOU DIDNT STAY IN LABOR AND CARRIED HER FOR NINE MONTHS IN YOUR STOMACH TO END UP NOT HOLDING HER

Most of the time you would find them playing with each other

Your daughter also squishes his cheek a lot

That was a sweet introduction

Almost too sweet

Let me ruin it

THE FIRST STEP

The great uncle dazai had came to pay a visit to his lovely ‘nephew’ and subordinate

“Hello Atsushi and Y/N! I came to look at my beautiful and gorgeous nephew! :D”

Which brings me to the point that your daughter adores dazai with her whole heart

So she was sitting playing until she saw him and got so happy she stood up and walked towards him clumsily

The three of you malfunctioned

Dazai was so happy tho 🥺

She loves him that much? Plz that’s too much for his poor heart

He picked her up and spun her around

“AHHH SHE WALKED HER FIRST STEPS BECAUSE OF ME! YOHOOO!”

Meanwhile you and your husband are just staring at each other in confusion

Her first word was the classical mama but how and why she said it was absolutely heartwarming

So she was sitting in the lap of atsushi as he was showing her pictures of stuff so she can get to say anything

And then he reached the word queen with its picture

“And this is queen.”

“Mama!”

“Hehe, it’s a queen.”

“Mama!”

“Yeah, mama is a queen!”

“Yay!”

He was so happy cause he managed to film it and showed it to you

Let your reaction be of your choice <3

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

418 notes · View notes

alovesongshewrote · 3 years

Text

Almost A Thousand Years - Wizard Underground | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot: You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years. You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years. And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain. But somewhere in that time, things changed. [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count: 7,579

Warnings: Canonical Character Death!! (and torture)

A/N: buckle up kiddos, it’s about to get angsty. the gif does not match the energy at all, but it’s from the episode so, yeeeeet

Taglist: @furblrwurblr @rainningdoom @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458 @sitherin-mxschief @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip @dolphincommander @sorrels-scribbling @anxious-stitcher @alive-and-afraid @animedweeb333 @douxiesdamsel @saroski05 @justarandomhoman @tales-of-hisirdoux @blixeon @yagirlcheesely

When the green cleared, the sky looked more or less the same. Dark, stars, clouds. It was clear you were home though, both from Douxie saying so and the immediate urge you had to murder him. Well, you couldn’t say you weren’t expecting it, but it still sucked. The drive to end Douxie’s life was always a real mood killer whether or not you were expecting it.

“Welcome back to the twenty-first century!”

“Ah! Sweet pollution! How I missed you!” Steve choked as he inhaled a lungful of said filthy air. Normally, that wouldn’t be a great thing, but you were sort of thankful for it this time. It distracted Douxie from the whimper that left your lips, from the way you sank to the ground, clinging to the railings, struggling against yourself. This was Not Fun.

Steve, however, was still having a wonderful time, “Heh! And reception!! Hot dang! So many messages.”

From the high-pitched chimes that rang out through the air, you could only guess that Steve was looking at his phone. You couldn’t really see at the moment due to the sudden and blinding pain in your stomach. That was new! You weren’t really sure why that was happening, or how Douxie didn’t feel it, but it probably had to do with the Arcane Order and your lack of homicide!

Across the ship, Jim let out a scream, the shard in his chest glowing red and sinking deeper. Fucking lovely. That was two of you in shard related pain. What was next, you losing control and killing not only Douxie but everyone on this damn ship? Another wave of pain rolled through you, which brought an end to your sarcastic thinking. At this rate, that outcome looked less and less insane by the minute. You bit your lip in a silent prayer that nothing else would go wrong. Then Camelot fell out of the sky.

“Oh, shit.”

Douxie’s words shocked you enough for you to open your eyes and look at him.

“D-Douxie, you-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry, hang on tight, love!”

You did as instructed as your wizard flew the ship towards the falling castle, pulling up right beside it at what appeared to be the perfect time.

“Need a lift?”

“Douxie!” you could hear Toby’s voice, but you couldn’t see him. The momentary release granted to you by shock had worn off, and now all you had left was the pain. You shut your eyes and kept them closed, focusing on not passing out, or committing murder, or passing away. Actually, that last one might not have been so bad. At least it would end your suffering and the threat you were to others. That wasn’t going to happen though.

You could hear Archie now, the familiar’s voice was… well, familiar, and it was comforting to you, in an odd way, “But you’re trapped in the past!”

“Not anymore!”

“Took you long enough. We have much to talk about. Like- them?” you didn’t have to see Merlin to know he was talking about you, and in your current state, you were indeed worthy of conversation. You were curled into a ball, shoved against the rails of the ship and trying your damnedest not to cry. You felt like shit, you probably looked like shit, and Merlin didn't even like you in the first place, so yeah, you were something worth mentioning.

“D-don’t worry,” you choked out, “I’m fine. Focus- on Jim.”

Douxie did not want to focus on Jim. He didn’t want to focus on anything except for you at that exact moment. What was happening to you? Why was the love of his life doubled over and in obvious pain when he barely felt a thing? More than anything Douxie wanted to help you. He wanted to make the pain stop, and he wanted to hold you close and make sure you were okay, but Jim, unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the pov, had perfect dramatic timing.

The poor boy let out a groan, the shard glowing red once again, and causing everyone more concern. You knew there was no way in hell he could have heard what you said, and the groan was probably because Aarrrgh, Toby and Blinky had all boarded the ship which made it move a bit, but you liked to think he was on your side.

You could hear Toby scream something that sounded like a question, and you knew that Merlin replied, but there was only one voice that mattered to you. He said your name, sounding scared and anxious. It broke your heart, but you said nothing. You didn’t want him to notice you any more than he already had, because if he did, he would try to help, and that meant getting close to you, and if he did that he’d probably receive a broken neck for his troubles. Nobody wanted that. Least of all you.

“I-I’m getting everyone home safe, as promised.”

Merlin said something else, and you felt another shift as something, or rather, someone, landed on the ship. A small squeak left you, you couldn’t help it. Everything just hurt so bad, and you honestly didn’t know how Douxie wasn’t feeling it. You were thankful for that, of course, you’d never wish for him to be in pain, ever, but this was just so intense! You could barely function, you just had to keep breathing, hoping that the next inhale would somehow end the pain.

Another series of squeaks and gasps escaped you as Douxie maneuvered the ship through a field of castle-shaped debris. In any other situation, you’d have complimented him, but at that moment, you were trying to avoid causing anyone any bodily harm. It was difficult while you were flying, but as soon as you landed, things got wayyyy harder.

Douxie approached you cautiously, not wanting to hurt you and not wanting to trigger anything that might make you hurt him. The rest of the squad had jumped off the ship, so for it was just you and your wizard. For all intents and purposes, you were alone with the person you’d been sent to kill. There was nothing stopping you. His hands were raised in surrender for god’s sake. Why was he making this so difficult?

“Douxie, you need to go.”

“I- no, I’m not leaving you, we have to go, we have to get somewhere safe-”

“No, you need to- just get off the ship, I’ll join you in a second.”

That was a total lie, of course, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t seem to register it, either. He just looked at you sadly before taking a step back.

“We’ll fix this. I promise you, we’ll fix this. I’m not going to let anything else hurt you.”

You tried to laugh, but the attempt was pathetic, “I know.”

And then he was gone. You could hear Jim screaming somewhere in the night. The sound drowned everything out, submerging you in a sea of guilt. That kid had suffered through so much, and now this. You knew his pain. He didn’t deserve this, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

Douxie was going through the same motions. You were in pain, you didn’t deserve it, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not yet, anyway. He was bound and determined to help you, to end the nightmare you were living in. And it was indeed, your nightmare. He couldn’t feel a thing, even after centuries of sharing your pain. Even now, he could still feel the ache of your cracked ribs, but there was nothing beyond that. He didn’t know what was happening to you, or why, but he knew it terrified him. If this, whatever it was, took you from him, he didn’t know what he would do. He couldn’t stand to lose you. Not after all of this. Even as he spoke with Merlin, his thoughts never left you. The image of you curled around yourself, face contorted with pain, lips bleeding as you bit them to stay silent, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

You, however, were haunted by something else.

“Nari, come back to us and finish the work you have begun!”

“You misunderstand our grand vision.”

Oh, fuck.

You pulled yourself up, desperately clinging to the rail, pausing every time your vision went white. You weren’t sure yet whether you were going to run away or fight, but the first thing you needed to do was hide. If you chose to run, they couldn’t see you. If they did, they would chase you, capture you, and torture you again. If you chose to fight, you wanted the element of surprise. So, yeah. Hiding was a good plan.

You threw yourself over the edge of the ship. It was not graceful in the slightest, but no one saw, so it worked out well enough. Your plan was going according to plan, even if everything hurt and you longed for the sweet release of death. You let yourself lean on the ship for a second, closing your eyes against the pain. The cold metal stung where it met your skin. It sucked. Everything sucked. This whole Order ordeal sucked. You wanted to go home. But where even was home? Right, it was the black-haired wizard boy with the shitty dye job who you’d loved for years.

A green light flashed on the other side of the ship, and you knew you had to make a choice. Either run, and keep running, the same thing you’d been doing since you escaped your life as a spy, or stay and fight. Run or go back to the start of your story and change the meaning. To fight, not for Gunmar and an eternal night, but to protect the people you loved, the town you lived in, and the punk wizard who owned your heart. Yeah, no. That choice was already made for you. It had been for almost a thousand years.

Without a sound, you dragged yourself around the ship and waited for the right moment. It came faster than you’d expected, but that wasn’t a huge deal. You snuck behind the green Knight, and when he demanded surrender, you struck him with your sword. He stumbled forward for a second, and that was it. The only solid hit you made in that fight. Ah, the element of surprise, everyone’s favourite element.

You ducked as the Knight's sword sliced at your throat. Your movements were delayed by a few seconds, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. You just had to keep going.

Your sword clashed with his, once, twice, a third time, and on that third, you were sent flying back. You scrambled to your feet just in time for another attack, this one accompanied by words. Whether it was a monologue or a taunt you couldn’t tell. Your brain was focused on not dying. You heard him call you a traitor, and a servant before he declared that your soul was his. You didn’t have a smart response for that, so you just kept fighting.

Up, down, side, dodge, sweep the leg, parry, twist left, over and over again. You were almost on autopilot, one hand still clutching your busted ribs, the other doing its best to keep you alive. There was no coherent thought, just adrenaline and movement. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, select start. Jeep, dodge, ram him with your face, or whatever the hell else kept you alive. There was nothing left but basic instinct and training that you’d never forgotten. This was your fight. And you weren’t actually that bad for someone who was half-dead. At least, you weren’t until the Green Knight knocked the sword from your hand and grabbed you by the throat.

Everything went numb. Your vision was lighter as if a filter covered the world making everything bright and hard to look at. You heard everything and nothing at the same time. It was all… dull. Like you were hearing the battle from somewhere far away. Douxie screamed something that you couldn’t make out, there was a muffled guitar riff, another scream, someone calling you a traitor, and- wait. What in the fresh hell was that? Did someone just fucking roar?

You were dropped, and you rolled out of the way just in time to see a troll you’d never met charge at the Knight. You sat still for a minute, struck dumb by this turn of events. Then you felt yourself freeze, ice creeping into your veins as you realized what was going on. You couldn’t hear Jim screaming anymore. You looked back to the ship. He wasn’t there. That left one, probably unreasonable explanation. The new troll was Jim. Fuck.

Pulling yourself to your knees, you took another look at your friends, gathered by the ship. It looked, for a moment, like Douxie or Claire would run into the fight. You couldn’t let that happen. So, you did the one thing you could think of, the one thing that would keep them out of this. You stabbed yourself in the leg. It wasn’t a big stab, just a little one. Just enough to convince Douxie that you’d lost control and were now out for his blood. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped. You could see your wizard fall to one knee. His eyes met yours, and for one second, everything was still. He was there, and you were here, and you were both alive, but on opposite sides of this battle. That’s how it had always been. Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be. You were back at the start again. A scared kid on the wrong side, clinging to what little light you had left. There were tears in your eyes. You don’t know how they got there. Maybe it was the stab wound, but you didn’t really believe that. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head. He saw you. He stood. And then they were gone.

You smiled, for a second, despite the tears streaming down your face. They were safe, for now. They had a chance. Your momentary peace didn’t last long. Holding his sword above him, the Knight took control of Jim, the red light that ran through his veins turned green, leaving the troll on his hands and knees. At the same time, the pain in your stomach subsided, allowing you to stand, finally. You readied your own blade, but before anything could be accomplished, the Knight turned to you. For once, you could hear what he was saying.

“Attack and the beast dies.”

There was no other choice. You couldn’t let anything bad happen to Jim. You lowered your weapon just as Bellroc jumped from the castle and landed in front of you.

“Take them with us,” you flinched back at their voice. That sound only brought back memories that you would rather forget. Fear took you, and you allowed the Green Knight to grab your shoulder and guide you back to the castle. This was not going to be fun.

Speaking of things that weren’t fun, Douxie was having the worst possible time right now. After hiding in an alley, making his way to Hex Tech, and dealing with a less than pleased Zoe (which involved explaining that he had found you, found out exactly why you left, and lost you again,) he was more than a little bit tired, which was fair. To make matters worse, his leg stopped hurting somewhere between the field and the alleyway. You were on the Order’s ship. They had you, and god knows what they could do to you without him knowing. Quite honestly, Douxie was beyond terrified at this point. He wasn’t really sure what he was. In any other circumstance, he may have been paralyzed by pure fear and anxiety, but someone had to keep Claire from murdering Merlin, so paralysis was a no go. He was sure he’d have time for a nice mental breakdown later, after you were safe. For now, he would focus on keeping the peace, making sure nothing got broken, and forming a plan to get you and Jim home.

You were playing the same game with a different set of pieces. You stayed silent and obedient, making yourself as small as possible to avoid taking up space and pissing off your captors. No matter how panicked you were, you maintained an aura of calm for both your sake and Jim’s. You couldn’t let your emotions slip. Not here, not now. Not that any of your efforts were doing much good. You still flinched with every quick movement, bit your lip whenever someone got too loud. This was not a good situation, and you were straight-up not having a good time. It only got worse with the resurrection of Morgana. It was all too loud, too bright, too- too familiar. This was too close to what happened the last time you were here, and you were terrified.

Your hands were cold. You tried to focus on that, but for the life of you, you couldn't stop thinking about every bad thing that happened to you within these walls. Someone was yelling, someone else screaming, and you couldn’t tell whether it was real, or if it was a memory. You didn’t even care that the Green Knight was the old king. You just wanted to leave, but for now, against all odds, you had to stay calm. It was not working. At all. Especially when the room turned on you.

“And as for you, treasonous witch,” y’know, that wasn’t a very original take coming from a primordial ice god. You were honestly a little disappointed. In terms of torture, Skrael had always been a bit more creative. Perhaps, subconsciously, you’d expected that to carry over. It didn’t. In any other situation, you would’ve told him to get some new material, but Bellroc swiftly prevented that by throwing you into the center of the room. You hit the ground hard. Hard enough to blur your vision and clear your mind, but there was no time to process the pain.

“You have failed us,” the flaming demigod’s voice darted from high tones to low ones, sending a chill down your spine. If Bellroc was angry enough to lose control of their voice, you were beyond screwed.

Both demigods drew nearer to you, looming over your damaged figure, “You will pay for this.”

You winced, preparing for the burn of ice or fire on your skin, but no impact came. Instead, you felt a harsh tug on your hair as Bellroc forced you to face them. Both demigods looked way too calm, though you could feel their anger, a flaming riot beneath their skin despite their icy exteriors. Their rage alone was almost enough to hurt, but what came next was worse.

“You are much too fond of that wizard apprentice… we will make sure he suffers for all of your mistakes.”

You felt yourself shaking as Skrael rasped out the threat, but you didn’t have much more time to react before you were thrown into a wall. That was where their fun began.

Douxie was having a significantly better time than you, but that didn’t mean he was enjoying himself. Over the sounds of Blinky cursing autocorrect, Merlin and Claire were having a battle of ideologies right in front of my metaphorical salad. The audacity. This, of course, was not easy on your wizard. His friend wanted to find a way to save her boyfriend. His mentor wanted to move forward and run away. Douxie also wanted to save Jim and you, but Merlin made a good argument about the fate of the universe and how if they didn’t leave now everyone would die. That argument, however, was not enough to erase the memory of your face from his mind. He still saw that image, you, distorted with pain and struggle every time he closed his eyes. The fighting only made things worse; especially when Merlin decided to put that face on screens around the room, side by side with Jim’s new troll form. I don’t know why he thought that was a good idea, but it was Not helping Douxie.

“James Lake and (Y/N) (L/N) are corrupted, gone! They cannot be brought back!”

“Or you’re just too stubborn to try!”

“Please, you both have solid points!” he could hear the stress and fear in his own voice. Good. Maybe it would make the universe feel bad for him and it would just… throw you through a window at him or something. He didn’t know or care at that point. He was too tired for this and too awake for it at the same time. His eyes hurt. His jaw hurt. Everything hurt except his leg which was just another reminder of how much he missed you. God, he was having an awful day, and it was going to get worse.

“I will not jeopardize the mortal plane for one troll and one wayward witch!”

“It’s what they’d do for us!”

“And look where that got them!” This outburst from his former Master frustrated Douxie enough to make him slam his head into the nearest flat surface and keep it there.

“What!?” Claire exclaimed, the screens around the room went black, your face and Jim’s hidden from view. It would’ve been a relief if Douxie had looked up to see it. “Come on, back me up here. Anybody? Archie? Douxie?”

He heard the question in her voice. Will you stand up for your significant other, Casperan? Or will you fail them again? He let out a strangled groan to answer the question.

Archie’s answer was more dignified, “Don’t look at me, cats don’t have the right to vote. Neither do dragons. Yet.”

The familiar’s body glowed gold for a minute as he changed forms. It was only a second of shining light, but it was enough to give Douxie an idea.

“Wait a tick. I know a way we can rescue Jim and (Y/N) without risking the world!”

“Is that so?”

“How?”

“If it works, it will be quite the little magic trick.”

And it would indeed be quite the little magic trick. Risking life and limb to save you and Jim would be one hell of a feat, but if there was anyone who could pull it off, it was this specific team. At least, that’s what Douxie told himself. He had to. He had to pretend there was hope and focus on the plan. If he didn’t, his thoughts drifted to you, to what the Order could be doing to you, and that persistent question in his mind, the one that asked if you were alive at all. You had to be. You had to. There wasn’t another option, though Douxie found, as he boarded the small ship, that fear was building in his chest. A sense of dread surrounding what exactly they would find, lying still on the floor of the Order’s base.

Douxie was shaken from the hell in his head when Merlin spoke, something about being concerned with the plan and heading into a lion’s den. Your wizard was growing tired of this.

“You gave me a staff because you trusted me, right? So, trust me.”

“Very well. I stand by your decision… wizard.”

The comment was shrugged off by its intended audience, “Everyone knows what they need to do. If we pull this off, we’ll get our friends back.”

In his head, Douxie begged whatever godly forces were out there (that were Not Arcane Order aligned) that they would get their friends back in once piece, safe and sound; though as the lights of the Order’s ship shone in his face, blinding him, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Oh well.

“Arcane Order!” the ship shifted to face him, a sign that someone was listening, “We’re here to barter!”

The skull moved down through the air, clicking and groaning as it’s jaw dropped to form an entrance, or at least something close to one. Douxie cast a glance back to his comrades, “And that means, ‘Come in.’”

“Wait, we’re flying into the bitey devil castle?” Steve asked incredulously, pointing at said bitey devil castle. Douxie nodded and flew them into the bitey devil castle. Bitey devil castle. I want one.

Steve, however, would not agree with that sentiment. Fear crossed over the teen’s face as their ship drew nearer to the larger craft. He shook so much while exiting the boat that he just fell over. Douxie, Merlin and Not-Nari failed to notice or maybe failed to care. Either way, Steve had an opinion on all of this. He did not like it, “Uh, this is supes dumb. Like, even I know it’s dumb and we’re still gonna go inside?”

If you had been in your right mind and entering the skull with them, you would have agreed, 100%. Unfortunately, you were not that. Instead, you were deeper inside the horror-show palace, writhing with pain and unable to think clearly. That sucked for you, but honestly, you were starting to get used to it.

Douxie, however, was not used to nor prepared for the sudden pain that hit him like a wall of bricks as soon as he entered the Order’s den. It started off intense, matching the pain you felt exactly, but it faded fast until it was a dull throb in the back of his mind. They’d hurt you. They’d hurt and maybe killed you because you didn’t kill him fast enough. That thought, that fact was going to haunt him for the rest of his days. He could already feel his breath coming faster, his chest rising and falling rapidly and leading him to disaster if he didn’t control it. To avoid having a panic attack, your wizard took in his surroundings.

The lair was, as many good evil lairs are, made of stone and lit light blue with moonlight. It was quiet, empty, so much so that Douxie had to mention the overwhelming silence just to hear something. Merlin did not respond. At least, not to him.

“Good evening, Skrael.”

The ice demigod appeared in a twister of ice and sleet. If he was anything other than an ice demigod, it would have been very uncomfortable, but alas, Skrael’s gotta Skrael, and that included monologuing in his chilling and creepy voice, “Surrendering already? I was hoping for a little more cat and mouse.”

Douxie was suddenly very uncomfortable knowing that this was the company you were trapped with during your ten-year absence. That this was all you’d heard for a decade. Douxie wondered, for a moment, against his will, what exactly they’d said to you in the past ten years. What horrors had you heard?

The wondering only got worse when Bellroc decided to jump in with a threat of their own. It was a classic, “You will be rewarded with a quick and painful death,” but Bellroc’s intimidating and ever-changing voice added a new level to the threat, something that most other villains lack. The Green Knight didn’t even make a threat, he just growled like a basic bitch.

Merlin didn’t care though. Basic bitches or otherwise, he got straight to business, “A fight here will end poorly for all of us. We seek a truce,” the old wizard turned to his apprentice and nodded. It was time for someone who did care about basic bitches.

“Good evening, doers of evil and ancient terrors. We have a proposal: a trade. One of yours for one of ours,” Douxie moved forwards and back again, his lanky-ass limbs swishing through the air, trying to illustrate his point. It was super effective.

“Our missing third in exchange for your troll mongrel?”

“You would give up your only advantage? What does this gain you?” both Bellroc and Skrael sounded confused, the perfect conditions for a lengthy explanation that would hopefully buy Claire all the time she needed to get Jim and you out safely.

Douxie took a short breath, “Yes, well, an excellent question, one that requires a long, thoughtful, time-consuming answer. Come on, Claire.”

Somewhere above your friends, your pain began to subside. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to stand and make your way over to Jim. You knew that it wasn’t really your boy, and you knew that he wouldn’t respond, but you made an attempt to speak with him anyway. You owed him that much.

“Hey there, kid.”

He grunted and moved away from you, retreating into the darkness, “Woah, woah, woah, easy buddy, just- try and stay in one spot for me-” your voice caught in your throat as another wave of agony rolled through you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the face of your old friend almost looked concerned.

You brought yourself back up, and a little gasp escaped you as the pain subsided. You were okay for the moment, but you didn’t know how long that would last. It was time to talk as fast as you could.

“Jim, honey, I need you to listen to me. I know how hard this is. I know what it’s like, trust me. But we- we have to fight this. You have a life to live, kiddo. You need to get back to Claire, to Toby and the rest of them, and I-” you cut yourself off before you could say you needed to get home, to get to Douxie. As much as you loved Jim, he was under the Order’s control. They’d already threatened your wizard’s life, you didn’t need them knowing exactly how much he meant to you. However, magic be damned, you had to get through to the boy inside this monstrous shell, “I know it’s hard, Jim, but I’m fighting this with you. Neither of us are alone.”

He growled at you but didn’t respond outside of that. It was time to be persistent.

“I know. But I need you to come back. I need-” once again, you couldn’t say what you were thinking. You couldn’t tell him that you needed proof, something to believe in that could maybe restore the last of your faith. You needed to know that there was hope, that you could come back from this. Jim Lake was one of the bravest and strongest kids you knew. He’d been through so much, and in comparison to your age, he was just a baby. If anyone could fight this, it would be him, and if he couldn’t, you weren’t sure if you could. You drew a shaky breath before you continued, “I need you to come back, for Claire, Toby, your mom, for yourself. You deserve better than this.”

He growled again, burrowing deeper into his hiding place. You bit your lip, thinking of what to say next, but you were interrupted. Someone was coming. Now you needed to hide.

It wasn’t a member of the Order as you’d suspected. Instead, Claire portaled into the room. You had no idea how she got in here, but seeing her was better than seeing the alternative. You stayed hidden while she spoke to Jim, almost feeling like you were intruding. At least he actually talked to her. You watched, hidden in shadows while she tried to coax him into leaving with her. You stayed silent, which became a little more difficult when a sharp pain shot up your side. You bit your lip to avoid crying out, but nothing could prevent the gasp that escaped you when you realized exactly where that pain had come from. If it wasn’t yours, then that meant it was Douxie’s. Douxie was somewhere in the castle.

That thought drove a deep, unyielding fear straight into your heart. You had to get to him, to protect him from the Order, curses and shards be damned. You jumped from your hiding place, causing the briefest of distractions to Claire, Jim, and Morgana, who had joined the fray while you weren’t watching. You paid them no mind, though. Claire could portal out of here, Morgana could more than take care of herself, and Jim was Bellroc and Skrael’s new favourite weapon. They would be okay. But you? If the sudden sharp pain in your back meant anything, you had somewhere else to be.

The first thing you saw was Jim, clinging to the ceiling above your wizard, ready to pounce. You would have attacked him if your vision hadn’t gone green. At first, you thought it was Merlin, trying in vain to protect Douxie, but then you realized exactly what was happening to you. And that was much worse.

Here, in close quarters with both the Green Knight and Douxie, the drive to kill your love had increased exponentially. Your mind clouded with bloodlust, your hands seized your sword. Before your eyes, you saw vivid flashes of green and red. It didn’t take you long to realize that the red was his blood. Or, it was supposed to be. At any other time, these visions would have destroyed you, but at the moment they only added fuel to a raging fire; one that had gone out long ago but somehow burned anew in your chest. For a moment, there was nothing but hate and rage towards the person you loved the most in this world. For a moment, you feed yourself.

And it only got worse from there. You leapt clear across the room, grabbing Douxie and putting your blade to his throat. At the same time, Jim jumped down from the corner of the roof he’d been hiding in and collected Archie and Merlin, holding them at bay. Out of all the things you’d been through, you decided that this was probably the worst. You were so close, so close to killing him. To ending his life, wiping his existence from this earth. You could see the horror on Archie’s face, and on Merlin’s, for that matter. You couldn’t see Douxie, but you could feel what he felt. Betrayal, heartbreak, and fear. So much fear. He was afraid of you.

If you went through with this, no one would ever forgive you, and you couldn’t blame them, but their scorn would be nothing compared to what you’d do to yourself.

You were vaguely aware of your surroundings. Of Clarie and Steve getting themselves frozen, and of the ultimatum offered to Merlin.

“We propose new terms,” Bellroc said, their voice much calmer now that they were in control.

“Give us Nari, or he dies,” Skrael pointed towards you. You could hear Archie yowling, Merlin yelling something and Douxie apologizing. In any other situation, you would wonder what he was apologizing for. Was it for trusting you? For what, in his opinion, must've been failing his mentor and Master? You had so many questions, but the answers didn’t matter. You weren’t in any other situation. You were there, in the Order’s castle faced with an ultimatum of your own. Kill Douxie, the love of your life and the person you trusted more than anything, or fight to save him. The answer to that question was clear. You closed your eyes.

The visions didn’t stop. You tried to stop everything your body was doing, to drop your sword and free him, but you couldn’t seem to let go. You bit your lip, tearing your skin with the effort, tears already coming to your eyes.

That’s when it started to hurt.

Excruciating, agonizing white-hot pain spread across your body from deep inside your core. You’d been hurt before, hell, you’d been tortured not much earlier, but this was beyond anything you had ever suffered through. You dug your nails into Douxie’s shoulder, whimpering, slightly. Your hand was clenched around the hilt of your blade, knuckles white, hands shaking. It was all you could do to keep from screaming. Your entire body felt like it was burning and freezing all at once. The smell of blood and acid hung in the air. The taste of metal stung your mouth. Your muscles seized and relaxed in waves. Tears collected in the corners of your eyes as your poor body battled against itself. You strained against yourself, whispering apologies into the back of Douxie’s hoodie. Your words, however, twisted into a mixed groan and scream. Your mind went blank, and for a moment, you were nothing.

The world was a void. A painful, painful void. You couldn’t focus on anything. You ignored Merlin, his fight for Douxie’s life and his escape from Jim. You paid no mind to the blasts of green magic and Bellroc’s frustrated screaming. You couldn’t give any of it a second thought. Instead, you kept going, locked in a battle of your own. You had to keep breathing through the pain, to take back control. And Douxie noticed.

“(Y/N),” his voice was low, and maybe a little broken, “(Y/N), I know you’re in there. You don’t want to do this, you won’t- you can fight this. You have to fight this. Please, come back to me.”

A gasp escaped you as the pain heightened, reaching a brand new peak. You were 90% sure you were about to die. You dropped your sword, and stumbled back, falling away from your wizard.

For a second, there was nothing. Then you opened your eyes.

And you felt everything.

For that second, for that one moment, you felt the world sink into place. The pain was gone, and you didn’t want to kill any of your loved ones, and you were okay. All you saw were hazel eyes. It was all you needed to see.

But it was just a moment. It didn’t last. You felt a tug somewhere in you, within your magic, and you turned just in time to watch Merlin get stabbed.

You’d never been close to the old wizard. It was just how things turned out. You were a spy and traitor and he was, well, Merlin. There weren’t too many opportunities for bonding between you. But you had to admit to yourself, you did care for the old fool. He’d taken you on as an apprentice all those years ago, and even if you didn’t count it as a ‘real’ apprenticeship, it was. He taught you about a side of magic you’d never known before, and for that, you had to be thankful. And Douxie. Oh, god, Douxie. You knew how much the old wizard meant to him. Merlin was his teacher, his mentor, the man who’d saved his life all those years ago and, in a sense, saved yours. Almost a thousand years ago, Merlin had bonded you to that boy and given you the best thing in your life. The two of you had your differences, but you would be forever in his debt.

Which is why you screamed as the blade tore through him. You found yourself reaching out as he was thrown back to the earth, as if you could do anything to stop it. You felt yourself go numb. Douxie had a slightly more emotional reaction.

You braced yourself against a storm of blue magic, radiating from your wizard. You stood, still as stone, while Jim, the Order, the Knight and Morgana (who’d joined the party at the most dramatic time possible) were blown back. As soon as they were out of commission, you grabbed Archie, scooping the familiar into your arms. In any other situation, the cat would have been fine with this, but at that moment, he struggled. Archie frantically tried to escape your hold, motivated by an intense drive to get to Douxie’s side, to support him in whatever way he could. You felt the same way.

You took a step towards your wizard, but before you could get to him, he turned. His eyes were glowing. Blue. He yelled for you to run, to get away from there, but you were frozen in place by a force you couldn’t name. The difference in his magic, in his soul, could not go unnoticed. He was stronger, somehow, and it stopped you. The light behind his eyes sent a shock through your system. Douxie was never one to use offensive spells on you outside of a full-on fight, but he was out of time and out of options. He threw you and Archie towards the others, calling out another “Get out of here!” before breaking a window and flying out of it. You didn’t even have time to process that. You just did as you were told, jumping through a shadow portal without a second thought.

Earth was colder than you remembered it.

But then again, maybe that was just a side-effect of travelling by shadow portal.

The most likely option, though, was that it had something to do with the scene before you.

Merlin was on the ground. He looked smaller, weaker than you’d ever seen him before. That thought on its own was horrifying. Merlin was the definitive master wizard. He was the strongest of your kind, your leader, in a sense. He was everything a good wizard was supposed to be. And you could feel him dying.

You weren’t the only one.

“-Hold still. I can fix this, I-I-I can fix this-”

I can fix this.

You’d heard that one before.

You’d heard that one a lot, actually. If Douxie had a catchphrase outside of kid-friendly swears, it would probably be “I can fix this.”

He was always so determined to keep everyone safe and to prove himself. Every mess he found himself in, he’d insist that he could fix it. He could fix time. He could fix your broken heart. He could fix the world one day if he wanted to.

But you weren’t sure he could actually fix this.

You took a small step forward, releasing Archie from your hold. Douxie said nothing, at least not to you. He kept repeating those words, over and over again. You could hear him start to lose hope.

“Douxie-”

“(Y/N), help me, please. You have to help me save him- we can fix this. I can-”

“Stop, Hisirdoux,” Merlin’s voice brought your attention back to him, “No one can. Do not blame yourself.”

You took a few more steps forward before kneeling at Merlin’s other side. The part of you that was trained in medicine, a part of you that you were almost surprised to still possess after today, took in Merlin’s injuries. You hated to admit it, but he was right. There was no hope here. Dread settled in your stomach as you realized these wounds, and therefore this death, were, in some way, your fault.

“I’m sorry. I should have listened to-” you stole a quick glance at Douxie. He was doing as well as one might expect.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” the old wizard winced and you put a hand on his shoulder, using what little power you had left to ease his pain. It would not save him, but it might make passing a little more peaceful. He nodded at you, the most approval you’d ever received from the old man, before he continued, “I spent a lifetime serving the wrong master, trying to save this world.”

“You can’t! You’re Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time!” Douxie collapsed onto Merlin, and you could tell from the small tremors that ran through him that he was crying. The old wizard put a hand on his back, trying to comfort him. You felt tears spring to your own eyes. You could feel his pain. You’d known it yourself, centuries ago. Merlin offered a hand to you. You took it.

“Merlin- master, I’m so sorry,” you were only whispering, but you know he heard. They both did.

“I saw a glimmer of greatness, of what you could become,” he moved his hand to Douxie’s face, “And the greatest thing I ever accomplished was saving you,” he brought the hand holding yours to hold Douxie’s. You felt your wizard take a shaky breath.

“I’ll try and make you proud.”

“You already have… son.”

And he was gone. Merlin was… gone.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until then.

“No, no, no, you can’t go!” you pulled back as your wizard cried out, your hands covering your mouth, catching your tears as he pulled his mentor closer to him. His voice lowered to a whisper, “No, please. I’m not ready.”

And then Merlin was ash, dust in the wind, a pattern dispersed.

“Douxie, I’m so sorry,” Claire said as she, Steve and Archie crossed the clearing you’d landed in. Claire went to Douxie’s side, Steve went to yours. It wasn’t much, but it was some comfort in this uncertain world.

“I-I can’t believe he’s gone,” Archie nudged a little closer to Douxie as he spoke.

And he was right. With a final gust of wind, Merlin left you, leaving behind a thick, leather-bound book. His grimoire. Your last hope.

“What is that?” Steve asked as Douxie picked up the book, clutching it to his chest.

“It’s all we have left to guide us,” he stood, “Other than that… we’re on our own.”

He was right. You were more alone than you realized. More than you had been for the last few hundred years.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #almost a thousand years #aaty #angst #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux

106 notes · View notes

v3nusaphr0d1t3 · 3 years

Text

i’m so tasty and the price is right (shigadabi)

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: explicit content warning: shameless porn, name-calling, both feminine & masculine terms used for ftm genitals, uhhhh i think thats it, hit me if i’m wrong tomura has an onlyfans and dabi helps him out for the viewers

tomura shigaraki, the anxiety-riddled, anger-filled, screaming child prodigy turned drop-out streamer that dabi was currently rooming with, had an onlyfans. dabi had only found this out through coincidence one night when he, for the first time, actually grabbed the mail on his way up. tomura had a bunch of perverted letters sent in from fans, all knowing him by his streamer name ‘decay’. they called him by his given name in the letters, something that shocked dabi and made it even funnier to read through.

his first instinct was to charge into tomura’s room to question him on it. and dabi wasn’t really a thinking man, so that’s what he did. he charged in with the letters in his hand, interrupting tomura’s stream as he scrambled to mute himself.

“what the fuck do you want, dabi?” his raspy voice stuck in a permanent whine. it was honestly kinda cute sometimes. it was very easy to antagonize the poor boy, so dabi did it as often as he could get away with before tomura started threatening him. and not that dabi was scared of tomura— he could easily beat his ass at this point in time, all made up of scrawny limbs and long-term malnourishment. the only times he ate a real actual meal were when dabi reminded him and/or provided him with food. it put another pang of worry in dabi’s chest that he chose, again, to ignore.

tomura’s eyes scanned dabi, falling onto the papers in his hands with a confused expression.

“what?” tomura repeated, “what’s that shit?”

dabi’s grin was maniacal.

“nothing, nothing,” dabi moved them behind his back, “only your creepy fan letters. from your fans.” there was a beat of silence before tomura’s face heated up and he stomped over, trying his hardest to grab at the letters dabi held.

“dude, why didn’t you tell me you were a pornstar? that’s like—” his laughing was cut off with a cough as he held the papers above their heads, shaking them to taunt tomura even more. tomura eventually jumped and snatched them out of dabi’s hands, shoving them in his trash can and going to sit back in his chair. he paused his stream as dabi caught his breath.

tomura took a deep (slightly crackly) breath, and started a practiced monologue, “i’m not a pornstar, i just hold… extra liveshows later on for more cash because streaming doesn’t exactly pay the best and for certain legal reasons i can’t really get a good job. so i basically just…” he sighed and winced a bit, “i record myself jacking off?” his sentence ended in more of an uncertain question than a statement, almost as if he was scared. “i don’t do it when you’re home, or at least i try not to, and i don’t bug you with it, so i don’t see why it would matter—”

his rambling was cut off as tomura looked up to see dabi suddenly being a lot closer than he remembered.

“that’s fuckin’ hot, no apologies needed.” dabi’s voice was lower than usual, setting tomura’s face even further on fire, lighting up red as he covered his face.

“what the hell, freakshow, you can’t just say shit like that—” tomura said, muffled through his hands.

“but i can, and i will. you know i’m a pretty honest man, creep.” dabi chuckled. “now are you gonna let me fuck you up on your little stream or what?” he leaned down to be level with tomura who was still sat in his chair.

there was only silence from tomura’s end.

“c’mon, won’t another dude be good for business? i promise i’ll take good care of you.” dabi got even closer with these words, trapping tomura in with his hands on the elbow rests, mouthing filthy promises in his ear.

“okay. we can take turns blowin’ each other.” tomura grumbled, pushing at dabi’s shoulders to move him from his position over him. “but i gotta finish off this stream first, i’ll come get you when it’s time. get cleaned up and shit, i won’t suck you off if you’re gross.” tomura didn’t look him in the eyes, putting his headphones back on and officially ending the conversation as he got back to whatever murder game he was playing with an apology for being gone.

dabi stalked off to the bathroom, burying his intense excitement and arousal deep in his gut and turning on the shower. he got pretty much everything, cleaner than he had been in weeks as a gross dude with an illegal gig barely classified as a job. he always did wonder how tomura was able to pay so much of the bills, but he didn’t want to bring it up and sound bitchy. he was half hard just from the thought, tomura always being the grumpy catch he was always afraid to go for, for fear that he would get kicked out of the apartment the morning after or something along those lines.

the stunt he had just pulled was exhilarating. he thought about the flush he had seen on tomura’s face as he stepped out of the shower. he was still at half mast as he brushed his teeth and put on deodorant (stealing tomuras’), towel wrapped around his waist. dabi had always thought himself to be a kind of a catch, positively covered in tattoos and piercings and even some cosmetic staples. his brother said he was addicted to body mods, bu he chose to ignore those words in favor of finding something else to do to or with his body.

he wondered what he should wear. he didn’t want to struggle with it too much, just going for what he had on before the shower. he shook his hair out like a dog, water slightly darkened from the hair dye (he had just redyed it a couple days ago and he never truly had the care to wash it all the way out).

and when he was done with all that, he went into his room and collapsed on his bed facedown. there he stayed for a few moments as he tried to calm himself down, before just turned to his bong on the side table for some manual chill. he lit up a few times, only enough to make his head swim the tiniest bit, and went to play a few shitty games on his phone.

apparently he had been playing a little longer than he thought, already gone through a cigarette and another couple rips before tomura knocked on his door.

“ready to start up the live stream, get your ass in here if you still want in on it.” he heard through the door, followed by tomura’s footsteps leading off into his bedroom.

dabi, of course, immediately followed, hopping up and throwing his door open, excitedly shimmying his way up to tomura’s doorway.

man

he was. he was wearing black thigh-highs, held up by a garter that he could barely see the beginnings of over a sweatshirt that was giant on his small, skinny frame. dabi’s sweatshirt.

“did—” dabi was damn near short of breath at the sigh ton display in front of him, “did you get that from my room?”

“no, i got it from the living room. now let me get the camera on and the stream rolling before you fuck me up.” tomura chuckled softly, something that he didn’t do often. dab’s heart skipped a beat, and he pointedly chose to ignore it.

“you look fuckin’ hot, baby.” he murmured, eyes glued to the sligh bit of thigh on display over the top of the sock and before the sweatshirt.

“baby? what happened to creep?” tomura pressed record, laptop set up next to the camera so that they could see themselves and the chat, not giving dabi a chance to respond. tomura waited a few moments, before addressing the current pileup.

“hey everyone. i have a guest tonight, my roommate and the dude who eats all my damn cereal—” tomura paused and turned back to look at dabi who was still out of camera, “do you want your identity to be anonymous? ‘n’ do you wanna show your face?”

dabi had a moment of pause, before shrugging. “nah, i don’t really have any shame, you’re not really anything to hide.” dabi once again shamelessly looked tomura up and down, earning an eyeroll and the beginnings of… was that a smile?

tomura turned back to the camera. “this is dabi, my roommate, and the dude who’s gonna eat me out on stream.” tomura said with no pause, and no stutter or hesitation. this was a performance, surely. it was so different from the blushing and hiding man who was avoiding his eyes a couple hours ago. tomura cupped his hand around the side of his mouth, mimicking a stage whisper. “this’ll be the first time with him, so you get our genuine reactions for free.” tomura chucked gently, watching the chat blow up at the premise of some genuine roommate porn.

tomura turned back to dabi, moving to pull him into frame and pushing him to sit on tomura’s bed.

“well, here goes nothing,” tomura murmured to himself, climbing into dabi’s lap and pulling him into a kiss. he immediately heard the dinging of tip notifications off to his side, and he knew his chat was probably going wild. dabi’s hands wandered, up tomura’s thighs that were positioned over his hips, and over the other mans own hips, back down to his thigh-highs. he pulled at them, snapping it against tomura’s thigh, earning a gasp that allotted enough room for dabi to stick his tongue in the others mouth. tomura’s own arms were slung over dabi’s shoulders coming up to run his hands through dabi’s undercut. tomura ground down against dabi’s half-hard cock, trying to work him up further.

eventually their kiss broke for air and dabi stared into the camera with a knowing grin as he ground his hips upwards. tomura gasped loudly, sensitivity intensified by the hormones he had been taking for a while now. dabi moved to kiss down the white-haired boy’s throat, leaving little nips that had tomura giving breathy whines. he could tell some were played up for the camera, but he didn’t mind at all. he was rock hard in his jeans now, and he could feel the slickness that tomura had built up— soaking through his panties. which, by the way— now that dabi could see them, he was obsessed. they were bright blue and lacey, gorgeous against the pale flush of tomura’s scarred thighs. they hugged his hips nicely and made dabi want to rip them apart.

tomura gently pushed him away from his neck, rolling his hips against dabi as he leaned back slightly to look at the camera. “chat, who should go first? who do you wanna see cum first?” his words were syrupy and seductive as their hips worked in tandem. someone donated with a fairly large amount, spouting something about wanting to see the pretty boy choke on cock.

and who were they to deny the nice donator?

tomura turned back to dabi, running a hand down the man’s chest, grabbing at the end of his shirt. dabi got the hint and removed his shirt, hearing the chat pop off for a moment. “your lucky day, freakshow. fuck me up.” tomura whispered and he hopped off dabi’s lap, spreading dabi’s legs manually and making himself comfortable between them.

“feel free to grab the camera to get that angle, yknow?” tomura looked up at him as he laid his cheek on dabi’s thigh, uncomfortable close to the bulge in dabi’s pants.

dabi leaned back on his hands, letting tomura unbutton his pants and shimmy his boxers down enough to pull his cock out. tomura had a moment of shock at the sight of it, long and thick with about 5 pieces of fuckin’ metal stuck into it.

when his shock wore off, he decided a quip would be appropriate. “y’know i always did wonder if it continued on down—” tomura gestured to all of his various facial and body piercings, finally licking a stripe up his length and taking dabi by surprise, making him gasp. tomura was surprisingly good at this, dabi had thought him a lame little virgin before he found out about the whole onlyfans thing. but no, tomura had apparently had quite a bit of practice, shown off by the rapid rate at which he was able to adjust to the intrusion of dabi’s cock, sinking down and feeling the metal rods on the underside grind one by one against his tongue. it was heaven, and dabi reached one hand into tomura’s hair for support.

this led tomura to pull off, only to say the words, “pull on it,” before sinking his hot mouth back down onto dabi’s dick. and so dabi did what he was told, taking the hair in his hands and pulling, earning a genuine moan from tomura that reverberated its way down his cock. the hottest thing was that tomura was making him feel this good with only his mouth. his hands were currently on dabi’s thighs, moving up to his hips as if to insinuate something. dabi pulled him back by his hair. tomura whined, which was the hottest thing ever and looked up at dabi with a wanting— no, expecting stare.

“use your words, babydoll.” he muttered to tomura, watching his face heat up, much more like his bashful self before the camera turned on. the audience was eating it up, so used to his unphased confidence and sheer no-fucks-given attitude, that seeing this form of subby shigaraki was like dessert for them.

“use me, dabi,” tomura muttered, eyes focused on the ground as he shuffled on his knees.

“what was that? i couldn’t hear you, speak up.” dabi teased and used his hand that was in tomura’s hair to slip down and hook his finger under his chin, forcing him to look up at dabi.

tomura’s eyes glazed over for a second at the stern look that dabi was giving him, before blinking harshly and shaking his head a bit, as if to clear his mind.

“fuck my throat, dabi. use me.” his voice was clear and without any shyness now, an almost grin spreading across his cheeks. though his inner submission didn’t go unseen, as the look in his eye and the redness of his face and the way he arched his back even now, was more honest than any words he could say.

“if you say so, baby. tap me if you want off.” dabi moved his hand back to tomura’s hair, gripping it tight and using it to line himself up with tomura’s lips.

“open up. you’re gonna be so good at this, i can just tell.” dabi growled out. tomura followed directions, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out to show up, dabi sliding his cock to the back of the other man’s throat. he stopped for a moment to let tomura adjust, but tomura took that to his advantage, meeting dabi’s eyes and sucking hard.

“jesus fuck, baby—” dabi panted, starting up a smooth rhythm with his hips, both hands now in tomura’s hair to practically use him like a toy. a human fleshlight.

“god, tomura, you whore— how’dya get so good at this? d’ya— d’ya practice?” dabi’s hips sped up as tomura moaned deep in his throat, vibrating against his cock. the words were turning tomura’s poor brain into jello. the chat was going wild, donations at an all time high as they watched their favorite creator get used like a toy.

dabi felt the tension building up in his gut. a few more moments of this and he would be done for. he reached down with one of the hands to wrap around tomura’s throat, so that he couldn’t even semi-breathe through his nose. he felt tomura gag, throat clamping down on his cock. tomura had yet to tap him, so he continued with his wild ministrations, letting go of tomura and pulling his dick out until just the tip rested on tomura’s tongue as he worked himself off the final edge and came, coating tomura’s lips and tongue.

“don’t swallow yet.” dabi’s tone was winded yet still authoritative. “show your audience baby, you did amazing. show them how good of a slut you are.” dabi grabbed tomura’s chin and manually turned the boy’s head to the camera, watching with hungry eyes as he showed off the spend on his tongue.

“okay, now swallow.” dabi ordered, watching as tomura did it easily. dabi knew at that instant that he had sent tomura into a momentary headspace of sorts. he wanted to treat the boy after using him so roughly, so he helped him up and out of the sweatshirt, splayed out on the bed, hair spread out around his head like a halo. he looked like a proper angel as the blurriness finally worked its way out of those eyes and the real tomura came back on line.

“jesus christ, dabi.” tomura grumbled. his pale face was on fire. dabi thought that was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.

dabi was lowering himself onto his knees, pulling tomura’s hips to hang off the bed, spreading them so that he could lay lovebites along his inner thighs. it was almost agonizing with how long he carried it out, working numerous dark purple hickeys onto his thighs, as if to claim, and to show off. he knew that if tomura did a show in the next few days, they would be visible, and that made him hot under the collar.

“god, freakshow, get on with it!” tomura whined, trying to arch up onto something, but failing as a result of dabi’s iron grip on his thighs.

“ah, ah ah— what do we say when we want something, babydoll?” dabi’s low voice made goosebumps rise up on tomura’s skin, and the poor boy nearly gave in and started begging right there. dabi stopped pressing kisses to tomura’s thighs, sitting back holding tomura’s legs apart, waiting on his reply.

“i need an answer, creep.” the familiar nickname from the man between his legs made it more… intimate. tomura swallowed his pride.

“please— please dabi, please suck me off, i need it—” he was rewarded with dabi ripping his panties off, exposing his nether regions to the open air. tomura whined at the cold, feeling it against his wet cunt. but soon the feeling of cold air was replaced with a soft, excellent warm suction on his dick, one of dabi’s hands reaching up to run two fingers along his slit.

it made tomura nearly scream, instead moving one of his hands to cover his mouth. dabi instantly let up on the attention, reaching up to move tomura’s hand. “you gotta put on a show tomura, remember that.” dabi chuckled before he went back to work, moving his lips down to run his tongue against tomura’s hole. tomura was arching his back and more or less grinding against dabi’s face as he moaned loudly. dabi knew his way around eating out, so it wouldn’t be long for the other man, who had already been so wound up for so long. dabi went back to sucking on his clit and he moved his two fingers to enter, making an awful noise when they did. tomura’s wetness rolled down dabi’s wrist and before long, tomura’s legs were shaking as dabi brought him to the edge.

now, dabi was a little shit by nature. so he doubled, even tripled his efforts in speed and pressure, rocketing tomura over the edge and working his fingers in and out at such a speed that had tomura writhing against the sheets in oversensitivity.

and dabi kept going. he was on a mission, and soon enough, his efforts were rewarded when tomura soaked the sheets and dabi’s arm and lower face. dabi worked him through it, milking him of every drop, before he finally let up. tomura lay there practically braindead for a bit, dabi even going so far as to wave at the camera as he stroked tomura’s thighs, waiting for him to be coherent enough for dabi to leave for a second to get a towel.

once he had come back to the land of the living, tomura ended the stream with a quick thank you to the donators and visitors, while dabi was up getting a towel, and tomura had caught his breath by the time dabi was back with towels and water. dabi wiped his face, arms and upper torso off, and tomura wiped his junk down, throwing the towel somewhere on the floor.

“my junk hurts, you asshole. god— why are you so good at that?” were the first words out fo tomura’s mouth, eliciting a loud laugh from dabi as he opened the window and pulled out a cigarette.

“get me one too, freakshow. i need it after that. my dono’s are through the fuckin’ roof though, so thanks for our rent.” he spoke quietly against the sounds of the city as dabi lit his cigarette and tossed one and his lighter to tomura.

dabi only gave him a devilish smirk.

“you gonna let me do that again?”

#shigadabi #dabi x shigaraki

19 notes · View notes

2-cute-4-school · 4 years

Text

Hiraeth

Group : NCT

Pairing : Lee Donghyuck/Haechan x f!Reader

Genre : fluff, angst

Word count : 4K words - Part 1

Mafia AU | M.list

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 - Final

Chapter summary : “Y/N please tell me you’ll always love me.” | “You know I do. I love you and I’ll keep loving you no matter what.”

“Hiraeth - (n) a homesickness for a home you can’t return to, or that never was.”

Haechan was always by her side, her guardian angel and her partner in crime at the same time. Sure, he wasn’t ecstatic about having a little girl around them at all times in the beginning, but Taeyong was their leader and what he said had to be done. He remembered the day he met her so clearly, a lasting impression on him.

Taeyong had told them beforehand that a new member was going to arrive, but none of them ever expected her. Their squad was made up of only boys so seeing a frail girl trailing behind their leader left them shocked and frozen in their spots. Her eyes were wide, scanning her new surroundings and future teammates while tightly griping Taeyong’s shirt until her knuckles turned white. She tried to put on a brave face, but anyone with a decent sight could see that she was trembling like a leaf.

He later learned her name, Y/N and that she was training for the spy position. Same as Haechan. They seemed to be around the same age but he still felt a strong need to protect her, shield her from any harm. She looked so small that day, meeting the other members who swarmed her as soon as she peeked out from behind their leader. The way her face broke into a grin as she found out she would be training alongside Haechan as spies broke his hard exterior and made him decide he would take her under his wing.

And now, years later, Y/N became the light in the endless night, a breath of fresh air after drowning in the fast waters of a rushing river, although neither Haechan nor the rest of the boys would ever tell her that. But it could be seen in the way they looked at her, drops of honey and stardust swimming in their eyes whenever they caught sight of her or in the relieved exhale of air whenever she hugged them, her warmth enveloping them like a comfort blanket. It was the subtle hints that showed their love for her and the other way around.

“Y/N, I’m going to murder you!”

“Taeyong told me to wake you up, why are you such a bitter bitch?”

“I’m not the bitch here, dear”

“Is it because of old age, Doyoung? I know old people can get easily irritated, but damn gurl, you’re on another level”

A vein popped at Doyoung’s temple and he deeply breathed in, trying to keep his composure before he went nuts and burned down the entire household.

“Y/N, I’ll give you three seconds to vanish from before my eyes”

And she didn’t need more as she zoomed past the rest of them, her giggles echoing around the hallways.

“This is what I get out of raising children” Doyoung sighed before plopping down on the couch beside the younger ones.

To be honest, Haechan wanted to murder both of them. As much as he liked making fun of his members, being dragged out of his room for an unknown reason wasn’t on his to-do list today. He simply wanted to play some video games with his roommate Johnny and Y/N, maybe eradicate their self-confidence when it came to survival games with his unmatched skills. What he didn’t want right now was petty bickering, even though it’s usually his forte.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the slam of the front door. Taeyong stormed inside, draping his coat and leaving his shoes by the door. His hair seemed messy and his movements were quite tense, very unlike for him.

“Are all of you here?”

No greetings, no smile. Something was going on.

Y/N trudged back in the living room with Yuta in tow, hearing the ruckus created by Taeyong’s hurried entrance. She sat down on the arm of the couch, beside Mark. Haechan took a moment to look at her. Her eyes turned serious, no glint of mischief in them anymore, her lips set in a straight line. Haechan gulped before turning his eyes back to their leader.

“Yes, what’s going on, Taeyong?” Taeil voiced out all of their thoughts. He also seemed tense, it was very weird that Taeyong hadn’t told him anything beforehand.

“I know none of you will like this, but we have a new mission”

Everyone looked at each other. Missions weren’t anything new and it’s been quite some time since the last time they all went on one so they didn’t understand Taeyong’s worry.

“Alright, so? Things were starting to get boring anyway, so I don’t think anyone minds. What’s the job?” Johnny seemed even more content than the others at the mention of a mission

“Park Ji-won and his goons are having a party. All rich and influential people are invited. They’re probably trying to make connections with powerful people, maybe get them involved in their business. Wendy said he’ll have a USB flash drive with him. It contains future plans and reports of his actions if we get our hands on that he’s done for. Unfortunately, we’re not sure where it will be exactly. He probably won’t have it on him, it would be too risky, but other than that it could be anywhere in the house although his office seems most likely.”

Park Ji-won, the leader of one of the most powerful gangs in the country, a master of assassinations and other dirty deals and NCT’s biggest threat. He hunted them down with every chance he got and killed any allies of Taeyong’s he could. Everyone knew it would be a hard mission.

Johnny was the first one to break the silence.

“We can handle this, we’ve handled worse”

Taeyong bit his lip, anxiety showing on his face.

“The mission is tomorrow evening”

Silence. And then chaos. Questions and remarks were flying everywhere, most members in shock before Taeil shushed everyone. He looked Taeyong in the eyes, his glare ice cold.

“Do we have a plan already?”

Taeyong sighed before answering.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Y/N and Haechan will go in dressed up, blend in with the crowd. The hackers will stay here and monitor everything with some of us. The rest will wait in cars scattered near the party. I’ll fill in our spies with some info about the people there and come up with an inside plan, but that’s all”

Haechan’s hands started to sweat and his breathing became irregular. His mind was running wild and he seemed restless. His heart seemed to climb up his throat and jump out any minute. Haechan knew what this meant.

“Taeyong, this is too rushed and you know Ji-won isn’t a man to mess with” Taeil tried reasoning calmly.

“We’ll have to, this is a one time chance”

“BULLSHIT!” Johnny exploded. His excitement from earlier seemed to turn into anger at the announcement of the time of their mission “This is bullshit and you know it, Taeyong! What you’re doing is sending us, sending them” he gestured wildly to the couch where Y/N and Haechan were seated with wide eyes “on a suicide mission.”

“No, I’m not. We have a plan, as long as we don’t stray from it we’ll be fine”

Johnny was seething. He gritted his teeth, barely containing himself from exploding. Anyone could see his clenched fists by his side.

“I’ll shove this poor excuse of a plan so far up your ass it will reach your brain and unclog this shitty mindset of yours, I swear to God-”

“Let’s stop this, please” Y/N voice was weak, any smaller and no one would have heard her. She was looking at her elders fighting with a sore expression on her face “If we have to do this, let’s at least try to come up with something better, this is no usual mission.”

Taeil sighed as he gently pushed Johnny back.

“She’s right, you’re acting like clowns, did the hair dye fry through your scalp and to you neurons?’”

His words seemed to cool down the room, but burn Haechan’s heart.

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

It was in the early hours of the morning when they finally settled. Although their plan didn’t stray too much from the original one, details were added and the spies knew perfectly what they had to do. Things were still riskier than ever and tension was high in the air of the dorm.

Y/N stayed close to Haechan the entire time, his presence calming her down. As long as he was there beside her, she felt as if nothing could touch them, neither one would allow it. Over the years, their bond that first started as a simple partnership soon developed into what they liked to call a soulmate bond. They could understand each other without words and trust tied them together tighter than anything else.

“You should head to bed, bub. You need all the rest you can get.” A warm hand petted her hair, as she lifted her head to meet Johnny’s eyes. He could see the unspoken anxiety behind her fatigued orbs and he wanted nothing more but to wrap her in a fluffy blanket and protect her forever. But everyone knew it would never be possible.

Y/N tried to offer a smile, but it was weak and it didn’t meet her eyes. She was clearly feeling oddly off about their mission too.

“Right, goodnight then.” She lifted herself off from the armrest of the couch and began trudging back into her room, which she shared with Haechan. Said boy didn’t waste another second before following her.

“And kids?” Johnny waited a second until they both turned their heads towards him “Don’t worry too much, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

He smiled kindly, showing his fatherly side which surfaced only around them and it was enough to get Y/N to smile, even in the slightest while muttering a broken ‘thank you’ before continuing her short walk to the bedroom.

Haechan instead lingered a few more moments, eyes shining as he stared at Johnny’s retreating back. He shook his head as if snapping himself out of a trance and rushed to catch up to Y/N, who was already fluffing up her pillows to settle down.

As she finally stretched herself out on her mattress, Haechan hesitated nervously near her. His bed looked cold and lonely and right then, his mind wouldn’t have been able to achieve peace without the help of his lifeline. His soul was too agitated and his heart was beating erratically, almost shattering his rib cage to escape its dark prison and find itself into the warm hands of their real owner, the girl whose eyes would disgrace all the stars in the sky.

“Are you going to fall asleep while standing or do you plan on joining me?”

She could read him like an open book. Through just a few words, Y/N could rip his thoughts out of his fuzzy mind and present them on his sleeve.

Haechan said nothing as he dragged his feet over to her bed and plopped down beside her. Without a second thought, he wrapped her in a protective cocoon of his arms, trapping her against his chest. He worried for a second. What if she could hear his heart? What explanation would he have for the way it betrayed him and threatened to simply jump out at her mere presence? That he was more afraid of losing her than losing anything else in the world? That he wanted to end his own pathetic self at the thought of the next day? That losing her meant his end, the edge of his sanity that he would throw out the window?

“I’m scared.”

It was only the second time he ever heard these words coming out of her mouth. The first time was on her first mission when he had to hold her hand all the way to the house they had to infiltrate in, just to keep her grounded. But that was such a long time ago when she had no experience in the field and her innocence was still intact. So hearing her say these words now unsettled him greatly.

“Why?”

“Is that even a question?”

“We’ve been on countless missions before, we’ll be fine.”

“No, no we haven’t. Not on one like this.”

“Y/N, as long as we stick to the plan, nothing will be different.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither did we before any of the past missions.”

She went silent. Y/N knew he was right, but she could only admire curiously the firmness in his voice. Was he really this fearless or did he only keep up this facade to lessen her worry?

“Maybe you’re right.”

“You know I am.”

“Shut up, Hyuck”

He softly laughed at her tone as he let his fingers run through strands of her hair as if mesmerized by the way she was really there, tucked in his side as her index finger traced patterns mindlessly onto his chest. And he was scared too.

He was scared that the patters would slip through his skin and burn his hurting heart. Scared that tomorrow could bring an end to him, to them. Scared that he would knowingly let his lifeline vanish before his eyes, taking with her his whole being. He wasn’t scared for himself, no. He was scared for her and only her.

“Y/N please tell me you’ll always love me.”

“Ew Hyuck, what the heck are you talking about?”

“Y/N please”

His voice trembled then and broke at the end of the sentence. Y/N craned her neck in order to lift her gaze to his face. She found his eyes already trained on her, staring through her soul with an indecipherable look. That seemed to wake her up a little.

“What is this all about? You said nothing will be different. Why should we- “

He seemed to realize his mistake as he softly shushed her, cradling her back in his comforting embrace.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, I just want to hear it from you”

It was silent for a few moments and his caresses seemed to slowly lull her to sleep, hopefully, a soothing one.

“You know I do. I love you and I’ll keep loving you no matter what.”

Her words were muffled, barely audible, but they resonated through Haechan’s entire body. It was a matter of minutes before Y/N was off to Dreamland while Haechan came undone in the darkness of their shared room. Hot tears rimmed his eyes before slipping down his cheeks, leaving trails of ashes from fallen stars. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling the utter dread rip apart his body, burn every piece of him down to nothing as the only witness to him falling apart was the moon which seemed to shine shallowly through the lids. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth, to keep the devastation inside himself, to let it eat him inside out.

That’s how he finally fell asleep, heart in his throat, weakly yelling at him to give up, to allow her full control and his mind, fighting against it, destroying him from both ends.

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

Y/N’s hands were sweating as Mark went over the plan for the millionth time, talking endlessly from the passenger seat. Johnny was sat behind the wheel, gripping it so tightly, Y/N was afraid it would bend and break anytime. She did her best trying to shut down her emotions ever since she woke up that morning, falling into her way to cope with unwanted uneasiness that came every time she had to go on a mission.

“Are you sure you’re feeling well, Y/N?” Mark’s voice snapped her out of her state.

“Huh?”

“You seem a bit out of it”

“I’m alright, don’t worry,” Mark still seemed reluctant and she could feel Johnny’s gaze through the mirror in front of him “really, I promise.”

Mark sighed as he turned back around, settling down in his seat as silence enveloped the car. Suddenly, fingers slipped through hers, intertwining their hands with a strong grip. Y/N’s head snapped towards Haechan who watched carefully with worried, but soft eyes. She could tell he was nervous too, but he tried to push that aside just to make sure she was fine. In return, she squeezed his hand back fiercely, trying to show him he could also lean on her, that there was nothing to be afraid as long as they stayed together.

As they neared their destination, the tension in the car intensified, almost suffocating Y/N as she struggled to keep her mind clear and not let her evident fear unleash and swallow up her sanity. The car stopped just short of the entrance gate as they unbuckled their seat belts. Y/N watched as Mark checked Haechan’s in-ear one last time before leaning forward herself. Mark did his job, but before she could bid goodbye and exit the car, Mark’s warm hand cupped her cheek affectionately, instantly grounding her with his reassuring touch.

“Come back safely, okay?”

“You know I will, we always do.” Y/N tried to bluff her bravery in a poor attempt to convince everyone, including herself, that she didn’t doubt herself. But Mark didn’t fall for it, and she knew none of the others did either. His eyes looked deeply into hers, searching her orbs desperately.

“Y/N.”

“I will, Mark. I really will.”

Johnny patted her head as Mark let his hand fall back in his lap.

“You too, devil child.” Haechan’s head snapped up and he had to force the smile on his face to seem genuine.

“Wow, I can really feel the love here, we’ll be fine.”

With that, the two youngest exited the vehicle, letting the light breeze brush away their nerves and bring them their usual mindset. Quick, quiet and clean. That’s how their jobs went every time. This had no reason to be different. They easily passed by the guards with the fake invitations Wendy provided them with and they stepped inside.

The first thing you could feel once you entered the party hall was definitely the stuck up atmosphere, which wasn’t shocking considering the people present there. The lights were dim and conversations were kept hushed. The tables on the sides of the room were filled with glasses of probably expensive champagne with fancy names and the occasional plates with small sweets. Y/N and Haechan spent the next 15 minutes checking their surroundings, blending in with the ever-growing crowd. They did catch a few glimpses of Park Ji-won caught up in conversations and Y/N could feel her blood start to boil at the sight of him. But she knew they weren’t there to kill him, so she kept a safe distance, far enough to keep out of his sight but close enough not to lose him in the crowd.

“I think we should get this going,” Haechan whispered subtly in her ear. She eyed the stairs she had to climb to the floor where the offices and a few other rooms were located, their best bet at finding the USB. Haechan was supposed to remain downstairs, monitor any weird actions and watch her back. Y/N nodded and immediately disappeared into the crowd, missing the indecipherable look he threw her.

Nearing the stairs, she quickly slipped upstairs, tapping her in-ear once, sending the boys outside and back at the dorm the signal that the plan was put in action.

“Alright, be careful” Taeyong murmured.

She checked the first few rooms nearest, so quietly you could hear a fly buzz around. Every room was empty, both of any people and the USB. Ji-won’s office was still yet to be found, but Y/N’s chest was uncharacteristically beating uncontrollably. Everything was so silent, only the ruckus from downstairs could be heard faintly. Haechan had been silent the entire time and Y/N clung onto her hope things were going well since he hadn’t said a word since she left.

The blood was rushing through her veins, adrenaline high and keeping her going as she neared the next door. Her eyes were focused and it seemed as if no emotion was displayed, her face muscles completely lax. Her footsteps were light, making no sound against the carpet beneath and adding to the eerie silence that threatened to cloud up her throat and spillover.

A loud bang resonated in her ear and she was instantly snapped out of her trance. She barely contained herself from lifting her hand up to touch the device settled inside her ear, but it was enough to make her freeze in her spot, waiting for something, anything, for someone to guide her, to calm her and keep her steady on her feet just for long enough to finish her task. But her guide never came, at least not in the form she hoped for.

“Y/N! Haechan! Get out of there! NOW!” Taeyong sounded more frantic than ever. Never had Y/N heard their reliable leader scream that way, not with such raw desperation and never to abandon their mission, never. Several gunshots now echoed in the background and her teammates’ yells could be barely heard over the ruckus created. “We’re getting attacked! Get out-” Another gunshot, incredibly loud and it was enough to cut off the connection, their only link to the outside.

Y/N felt herself getting dizzy. She was trapped, with no help, her brothers were in danger back home and she could do nothing besides muttering a broken ‘no’ and turning around harshly, not wasting a second to get out of here and back home. Her feet carried her thoughtlessly, to hell with the stupid USB and the cursed Park Ji-won, nothing mattered more than her family who needed her help now more than ever, and she would be damned if she doesn’t get there fast enough to fight alongside them.

Her entire world was shattering and she was hopelessly and blindly running back to gather the shards.

A hand reached out, grasping her arm and turning her so her back was pressed tightly to a chest as a hand came around her to embrace her tightly around the shoulders. Y/N reached out immediately, ready to fight back but settled for a few moments one sensing the familiar scent of Haechan.

Right, Haechan was still there, still with her. Her lifeline was still there, keeping her alive, clinging to her sanity. Her soulmate was there and anything would be alright as long as their fates stayed intertwined, she would fight until her last breath with him by her side.

“Thank God you’re here, we have to go, come on, the rest are in trouble.”

Y/N urged him to get moving, tugging on the arm wrapped around her and trying to step forward. But the boy behind her didn’t seem to budge, frozen in his spot like a cold statue, roots keeping him planted into the ground. She felt him let out a shaky breath, the warm air blowing a few strands of her hair as she struggled to snap him out of his daze and run back to her family, their family.

“Haechan come on-”

But her words were cut, just like Taeyong’s as the same arm that hugged her protectively in her safe heaven the night before, slipped up and tightened around her neck, cutting off her air supply. Her eyes widened, trying to comprehend what was happening right under her fingertips, the way the pieces of her world were falling apart, becoming dust in the wind with every second that passed. She struggled both physically and mentally. She tried to wrap her mind around the situation at hand, the way her vision was turning black and her will to keep going faded with it, the cruel way everything was ripped away from her in a mere second, the simple way her small world she worked so hard to gain along the years was vanishing into an endless abyss filled with bitter reminiscences.

Y/N struggled to grasp her Haechan’s sick betrayal.

#nct #nct fluff #nct angst #haechan fluff #nct mafia #haechan angst #haechan mafia #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct haechan #nct fanfic #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan fanfic #nct mafia au #nct au #haechan au

302 notes · View notes

littlemisswolfie · 3 years

Text

Hope That You Fall In Love (And It Hurts So Bad) Part II

<Part I

Here’s part two! There was actually a much larger gap between these updates on ao3 since I just now remembered to post part one here today, so don’t expect part three to come any time too soon. Hope y’all enjoy!

If you have sensitive triggers, follow the ao3 link and read the end notes. I wasn’t personally triggered by anything I wrote, but I have no idea what triggers my readers, and your safety is paramount, so I may have over-warned.

AO3

Langa doesn’t feel anything about moving back to Japan.

He doesn’t feel anything in general, anymore. He knows he should feel something. This is the country he was created in, where he was tortured and trained before he could speak, where he met his mom for the first time in the hospital ward of his prison. But Japan isn’t really anything to him. It’s not a nightmare, because Okinawa, with its sun and warmth, is nothing like Teiko’s stale, cold walls, but it’s not home, because home is Canada, is mountains and snow and Canada Day fireworks and his dad.

He puts the letter his dad wrote him—still unopened—in the back of his sock drawer.

Okinawa isn’t anything.

Langa isn’t anything.

“Do you want to meet them?” his mom asks, a few days after they move into their small apartment.

She doesn’t have to clarify who “them” are. “No,” he says. “I never knew them well. They probably don’t remember me.”

The Miracles are all adults. They have families, lovers, jobs and friends and lives. Langa doesn't have anything to say to people he hasn’t seen in ten years, and they wouldn’t benefit from knowing he’s alive, so he doesn’t care.

High school isn’t compulsory in Japan, but he attends anyway, because he knows it will make his mom happy. She has enough on her plate, with a new job and having to make new friends, so he has to make this transition as easy as possible for her.

She’s given up enough for him already.

Sitting at his new desk at his new school with his classmates all pretending not to stare at him, he decides to get a part time job.

He’s on edge the entire time he’s sitting across from Sakurayashiki. He knows, logically, that a lot of people in Japan have started dying their hair to support the Miracles, so this grown man who has an affinity for technology having pink hair doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a Pink Two, especially since Pink Twos were predominantly designed female and his eyes are gold instead of pink, but he still hates the idea.

He’s not GI-B423 anymore. He doesn’t want to be associated with Teiko.

When Sakurayashiki rejects his job application, he’s kind of relieved.

He leaves the calligraphy studio and meets Kyan Reki.

Reki is everything Langa isn’t. He’s bright and happy and loud.

Back in Canada, people like this used to annoy Langa. Too noisy, too close, too much. But Reki is never overwhelming. He’s excited, like a puppy, and he’s genuine. Langa can’t help but be drawn into his orbit, like he’s a planet and Reki is the sun.

Ah, he thinks, in that part of his mind that never really left Teiko. He’s mine.

He lets Reki chatter in his ear about skateboarding and watches him work in his workshop and is—not happy, but content, for the first time since his dad got sick.

Skateboarding at S isn’t exactly what awakens that thrill Langa has always craved. It’s similar enough to snowboarding that Langa can let his body take over for a majority of the beef, so that certainly helps, but it’s not the thing.

The thing is the unpredictability.

He should probably feel concerned about that, about how the danger makes his heart race, how Shadow’s aggressiveness thrills him to his bones. It’s a Teiko thing, so he shouldn’t enjoy it, but he does.

“How did you do that?” Reki asks him later as he helps Langa peel the duct tape from his feet. “That was crazy, man!” His eyes are shining, and Langa thinks, I did that.

“I used to snowboard,” he says, instead of I was genetically engineered and trained for the first five years of my life to be an assassin but I never developed my powers.

Reki grins. “This is gonna be so awesome.”

Langa learns how to skateboard fast.

When Reki comments on how quick he’s learning, he gives his teaching all the credit, even though he knows it’s not exactly true. His mom doesn’t tell him much about how Teiko designed him, but he can read between the lines. He’s never had to work as hard to learn new things as the kids around him, particularly if they had a physical element. He’s more observant than usual, and it’s harder to scare him than it should be.

He could easily make up some other excuse, like his past in snowboarding, but the way Reki’s face lights up when Langa compliments him is too good to pass up.

His mother has never been good at hiding her emotions, which Langa finds more than a little ironic, considering she came to be his mom by working in a secret lab.

After the absolute roller coaster of emotions he sees on her face when she brings up the scrapes he’s been getting from skating, he takes pity on her and tells her what he’s been getting up to. The smile she gives him in response is one he hasn’t seen on her in a long time.

“Oh, baby,” she says, actual tears in the corners of her eyes, “I’m glad you found such a good friend.”

Reki’s friendship isn’t limited to skating.

Langa, privately, would have been content even if it were. It would only mean he spent more time skating than he usually would. But Reki seems to genuinely enjoy spending time with him. He gets Langa to do his English homework for him in return for writing out Langa’s notes and homework in his neater handwriting, they spend their lunches together on the rooftop, Reki gets him a job at Dope Sketch, and, well…

They’re just always together.

Even better, Reki is a very touchy person. It’s unconscious, most of the time, like he can’t help it. A brush against his arm here, a nudge at his side there, an arm thrown around his shoulders while they walk together.

The contact makes him feel alive.

He beats Miya, but only just barely. Miya has years more experience than him, and it’s only due to his unconventional skating that he gets the upper hand. The idea of losing… it’s just—unacceptable. Because losing means scrapping. Losing means death.

The way Miya reacts to the loss reminds him of Teiko, so he says, “I had fun. Let’s skate again,” to make that terrified expression disappear. And then Reki starts messing with him, teasing him like an affectionate older brother, and, for a moment, it seems like the night will end there, without any additional fuss.

But then Adam shows up.

Adam, even with his blue hair and eyes hidden behind a mask, reminds Langa of a Red Zero. He’s obviously a man used to getting his own way, and that silky smooth tone in his voice when he make innocuous little statements belies the ugly nature underneath. He’s a sociopath. The only reason he knows he’s not a Red Zero with dyed hair is that he feels no compulsion to do what he says. In fact, he feels nothing—

Until he insults Reki and Miya.

“Hey,” Reki says, sounding angry, which Langa has never heard before, “take what you said back.”

Adam, who was about to touch Langa’s leg, straightens, a dangerous smile on his lips. “And what if I said I wouldn’t?”

If Langa were better with his words, he would warn Reki. No, he would say, he’s too dangerous, it’s too risky for you, but he can’t find his voice to say it, so Reki kicks up his board and challenges Adam to a beef.

“Sorry about that,” Reki says, later, as they skate home from Crazy Rock. “Betting you, I mean.”

“It’s fine,” says Langa, because he can’t say that means I’m yours to bet without making this whole situation even more strange than it already is.

They run into Joe at a ramen shop the next day. His green hair sets Langa off a little again, but Joe is nothing like a Green Seven, so he forces himself to relax a little and listen to the older man’s advice.

“When did you start dyeing your hair?” Langa asks when Joe stands up to leave.

Reki and Joe both startle a little at the question, like they hadn’t expected him to say anything about it. “Well, me and Cherry were in high school when that Special Diet happened, so we dyed our hair out of support, and I guess the colors just kinda stuck.”

“Man,” Reki says, leaning forward onto the counter after Joe leaves. “It’s so weird to think about the Miracles as adults, y’know? They’re not in the news very much anymore.”

“The Yellow is,” Langa says.

“‘Yellow?’” Reki looks confused.

“Oh, sorry, ‘yellow.’ I used the English word on accident.”

“Oh, cool. Sometimes I think about your shitty handwriting and forget you’re bilingual.” Reki gives him a friendly poke in the side. “But, yeah, that yellow one’s a model, right? Of course he’d be in the news every once in a while. Oh, plus the red one’s adopted father has been petitioning for same-sex marriage to be legalized in Japan for a while now, so I guess you hear about him sometimes, huh? When did you start dyeing your hair?”

“I’ve never dyed it,” Langa says, looking down at the empty bowl in front of him. “My hair has always been this color.”

“Huh. Weird.” Reki shrugs and reaches into his pocket to pull his wallet out. “Joe was trying to be nice, but we still gotta pay.”

Langa’s grateful for the end of the conversation. He knows he’ll have to tell Reki someday, if they remain friends, but the longer he can put it off, the better.

Miya drags them and Shadow out to Crazy Rock for some practical training. It hurts to see Reki so frustrated with his own abilities when Langa knows how good he is. Reki shouldn’t be measuring himself up against people like him, who have superhuman gifts, or Miya, who trains as much as he’s in school to make the national team, or Shadow and Joe and Cherry, who are all adults and have been skating for so much longer than he has.

Someday, Reki, Langa thinks, someday you’ll realize how special you are.

Langa skates down a little further to grab Reki’s board when it gets away from him to let Reki rest a little, and tries to do the Love Hug Miya mentioned. Reki is quick to reassure him that there’s no way to actually go uphill, but Langa still feels uneasy.

He knows there’s a way. There has to be. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.

At least he gets to go to A&W afterwards. He’s been missing poutine.

Langa wishes there was something he could say that would help Reki when he picks him up for the beef.

Your worth isn’t determined by skateboarding.

Don’t be discouraged if you lose.

Please be careful.

But none of those things would be helpful. Not really. Even if he could say them in Japanese the way he wants to in English, they would still sound condescending, like Langa didn’t believe in him.

So he says nothing.

Adam does the Love Hug.

Reki goes flying.

Langa sees red.

“I can finally skate with you,” Adam says, sounding enthralled, almost orgasmic, and the only thing Langa can think about is how easy it would be to kill him for what he did to Reki. It wouldn’t take much. Just enough pressure on the throat. A fall off Crazy Rock. A sharp stone to the jugular or the temple. Langa could make it look like an accident, he’s sure. He got more than enough training to do that much on a small scale like this. And even if he did get caught, hey, at least he would have had revenge for injuring Reki.

But Reki is still alive. Reki needs a hospital more than he needs Langa to kill Adam.

He’ll get his revenge in a beef.

“Please,” Reki says, over and over again. “Don’t race against Adam.”

“I’m going to do it, Reki,” Langa says, just this side of a snap. “Stop trying to convince me otherwise.”

“Look, I appreciate it if you’re pissed about my injury—” And oh, he is, he hates seeing Reki’s arm in that cast, he hates that he had to wait in a hospital again when he last time he had to do that his dad was dying— “but Adam’s really on a whole ‘nother level. You’re crazy good, dude, but he’s just crazy.”

“I’m doing it.” He takes a large bite out of his sandwich, and it must be aggressive enough, because Reki backs off, at least for now.

“Mom?” Langa says over dinner that night, one of her few nights off from the hospital.

She’s at attention immediately, which Langa feels a little guilty about. He knows he really shut her out after his dad died, and now every time he speaks, she acts like she’s never heard his voice before. “Yes, honey? What is it?”

“What—” He takes a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. “What all did Teiko give me?”

Her eyes harden in a way they so rarely do that it catches Langa off guard. “Nothing,” she says, vicious. “They didn’t give you anything, baby. They gave you nightmares and trauma, and that’s it.”

“There were files!” Langa says, voice raising. He didn’t mean to do that, but it’s happening now, so he has to let it go. “There must have been! And you were a nurse, so you had to have seen them!”

His mom slams her hands down on the table. “That is enough,” she says. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m not talking about this right now.” She stands up, clears her plate, and stomps into her room, closing the door behind her.

Langa groans, pushes his hair out of his face, and grabs his skateboard.

He, Reki, Shadow, Miya, and Cherry take over Joe’s Italian restaurant later that night, and as Langa watches Cherry demonstrate how the Love Hug works, something clicks in his brain.

I can do this, he thinks. I can beat the Love Hug.

“I’m beggin’ ya,” Reki says, one final time, “don’t skate against Adam.”

“Even if I get injured, I won’t quit skateboarding,” Langa says, but what he wants to say is, I won’t leave your side.

He feels Reki’s fist against his chest the whole ride home.

Skating against Adam is—

Langa hates to admit it, but it’s that adrenaline rush he’s been craving. Adam defies logic in every way possible when he skates, and it keeps Langa on his toes. Skating with Reki brings that easy warmth he got on the bunny slopes with his parents as a child, but Adam is electric, dangerous, and everything that Teiko side relishes in.

“It seems that you’re the same type of person as myself,” Adam says, wonder in his voice, and Langa hates himself for not being able to deny it.

And then he jumps over the Love Hug, and his heart soars, and he thinks Reki, did you see that?

“What happened to the promise that you wouldn’t be reckless?” Reki asks after they evade the cops, out by the water. He sounds… he’s not angry, or scared, or worried. His tone of voice is resigned, like he never should have expected Langa to be careful.

“Sorry,” Langa says, but he’s not, and he knows Reki can hear it.

He knows he can’t ask his mom for permission to go on this trip without making up with her first, so a few nights after his beef with Adam, he knocks on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

He hears the sheets rustle, hears her sigh, and then she says, “Come in.”

He sits on the side of her bed, his back brushing against her legs. “I’m sorry I upset you the other night,” he says, his words halting. Even in English, he can never express himself the way he wants to. “It’s just—things have been getting intense, where Reki and I skate, and I was wondering how much of that was because of Teiko.”

She sighs again, and puts her hand on his shoulder. “No, I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you,” she says. “You have every right to wonder. I just hate talking about that place. You’re not what they made you to be, baby.”

“‘Cause I never developed my powers.” He’s sour about that, and he shouldn’t be. It’s easier, pretending to be human when you don’t have superpowers, but he heard all about the Miracle Black Four during the Special Diet, about how he used his powers for years to orchestrate their escape, and he’s jealous. He was engineered to do exactly what Kuroko Tetsuya did, and his stupid body never figured it out.

“Black Fours were doomed from the start.” His mom is trying to be reassuring, he knows, but that’s not really helpful. “GM-B452 was an outlier. In the eight generations between him and you, the scientists were no closer to getting true invisibility to manifest. Infinity was the last generation they were going to produce Black Fours, anyway.”

He’d never heard that before. “Really?”

His mom nods. “Really. They were just going to add the power to the Silvers, instead.”

“What else did my files say?” he asks.

She looks uncomfortable. “Langa, a lot of this stuff—it’s not good, honey. Reading your files when I started made me sick. They knew exactly how tall you were going to be, your projected adult weight, they—” She breaks off, wiping welling wetness from her eyes. “If you weren’t a Failure, and you survived to adulthood, they were going to breed you, baby, with the Pink Two, and the White Ten, if she survived. They predicted which Projects you would find sexual gratification with.”

Langa feels sick, just like his mom said he would. He was—he was a baby, barely a toddler when he and his mom left Japan. These scientists were thinking about his sex life before he knew what sex was. “Why?” he croaks.

“They didn’t see you as human, baby. None of you. You were lab rats with rocket launchers, for all they cared. Only as useful as they money they could make off of you.” Her eyes sharpen. “You said things were getting ‘intense’ with skating. How?”

“Reki was injured during a race,” Langa says, because he figures that all her honesty deserves some honesty out of him. “And I—the guy he was racing against, I wanted to hurt him. I thought of all the ways I could make it look like an accident. But then, a few nights ago, I raced him, and I felt…” He trails off. How can he describe that feeling to his mom without making it seem sexual? “It was like I was flying,” he settles on. “Like, nothing could touch me. I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing. Even though I knew he could hurt me, really, really badly, even though we were going sixty kilometers per hour down his track with no fences to keep us from toppling over the edge, even though he kept touching me…” Thinking back on it now, he feels a little sick to his stomach again, especially when he sees the look on his mom’s face.

“This guy,” his mom says, voice serious, “is he a teenager? Or is he an adult?”

“An adult.”

“Langa, baby, I know I can’t stop you from sneaking out at night and doing these races,” she says, hands clasping his, “because I know you can always find another way of getting out if I try to stop you, but if this man ever touches you again without your consent, or if he touches any of the other kids you hang out with without their consent, I want you to tell me, okay? It’s not right.”

“Okay,” Langa says, and he knows this is a promise he’ll have to keep. “But—the adrenaline thing, is that—”

“Teiko designed that, yes,” his mom nods. “They didn’t want any of you cracking under pressure, so they modified your brain to send out more adrenaline.” She smiles, a tad sad. “You were always the biggest adrenaline junkie, though. You tried to do everything dangerous you saw the other Projects do during training, even though you weren’t made for full-on combat. It got you in a lot of trouble.”

Langa rubs at his wrists as the phantom pains flare up again. “That I remember.” Then, remembering the whole reason he came in here in the first place, he says, “A friend of mine and Reki’s says hot springs are a good, natural healing thing, so he got us tickets to Miyakojima this weekend. Is it okay with you if I go?”

“As long as you have an adult with you,” she says, and Langa perks up, because he knows just the adult.

Reki wants to drag him out shopping, because “I can’t believe you don’t have a swimsuit, man, we’re going to the beach, you need a swimsuit.”

“Reki,” he says, panicking a little, because if his trunks ride up everyone will see, see the brand on his thigh, they’ll know he’s GI-B423— “Reki, I can’t swim.”

Reki gives him an incredulous look. “You’re seventeen and you don’t know how to swim?”

“I lived near the mountains my whole life,” Langa retorts, and, yes, this is good, he can needle back and forth with Reki all day long.

Reki groans. “Fine, then,” he huffs, though Langa knows he doesn’t mean it. “But it’ll be hot, so make sure you dress for the weather, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Langa teases, just to see Reki’s face heat up.

There’s a girl, on the ferry.

She’s pretty, in a distant kind of way. She’s not movie-star beautiful, but her hair is long and silky, and her dress compliments her figure. There is, all in all, nothing off about her.

But.

Reki is staring at her.

Langa feels something ugly twisting in his gut. It reminds him of how he felt when Adam hurt Reki, this overwhelming urge to eliminate, to take Reki away from this threat—

Wait, threat? This girl is normal. Nothing about her conveys any sort of physical advantage or ulterior motive. She’s just a girl, on vacation.

But Reki is staring at her. He’s blushing.

This girl could take Reki away from him.

It’s a relief when she brushes right by them. If she did try to take Reki, Langa couldn’t guarantee her safety.

Reki would forgive him.

Probably.

The beach is beautiful, Langa decides, laying under the umbrella while the others play in the sea. He wishes he could be out there with them, but he knows better; his secret is more important than a little bit of fun.

Someday, he promises himself, letting his hands linger a little too long on Reki’s shoulders while they’re teasing Shadow. Someday I’ll tell them.

Just not today.

Sitting around the fancy inn Cherry’s staying at, and thinking about his conversation with his mom, Langa sneaks out of the large room where they ate dinner while the adults bicker. He finds a small courtyard with patrons milling around, settles himself on the deck, and tries to picture himself becoming invisible.

It’s risky, he knows; Teiko Projects glow when they use their powers, so if he is successful, someone could notice. But he’s not actually expecting to be successful, at least not in the psychic capacity. He never was before.

Langa knows he stands out in a crowd. He’s tall for Japan, and his hair and eyes always make people assume he’s a Miracle. It doesn’t take long for people to start glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes, and Langa picks one, an old man wearing a green patterned yukata, leaning heavily against a wooden cane and not even trying to pretend he’s not staring at him, and focuses on not being visible.

How the fuck do I not be visible?

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. What was it the Black Miracle said during the Special Diet? I can only make someone temporarily forget my own presence. Is that the key? It’s less invisibility and more induced amnesia? God, the other Projects in his Generation used to make it look so easy. One second they’d be standing still, and the next they were glowing all sorts of bright colors and doing what they were made to do.

He doesn’t think about the other members of his Generation often, so the thought comes as a surprise to him. For just a moment, he lets himself imagine what they would be like, if they’d also been freed like Langa was.

The moment is brief. Dwelling on those things only made Langa’s heart ache.

He crosses his arms across his knees, digging his blunt nails into the skin by his elbows, and thinks of the man he picked earlier. Don’t look at me, he thinks, screwing his eyes shut. You don’t see me. I’m not here.

Then, after a moment, he lifts his eyes, and he bites back a gasp, because the forearm in front of his face is surrounded by a faint black outline. It’s not a brilliant glow, like a Yellow or and Orange, but it’s there. His eyes dart back up to the old man with the cane, and he looks dazed, almost confused, like he’s wondering what he was looking at.

He’s doing it. He’s doing it!

In his excitement, he loses focus, and the faint outline fades, but it was there. He isn’t useless like he always thought.

He’s a success. A little bit, at least.

He has to try again. He picks another person, a mother cradling her baby, and tries to recall that feeling, the one right before he noticed the outline. It was almost like… desperation. He was desperate to manifest the powers he was designed with. Desperate to prove himself worthy of…

Of what? The approval of Teiko, a company that doesn’t exist anymore? The approval of the scientists, who didn’t see him as human and thought about his future sex life when he was a baby? The respect of his fellow Projects, most of whom are dead?

The approval of himself?

The desire to try it out again fades. God, what is he doing? He’s never felt inclined to use his powers before, so why now? He should be glad he never developed them. Living in human society is hard enough with his hair and eyes; living in Japan is hard enough with his height and his terrible handwriting and his Canadian habits that contradict Japanese ones. Not having powers, not standing out even more than he already does, should be a blessing.

He thinks about the letter his dad wrote him, still unsealed, in his bedside drawer.

He stands up, brushes his pants off, and wanders back to the group. They’re probably wondering where he is, by now, and he doubts he can use the bathroom excuse again.

Langa knows pretty much right away that the things chasing him and Reki are just normal people covered in mud. Even the overpowering stench of the muck can’t hide that from his senses. But he doesn’t really have any concrete way of expressing this to Reki without hinting at what he is, so he goes along with it, and runs with Reki.

It’s the same kind of rush, skating away from an opponent on a rough course like this, only now, he has Reki with him. Reki’s right next to him, keeping up to him even when Langa’s being serious about the whole ordeal, and keeping a level head when Langa turns around to admire their pursuer’s skateboarding skills.

Then the thing starts poking Reki’s leg with his stick, and Langa sees red. How dare this worthless human touch Reki like that? How dare they try to knock him off his skateboard, when he last time he bailed, he ended up in the emergency room? He’d like to knock them right off Shadow’s skateboard, but this time, he’s close enough to catch Reki when he falls, so he does.

The weight of Reki in his arms feels right. It feels inevitable, like he was built to hold him. He can feel Reki’s quick breathing, can practically hear his heart beating in his chest, and it makes him think about other activities that could cause that—

But this is no time for that. Not when they’re being chased, not when Langa doesn’t even know if Reki likes boys the way he likes girls.

“How did you two manage to not get covered in mud yesterday?” Shadow asks them the next morning on the ferry back to Okinawa. He, Cherry, and Joe are all still complaining about the smell they couldn’t wash off last night.

Joe sniffs at his hand and winces. “Did that ghost thing not chase you?”

Reki goes as stiff as a board next to Langa. “That wasn’t a ghost!”

“Well, what was it, then?” Shadow asks.

Langa eyes a poster about a festival about covering people in mud to protect them from evil spirits out of the corner of his eye and says, “Who knows?” If none of the adults can figure it out, that’s on them. He’ll tell Reki about it later.

“Mom?” Langa asks when he gets home after dropping Reki off at his house.

His mom looks up from the movie she’s watching on the couch. “Oh! Welcome home, baby. Did you have a fun trip?”

But he’s not in the mood for pleasantries. “Did Teiko make me gay?” The word falls from his lips and it burns, like he’s said something shameful. Being gay isn’t a big deal in Canada, at least not anymore, and Langa has always absently supported LGTBQ rights in a distant way that made him think he was probably straight after all and just hadn’t found a girl he liked, but this trip…

“Oh, sweetie.” His mom opens her arms and he falls into them like a child. “Before I answer, what brought this on?”

“I just—you said they had a breeding plan, so I know I’m not sterile, but I’ve never been interested in girls.”

“Is that all?”

Langa presses his face further into her shoulder and says nothing.

“Langa, do you remember what I told you when I took you from Teiko?”

“You—you said you were my mom, and that meant you would love me and take care of me for the rest of your life.”

She hums affirmatively, stroking his hair with her gentle fingers. “That love is unconditional. No matter what you do, I’ll love you just the same. That’s how moms work, honey. So, if there’s anything else you want to tell me, you don’t have to be scared.”

Langa opens his mouth. Closes it. Licks his lips and tries again. “I love him, Mom,” he says, the words soft, like a whisper, like a secret. “I love Reki.”

Her smile is in her voice when she says, “Thank you for trusting me with that, honey. I can tell he makes you really happy.”

“We’re not—together,” Langa interjects. “He—he likes girls, and I don’t know if he likes boys, too. He doesn’t know how I feel.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t take that risk.”

“But it’s a big risk. If he doesn’t like me, I might lose him forever.” The mere thought of not having Reki in his life anymore makes tears gather in his eyes. “I couldn’t do it.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and asks again. “Did Teiko make me gay?”

“Yes,” his mom says, simply. “They knew you would eventually interact with humans, and they didn’t want undesirable offspring. But, Langa,” she continues, cupping his chin and raising his head so their eyes would meet. “They didn’t design you to fall in love with Reki. They didn’t think you could love. You loving Reki is all you, baby. Never doubt that.”

“Do you think— Would Dad—?”

“Your father would have adored Reki,” she says, and the weight that falls from his chest makes him gasp. “Reki sounds so much like him, in the best possible ways. They’re cut from the same cloth. And he would have loved you just the same way as always.”

Langa falls asleep like that, in the same clothes he traveled in, curled up in his mother’s lap like a child. His last thought before he drifts off is that letter he still hasn’t opened.

One day, he says. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.

#designation:miracle #sk8: the infinity #langa hasegawa #nanako hasegawa #reki kyan #kojiro nanjo #kaoru sakurayashiki #sk8 hiromi #miya chinen #renga #ao3fic #my writing #my post #mine

4 notes · View notes

viinas-writes · 3 years

Text

“Desert Rose”

Written for the Kiribaku Anthology “Ascent”. Words: 5,211

The weight of Eijirou’s last bullet is both a grim and comforting reminder. It’s locked in the pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants like a soldier at the ready, waiting for its first and last command.

Blood-red clouds race past his vision, blurring into the overcast sky. He feels the ravaged terrain of a city he once called home tilting under the worn soles of boots that have been too small for over a year. His lungs burn. Smoke and debris sting his eyes. His body aches down to his bones but he doesn’t stumble, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop.

A fleeting thought rolls across his mind: I don’t want to die here.

He casts a glance over his shoulder. The hooded man—a dorobou, probably—is still in pursuit. Eijirou can hear the clack of a rifle bouncing against his assailant’s back.

Eijirou is virtually unarmed; his pistol has been empty for months. He keeps only what he calls an “insurance bullet”—to put into his own head if things turn for the worst. If the choice is between dying as himself or having his soul obliterated by a dorobou, there’s no question about how he’d rather go.

He skids to a stop just before the ground plunges straight down. Loose earth scuttles past his feet and falls over the edge. His blood throbs in his ears. Down below, he makes out human remains, grotesquely discolored, emaciated, and half-floating in dark, shallow water. Discarded hosts. When a dorobou’s human body decays from infection, the only way for them to survive is to move onto a new one.

His hand finds his pistol, his trigger finger twitching.

“You stopped.”

Eijirou’s heart skips. Furtively, he looks back. His pursuer stands a safe distance away, rifle in hand but pointed at the ground. He pulls his hood back to reveal a shock of blond hair.

His appearance gives Eijirou pause. The venom in his gaze is discordant to the roundness in his jaw, as if everything he’s seen has yet to catch up with him, physically.

He’s a kid...like me.

“A dorobou wouldn’t have stopped.” His head falls. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

Eijirou’s head fills with questions but the only one that forms is: “What are you looking for?”

The boy’s hand drops to his side and he screws his eyes shut, furiously shaking his head. He won’t look up, lest he lower his guard. Eijirou understands that well. Trust can’t be given blindly; altruism was a luxury their world lost.

“You looked like…” He drags a weary hand through his hair. “Same shitty dye job.”

Eijirou raises an eyebrow. “Uh—”

“Whatever,” the boy says. He turns on his heel, slinging his rifle across his back. “I made a mistake.”

“H-hey, wait up!” Eijirou yelps, because to a certain degree all trust is blind and maybe he’s just as angry and tired as anyone unlucky enough to have been born into this hell. “You know, we’ll survive longer with two of us, right? I...I mean,” he pauses, turning his words over in his head. “Unless you’re not alone…”

The boy sneers and the venom in his eyes now drips from his voice. “Like hell. I made it this far on my own.”

Eijirou laughs, which makes the boy turn and glower. He’s got big, rotten pride and an attitude to cut through glass, but if he’s survived this long all by himself, there’s got to be a thing or two they can learn from each other.

“S-shut up!” he stammers, visibly thrown off-kilter. “Give me one good reason why I should let your dumb ass tag along!”

Eijirou’s lips curl into a grin. “Well, I’m not much for offense, but.” He brings his fists together with a satisfying thud. “I’m resilient. I’ll be your unbreakable wall, man. A guard who won’t waver.”

“You are so goddamn weird.” He turns back around. Something like disappointment feels heavy in Eijirou’s chest but before he gets the chance to make a move of his own, the boy calls out, “Fine. But get in my way and I’ll kill you.”

***

Time elapses and once they’ve gotten to know each other—in whatever capacity Katsuki will allow it—it may have been days, weeks, or even months. He learns the idiot is named Kirishima Eijirou and he’s sixteen just like him. Katsuki is able to connect his ink black roots and faded red dye job to his loud, vivacious personality. Who else but someone with a desire to stand out would even bother keeping up such an appearance in this wasteland?

Katsuki also learns that there’s an organized chaos to the way they work together. Everything about Kirishima should make Katsuki hate him; he’s chatty, impulsive, optimistic to a fault, way too touchy…

But he’s also quick on his feet.

Clever in the emotional ways Katsuki is not.

He’s rock solid and dependable where Katsuki is turbulent.

Somehow, it just works.

One night, a storm chases them into the dilapidated remains of a drugstore. They rush in, sopping wet, the soles of their boots squeaking against the tile. Broken glass and empty food wrappers litter the floor. Along the walls, there are dark, empty refrigerators and equally vacant shelves.

It isn’t uncommon for looters to gut places like this. If anything, Katsuki is annoyed he hadn’t thought to do it first.

They find a corner clear of debris to rest their aching feet and Kirishima wastes no time in talking Katsuki’s ear off.

Katsuki supposes he doesn’t mind the sound of Kirishima’s voice. It’s a way to fill the silence he’s has grown uncomfortably used to—protection from his own thoughts. What’s more, as long as the idiot stays yapping, it means Katsuki doesn’t have to talk back.

His secrets don’t define him, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to let any asshole into his head. Some things are sacred. For now, his memories are fragmented moments in the back of his mind. They belong to him in the form of nightmares and fantasies that will become all too real the moment he shares them with anybody else.

So he lets Kirishima talk.

Kirishima’s head tilts back against the wall. He shuts his eyes as if lost in a moment long gone.

“I can’t remember anything before the orphanage,” he admits. His voice has taken on a softer tone, uncharacteristic of the boisterous pain in the ass Katsuki’s come to know. “It wasn’t much, you know. Overcrowded, underfunded...the food was awful.” He brings his hands together and starts to wring them out. “There were never enough beds either. We’d play games to decide who’d have to sleep on the floor for the night.” His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “I’d always let the younger kids win. It sounds pretty shit, but it was home. It was all we knew. Some kids, like me, were orphans of war but a lot of them were abandoned. We didn’t have anybody but each other.”

Kirishima rests his forehead on his joined hands. “When dorobous Thieved our caretakers, I was thirteen. Nobody knew what to do. So many of my siblings died. I was scared and desperate.” He takes in a shuddering breath. “I ran away. Like a coward. I didn’t do anything. Didn’t jump into the fray like a real man should.”

Katsuki tries to picture it, a younger, doe-eyed Kirishima, running without purpose. All his life he had nothing—he was running toward nothing—and yet, he stayed on his feet with love in his heart and a will to live.

How could someone so kind survive in such an unforgiving place? Katsuki tries to wrap his head around it. These days, survival is earned only by the most ruthless.

Katsuki isn’t sure whether it’s Kirishima or the world he’d underestimated. Both of their truths cannot coexist.

“Do you ever regret it?” Katsuki asks, mulling the pieces over, studying the nuances of Kirishima and the broken pieces of his sorry life. He wants it to make sense.

“What, surviving?” Kirishima chuckles. “What kind of question is that?”

Katsuki wonders if he’d have the same optimism if his strength amounted to something other than more time in hell.

A grin that’s at once hopeful and sad touches Kirishima’s lips. He punches Katsuki’s shoulder playfully. “Besides, I met you, didn’t I?”

***

The first time Eijirou sees a dorobou die, the shock leaves him reeling. He’s no stranger to death, but something about the way this body—once so omnipotent—hits the floor is horrifyingly human.

Smoke rises from the barrel of Bakugou’s rifle.

Eijirou’s stomach turns at the sight of the bullet nestled between the host’s eyes. A clean shot. From a distance, he might even look peaceful.

As he steps closer, Eijirou studies the details of his face—close-cropped brown hair, patchy stubble on his chin, thick eyebrows and a hooked nose. The veiny black tinge under his eyelids is the only indication that he was ever anything but human.

Who was he before he was Thieved? Whose life did we just take?

Eijirou’s siblings and caretakers, all Thieved or murdered, flash with gruesome clarity in his head. One by one by one.

“Do you think they felt it?” Eijirou whispers. Lead has settled in his bones. His hands curl into fists to keep them from trembling.

Bakugou snorts, slinging his rifle around his back. “Who gives a shit?”

“Not the dorobou,” Eijirou corrects, his voice steadier than he would have given himself credit for. “I mean the man...do people stay conscious when they’re….Thieved? Are they still there? Do they know they’re being kil—”

“You talk too fucking much.” Bakugou’s voice is like ice. “Let’s go. We don’t know if there were more where he came from.”

The way Bakugou withdraws from hard questions isn’t lost on him. It leaves Eijirou wondering what he’s so afraid of and what he’s seen to make him so cold.

More so...why was it so easy for him to pull the trigger?

***

When Kirishima manages to hotwire a pickup truck, Katsuki supposes he could have done worse in finding a partner. It’s in bad shape, with a cracked windshield and rusty paint job—not to mention the fact that it’s ancient—but it isn’t like they can afford to be choosy.

Methodically, he fiddles with a tangle of blue and red wires, tongue poking out between his sharp teeth, and Katsuki can’t help but study the stern wrinkle in between his brows. He is held captive by the movement of Kirishima’s calloused, dirt-caked fingers looping, tying, pulling, working in such a comfortable motion that Katsuki knows he’s done this many times before.

The truck roars to life; Kirishima sits up and grins. A drop of sweat rolls down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Katsuki drags his eyes away once he realizes he’d been staring.

“You’re not as dumb as you look,” he remarks.

Kirishima laughs, unapologetically loud. It does something strange to Katsuki’s pulse. He shoves him out of the way and settles into the driver’s side, then looks at the dashboard. The gas meter is a hair away from empty. He sighs.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to siphon gas too, would you?”

As night rolls in, the two decide it’s best to get some much needed rest. They lay a couple of blankets they stole from a looted shop some weeks ago over the truck bed’s hard ridges and then collapse beneath a threadbare quilt they found in the backseat.

Katsuki’s heavy eyes fall closed as cool air fans across his face. The humble chaos of nighttime has always been so strange to him. Daytime can be so quiet—lonely, when your only company is the terrain. But nighttime rings.

Crickets on the outside.

Memories on the inside.

Kirishima’s breathing so steady and calm...protective in its own inexplicable way and shushing Katsuki’s hurricane of thoughts.

He shifts and Katsuki opens his eyes, transfixed by the way the moonlight drips over Kirishima’s face, delicately tracing his features. He follows the soft silver lines from the ends of his hair, down the slope of his nose, over the curve of his lips, enamored by how they shift and change as he moves.

Kirishima turns on his side and Katsuki can’t breathe for a second. They’re close enough that he could count his eyelashes if he wanted to—long, black, and brushing the top of his cheeks when he blinks.

“Can I ask you something?” Kirishima asks, almost whispering.

Katsuki swallows, something heavy settling in his chest. “What is it?”

“You asked me some time ago...if I ever regretted surviving.” Kirishima wets his lips and the crease between his brows returns, like the question is something he’d considered as carefully as he did the wires in their truck. “Do you?”

He exhales, watching the scar on Kirishima’s eyelid appear and disappear as he blinks. He doesn’t know how to answer that. Survival nowadays is limited only to how desperate you are—more so, how lucky. Katsuki has never been fond of games of chance.

At last, he settles with, “I don’t regret not giving up.” Be it due to luck, skill, selfishness, or a combination of it all, Katsuki doesn’t know how to surrender. He’ll stay alive out of spite if he must. What better way is there to get back at a life that took everything away from him?

Kirishima stares and it makes Katsuki feel naked, like his gaze alone can crack through his armor and sink beneath his skin. He wants to turn away but he’s trapped. Kirishima’s eyes are a deep crimson with sunny flecks of gold—embers that don’t stop burning.

Gooseflesh covers Katsuki’s arms.

He tells himself it’s just the chill.

“My mentor.” The words fall from Katsuki’s tongue. Kirishima’s eyes hold him steady like his own private gravity and it makes Katsuki feel safe.

Maybe secrets whispered in the dark aren’t quite as real.

Kirishima moves closer and their knees bump under the blanket. Electricity sparks in the places they touch.

“I…” Katsuki’s mouth feels dry. He clears his throat and tells him, “My parents and I joined the rebellion when I was a kid. We went out on rescue missions, slaying dorobous and bringing civilians back to the safe house we built. My mentor...he was well-known in our town. A hero, really.” What Katsuki doesn’t say is that Toshinori Yagi was practically his father after his own parents were Thieved and then mercy-killed by their own comrades in action.

He feels Kirishima’s fingertips graze his arm, maybe by accident. Katsuki draws in a swift breath.

“What happened to him?” he asks, gentle and undemanding. Maybe the skeletons in Kirishima’s own closet have given him this specific type of empathy. Or maybe he’s just that kind.

“I went out on my own one night,” he says, curling his trembling hands into fists. Anxiety mangles his words and Katsuki needs a moment to recalibrate. This memory—this confession—isn’t supposed to belong to anybody else.

He keeps talking.

“That fucking safe house felt more like a graveyard than a sanctuary,” he grinds out. “It was full of grief-stricken survivors. I had to get away, just for a bit. Every day felt like a goddamn funeral.”

Kirishima says nothing. His eyes are so damn big, like a puppy’s. It at once throws Katsuki and comforts him.

“I got ambushed by dorobous. Like a dumbass I wasn’t armed so the fight seemed pretty hopeless. I kept thinking to myself that I’d rather die than be Thieved, as if I had the luxury of a choice.” Katsuki grasps the blanket with white knuckles, swallowing the knot in his throat. This fucker will not see him cry.

“Toshinori, my mentor, noticed I was gone so he came looking for me. The idiot was recognized immediately. I mean, people called him All Might. He was their worst nightmare…”

Or at least that had been true before his accident. After a close call with a dorobou some years prior, Toshinori was left walking with a cane and almost blind in his left eye. His aim wasn’t what it once was. He could barely hold his own in a fight. He existed as a symbol, a tactical leader, but he hadn’t been on the frontlines in years.

“I wasn’t as interesting to the dorobous anymore and he saved my life at the cost of his own.” His voice was strangled and he cursed himself for being so weak, even now. “They killed him. And I ran away when I should have died by his side.” Beneath his own anger and grief, he knew why he did. Because if Katsuki had died that night, Toshinori’s sacrifice would have been for nothing.

It still felt like a flimsy excuse.

“It was my fault.” It comes out in a broken whisper that didn’t even sound like himself. “If I hadn’t gone out...if I hadn’t been there…” He shakes his head furiously and curses under his breath.

Kirishima touches his arm, running his thumb across his skin. “Hey...what happened after that?” A soft voice. A steady voice.

Katsuki swallows. “I couldn’t face anyone. I took one of his guns from the weapon closet and ran like hell.” As an afterthought, he adds, “The leader of the attack looked like you from the back. It’s the reason I chased you down that first day. Sorry, I guess.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kirishima says.

Katsuki finally averts his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says again. His fingers stay on Katsuki’s skin. “Look, this world doesn’t really lend itself much to blame. Shit happens and we just have to get through it as best as we can.”

Katsuki turns away from him because suddenly he can’t stand to be touched. He’s surrounded by the ghosts he just set free. It’s all too much.

He hears Kirishima sigh but then the silence feels all too heavy. It empties his mind of the present and leaves too much room for the memories. He comes to a compromise.

“Hey, idiot,” Katsuki says. “Tell me a story.”

Kirishima tenses beside him. He stammers, “Uh, s-sure. Of what?”

“Anything.” He just needs to hear his voice until sleep pulls him under.

And so he does and his gravity returns. When they wake up the next morning, they’re a tangle of limbs.

***

Sunlight beckons them awake and they extricate themselves from each other without words. For the past few weeks, ever since their first night together on the truck bed, every morning has been this way.

Eijirou tucks his pistol into a proper holster now while Bakugou is bent over his knees, lacing up his boots. Once they’re both ready, they share a glance and then hop into the front seats, off again. Sleepy, laconic conversations have become routine for them and each response brings them closer to some semblance of the energy required to survive.

“You reek,” Bakugou says.

“So do you,” Eijirou says.

“Let’s find a shower.”

“But food first.”

“Food first.”

“And coffee.”

A snort. “Good luck finding that.”

“You really do reek, man.”

“You didn’t think so when you clung to me last night.”

Eijirou laughs, tilting his head back against the seat, listening to the rickety hum of their motor. He catches Bakugou’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.

It’s rare to find an abandoned supermarket stocked up, but when they stumble upon one with its front doors intact, Eijirou suggests they give it a look.

Bakugou grunts an affirmative.

Humid air rolls over them as they step inside. The first thing Eijirou notices is the assaulting stench of rancid meat.

“Eugh,” he half-gags. “That’s ripe.”

“Good sign,” says Bakugou. He stalks past Eijirou. “Means there’s still food here. There’s gotta be something salvageable.”

“Should we split up, then? Cover more ground?”

The faster they’re out of here, the better. If this place has yet to be looted, that means it’s only a matter of time.

“Yeah.” Bakugou cocks his rifle, ever-vigilant. “We’ll meet back at the entrance in ten.”

They part ways and Eijirou combs through the aisles, stocking up on whatever non-perishables he can find. A jar of peanut butter. Saltine crackers. Canned goods. His backpack puts on satisfying weight. But the rotting smell only grows more oppressive the closer he moves toward the back.

He tiptoes forward and the stench sends his stomach lurching. When he turns the corner, fear winds through his stomach.

A girl—no, a corpse—lies at his feet. One yellow-tinted, glassy eye stares straight through Eijirou; the other has been eaten by a festival of maggots that have since found a home in her now-hollow skull.

Infected black veins bulge from her ashen, emaciated hands.

Not just a corpse. A discarded host.

Eijirou draws his gun and calls Bakugou’s name.

Katsuki backs into a wall, aiming his rifle at the horde of enemies closing in on him. He’s limited on bullets and would prefer not to waste any on these lowlife dorobous but if he must, then he will. His eyes dart from left to right, searching for an opening.

Kirishima’s voice falls on deaf ears. It wrenches Katsuki’s heart. Is he alright? Did a dorobou find him? He knows Kirishima is more than capable of taking care of himself.

But still...

The one directly in front of Katsuki cocks his head with amusement. Katsuki’s head spins; something about him sets his nerves on end.

“You know…” His voice is deep and gravelly, grating against Katsuki’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. “You remind me of an old friend. It’s that look in your eyes.”

Katsuki’s blood runs cold but he shows no indication. He narrows his eyes and clicks a bullet into its chute.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” he says, though he’s still careful. Right now, his odds aren’t good.

“Aw, kid, don’t you remember me?” He smiles, displaying a row of decaying teeth. “I wonder if All Might would be proud to know you’re still alive.”

Silence.

Eijirou’s heart sinks.

Without thinking, he breaks into a run.

He keeps his gun drawn as his eyes scan the area, desperately searching for a sign of his partner.

He runs.

Leaping over debris and groceries strewn over the floor.

He runs.

As nightmarish what-ifs fill his head to a point of bursting.

He runs, and runs, and runs.

Because if he doesn’t...

His thoughts and better judgment are so wholly monopolized by adrenaline that he isn’t prepared when he’s tackled. He crashes to the floor, gripping his gun to his chest. Cans of food spill out from his backpack and roll straight into the foot of an adjacent shelf.

Eijirou turns over with a gasp, aiming the gun forward. A dorobou with a nest of blonde hair crushes his legs beneath her weight. Her honey-colored eyes are feral with hunger. A web of black veins blooms from her temple.

Her body has already started to give from the infection; once a host can no longer sustain them, they find their next target.

That insurance bullet flashes in his mind.

She’ll kill him. She’ll take him. The gun throbs in Eijirou’s hand like the heartbeats its bullets are meant to collect.

He should kill her.

He should…

A scream tears through his chest and he jams the butt of his gun into her nose. She shrieks as blood runs over her lips. He wrestles her off and leaps to his feet and he doesn’t hesitate to take off again.

Red floods Katsuki’s vision. Toshinori’s alias falls off the dorobou’s tongue like something poisonous. Visceral familiarity carves into Katsuki’s gut and suddenly the pieces jerk into place. Those smug eyes. The bloodlust that would rather kill than Thieve.

A different host, but it’s him.

“You.” Katsuki abandons logic and self-preservation. He lunges at him. “You son of a bitch!”

He’s shoved to the floor by four or five others and his rifle is wrenched from his grip. It clatters to the floor, out of reach.

“I want the body!”

“Shut up! My host has given way. I need it the most.”

“If you damage it beyond repair, none of us will be able to take it!”

A knee jams into his back and Katsuki’s jaw cracks against the tile. Agony explodes through his body. All of his senses but the ones that register pain begin shutting off. White noise spills into his ears and he feels like his skull is about to burst open.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t see.

He can’t speak.

Why the hell did he let his anger get the better of him? Katsuki tries to curse but pain shoots through his spine.

Maybe this is some kind of penance. To die the same way as Toshinori, the way he should have all those years ago.

Even now, thinking of his mentor’s sacrifice, he’s so selfish.

He’d give anything for more time.

More things to learn. More sunrises to see. More...more nights under the stars and long drives in comfortable silence and more warmth. Warmth under a tender gaze, a familiar voice, a soft touch...

...just...more…

The floor grows warm as pins and needles spread across his back. His heartbeat slows, but so does the pain.

Is it over?

It’s so quiet.

And then, a gunshot.

A scream.

A sob.

Bang.

A watery voice calls his name, not Bakugou, but Katsuki. It sounds so sweet. Like a lullaby. He wants to hear it again. Warm hands carefully roll him over and take him into their arms.

“Hey.”

It’s so warm.

“Katsuki.”

It’s so safe.

“Godammit, STAY WITH ME!”

A gentle flame flecked with fierce gold embers. It’s so beautiful.

“I took care of them but we need to leave before we’re ambushed by more.”

It’s...

“Katsuki.”

It’s home.

***

And then everything burns white.

Katsuki’s eyes open to what feels like the goddamn sun. Slowly, the stiff gears in his mind begin to turn as shards of reality draw together: the ridges of the truck bed under his body, the throbbing in his head, the smell of grass and gasoline, and the faraway sound of music trickling through static—a radio?

He groans and tries sitting up but the pain knocks him back down. Kirishima is instantly by his side, hands hovering just above Katsuki’s shoulders.

Kirishima.

He takes him in: big doe eyes, razor sharp teeth barely biting down on his bottom lip whenever he’s concentrated or confused, the scar cutting through his eyelid. He’s so soft. Kind. For a dumb moment, Katsuki asks himself how someone like this could possibly fit into a world so cruel.

“The….fuck,” Katsuki says.

Kirishima helps settle him into a sitting position, then gestures sheepishly at Katsuki. “I hope it’s okay. I have, like, the bare minimum of first aid knowledge. They taught us at the orphanage. But, uh, I’ve never properly dressed a stab wound.”

Stab wound?

He glances down at his body and connects the pain with a concentrated area just shy of the small of his back. Threadbare bandages are wound tightly around his torso.

“It’s...fine,” Katsuki manages, still dazed.

Kirishima sits back on his heels and exhales; it looks as if it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to breathe in days. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

His head is still full of fog, but through the haze of pain, confusion, and whatever memory he has from that night in the supermarket, he’s able to realize one thing.

Kirishima saved him.

Kirishima, with his gentle heart and careful hands pulled the trigger again and again, crying Katsuki’s name—desperate. Kirishima who once asked him if human hosts could still feel the fear and agony of being Thieved, and then being killed. He discarded his own empathy to save Katsuki.

Dorobou or not, his hands are forever stained with blood now.

“You,” Katsuki begins, then stops himself. He doesn’t need to rehash that. Not right now. There will be time to talk about it just like there will be time for Katsuki to return the favor. Instead, he sighs. “It had to be you, didn’t it? No other asshole could have gotten us out of that mess alive.”

Kirishima laughs and the remaining tension bleeds out of him. There’s still something different in his eyes—not broken, but less naive. They’re the eyes of someone who just learned that the only way to survive is to be more ruthless than the world you’re in.

But those fire eyes with their sunny gold flecks are still unequivocally Kirishima Eijirou.

“Is there anything you need?” he asks. “I mean, now that you’re awake.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of the front seat. “I can change the radio station, though, it’s either this or polka.”

Katsuki has half a mind to snap at Kirishima for coddling him. He doesn’t, though. Because it’s Kirishima. Because when everything was slowing to a stop, all he could see was scarlet eyes and a starlit smile.

So he doesn’t curse at him, or move away, or listen to the parts of himself telling him he’s a fool for letting anybody this deep into his heart.

He says, “You called me Katsuki.”

Pink blossoms on Kirishima’s cheeks. He lets out a nervous laugh and scratches the back of his head. “Sorry about that. I, uh, things were...I mean, you know. I don’t kn—”

“God, you talk too fucking much,” says Katsuki. His fingers wind through the fabric of Kirishima’s shirtfront and he pulls him in for a kiss. Butterflies explode in his stomach and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out through his ribs and at first, he thinks Kirishima is going to push him away.

But he melts.

His hands cradle Katsuki’s face, calloused thumbs circling his cheeks. His flushed skin, soft lips, and the rhythm of his pulse intoxicates him like a drug. When they pull apart, Kirishima licks his lips, and then laughs.

Katsuki is taken aback. Defensively, he sputters, “What the hell?”

“You’re so cute when you’re smitten,” he replies, then presses a sweet kiss to the side of his mouth. Katsuki’s face burns. “Man, I’m so glad you didn’t kill me that first day.”

He snorts, then narrows his eyes. “Once again, you talk way too damn much.”

Kirishima cocks an eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it?”

They fall back into each other and Katsuki smiles against Eijirou’s mouth, thankful at the very least for one thing: that all of the anguish leading up until now gave him something so good. Maybe they were unfairly born into a world where the odds are stacked against them. But maybe there’s also something to be said about the way they’ve kicked adversity in the ass. Destiny, fate, or whatever brought hellfire to their home, challenged humanity to a fight to the death.

Every moment up until now has been about trying to conquer the insurmountable. But now, together, there isn’t an odd they won’t beat.

#kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #fanfic #zine

3 notes · View notes

perfecttimeseleven · 4 years

Link

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 2 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE THREE

(REMINGTON’s writing something down on a sheet of paper. She puts her pen down and lifts it up.)

REMINGTON

(putting her pencil down)

There. I think that’s it.

(DR. MORELLO takes the sheet of paper.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, yes. These look good. Harvest, Ocean, Create, Change, Fight, Art, Family, Freedom...Joyce? Do you mean, like, the given name Joyce?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s Joyce.

DR. MORELLO

Not “choice” or “joy” or something?

JAY

Boyce? Like the actor in Jessie? RIP.

DAISY

(loudly, from another room)

What about, like, “guys” but in a really weird accent? Like, goiys?

REMINGTON

Nope. Uh, Joyce.

JAY

Hey, uh...

DR. MORELLO

What?

JAY

Nah, it’s probably unrelated.

DR. MORELLO

Um. Well, it’s a good leaping off point. Joyce, or whatever the word actually is, can be the first word you concentrate on.

REMINGTON

The word is Joyce.

DR. MORELLO

Jay here can lead you through how to do it.

REMINGTON/JAY

What?

JAY

Hey, you know I’ve been having some trouble with my head people...

DR. MORELLO

Which is exactly why you could use the practice.

REMINGTON

Jay? W-We’re paying good money — I assume — for you. The doctor. Not the random kid.

DR. MORELLO

She works as an, uh, unpaid intern. Remington, this is a seven-day retreat. Did you really think I, personally, would have the strength to lead you in everything twenty four-seven? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go check on Daisy and take my medications.

REMINGTON

Oh! Okay, yeah, that’s...that’s kinda important.

(DR. MORELLO gets up and exits.)

JAY

Why the…pastels…on the shirt?

REMINGTON

For fuck’s sake, I can’t believe you’re nagging on my outfit when your friend Daisy is dressed like a goddamn tie-dye Fruit Rollup.

DAISY

(loudly, from another room)

It’s gay wrath month, dipshit.

JAY

Okay, man, I don’t wanna be here and you don’t either. So let’s just get this over with.

REMINGTON

Or we could take a break.

JAY

A break? From learning vital information about literal voices in your head?

REMINGTON

C’mon, lighten up a little! I’m spending the week here, so let’s, ah,

(leans in, makes a clicking noise with her mouth)

get to know each other.

JAY

What?

REMINGTON

Like, okay. Hmm...

(trying to think of an icebreaker)

when did you first become Dr. Morello’s patient or unpaid intern or whatever?

JAY

Uh, after my mom died in a fire that burned down our house.

(Beat.)

REMINGTON

Oh. Oh, shit. Um. Sorry.

JAY

Don’t be. You didn’t kill her.

(Beat.)

JAY

Dr. Morello’s been taking care of me since.

REMINGTON

That’s nice of him.

(Beat.)

Nice shirt.

JAY

Oh! You…you’ve seen Daisies?

REMINGTON

Ha! No. What do you take me for, an intellectual? The shirt makes you look angsty and hot. I mean, the movie I don’t give a shit about.

JAY

Oh, well, blame me for thinking complimenting a shirt that’s got nothing but a film still on it means you’ve seen the fucking film.

REMINGTON

I didn’t say nice screenshot, dumbass, I said nice shirt.

(Beat.)

JAY

You’re a little shit, you know that?

REMINGTON

Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.

(4. No Room.)

REMINGTON

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE?

WITH…MOODY VIBES AND SLICKED BACK HAIR?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO LOOK LIKE 80S FEMME FATALES?

GIRLS WITH CHIPPED BLACK NAIL POLISH AND A SCINTILLATING GLARE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO COULD BEAT ME UP?

AND, BY THE WAY SHE’S LOOKING AT ME, PROBABLY WOULD?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO COULD FORGET ME IN A WEEK

AND, KNOWING MYSELF, PROBABLY SHOULD?

RELATIONSHIPS ARE SHIT. LOVE IS A HOAX.

LOVE WILL BETRAY YOU AND LEAVE YOU OUT TO DRY.

ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY ME FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

ME, MYSELF, AND I!

AND, WELL, THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD.

CALL ME SELFISH! WELL, IT’S TRUE.

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

JAY

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO THINK THEY’RE THE SHIT?

WHO FLIRT WITH EVERYONE THEY SEE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS I ALSO WANNA PUNCH IN THE FACE

THE MOMENT THEY GET A BIT CLOSE TO ME?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO BEHAVE

LIKE A 2000S HIGH SCHOOL SITCOM TROPE?

WHY DO I LIKE GIRLS WHO ARE DUMB AND SHALLOW?

GIRLS WHO LACK ALL COMMON SENSE BUT STILL HAVE HOPE?

FEELINGS ARE SHIT. LOVE IS A HOAX.

LOVE WILL KICK YOU IN THE SHINS, SPIT IN YOUR EYE!

ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY ME FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

REMINGTON/JAY

ME, MYSELF AND I!

…AND THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD.

CALL ME SELFISH! WELL, IT’S TRUE.

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

SOME PEOPLE FIND ONE PERSON THEY GIVE HOURS OF THEIR LIFE TO.

ONE PERSON WITH WHOM THEY SHARE A BIT OF THEIR PRIME.

ONE PERSON TO CARE ABOUT MORE THAN THEMSELVES.

ONE PERSON WHO COULD BREAK THEIR HEART AT ANY TIME!

WHAT’S WORSE? MARRIAGE! GOD, THE LEVEL OF TRUST!

THE LEVEL OF ATTRACTION THAT EXCEEDS SIMPLE LUST!

ONE PERSON TO EXCHANGE VOWS WITH, ONE PERSON TO TIE YOU DOWN,

JAY

ONE PERSON YOU TRY TO CONVINCE YOURSELF WILL ALWAYS BE AROUND!

REMINGTON/JAY

IF ANYONE WERE TO

JAY

KILL YOU, LIE TO YOU,

REMINGTON

MOCK YOU, MAKE YOU FROWN,

REMINGTON/JAY

USE YOU, ABUSE YOU,

JAY

OR, ‘CAUSE OF A MESSED-UP KID, SKIP TOWN,

REMINGTON/JAY

DON’T YOU THINK IT’D BE THE PERSON YOU LET YOUR GUARD DOWN FOR?

LOVE’S THE BIGGEST LIE SOCIETY FEEDS US.

AND IF ANYONE COULD GET THAT, I FEEL LIKE SHE MIGHT

SHE KNOWS ONLY THREE PEOPLE ACCOMPANY YOU FROM BIRTH UNTIL DEATH:

ME, MYSELF, AND I!

REMINGTON/JAY

GOT NO ROOM IN MY HEAD FOR YOU.

GUESS THAT’S WHY I LIKE GIRLS WHO DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING.

‘CAUSE I KNOW THEY WON’T CARE ABOUT ME.

EVEN IF THEY’RE ASSHOLES, THEY WON’T RUIN MY LIFE.

JUST FLIT IN AND OUT OF IT WITHOUT APOLOGY.

ACT ONE

SCENE FOUR

(There are sounds of DAISY moving around in a kitchen, baking cookies. DR. MORELLO enters.)

DAISY

Oh, hey!

DR. MORELLO

Oh, that looks pristine.

DAISY

(endearingly at freshly baked tray of cookies)

Ohh, she is.

(looks up at DR. MORELLO)

Escaped the masses?

DR. MORELLO

(tired)

Tell me why is it I have to put up with teenage girls for hours on end again? No offense to you. You’re the most bearable of the three.

DAISY

It’s your job.

DR. MORELLO

Ah.

(DAISY puts on oven mitts and heads over to the oven, before opening the oven and taking out another tray of perfect, round, golden-brown sugar cookies.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, that smells phenomenal!

DAISY

(taking the tray to the counter)

Look at us. Aren’t we little housewives. Making some cookies for them as they probably are making out outside.

DR. MORELLO

“Making out”? Oh, Daisy, get your mind out of the gutter.

DAISY

(getting plates) Better get used to the thought. It’s gonna be reality sooner or later if it hasn’t happened already and you know it.

(DR. MORELLO pauses and sighs.)

DR. MORELLO

I do hope you’re wrong. I don’t like the looks of that girl. Jay acts all tough, but she’s already been through so much...

(pauses)

Are you all right, by the way? I know none of us expected this, but —

DAISY

I’m fine.

(sets a plate in front of DR. MORELLO)

Really. Hey, do you want to try one of these? I upped the amount of vanilla extract, so...don’t hesitate to tell me if I’ve committed an atrocity against mankind.

(DR. MORELLO takes a bite.)

DR. MORELLO

Oh, no, delicious as ever! Keep up the good work. I’ll go ahead and order pizza for dinner — cheese is safe?

DAISY

Cheese is safe.

(louder)

Hey, Remy Ratatouille, do you like cheese?

REMINGTON

(loudly, from another room)

Of course I do! What kind of depraved life do you assume I lead?

(DAISY shrugs at DR. MORELLO, who nods.)

DR. MORELLO

Cheese is safe.

(DR. MORELLO exits. 5. Sugar Cookies.)

DAISY

SUGAR COOKIES!

EDIBLE GLITTER ON TOP.

BOUGHT IN A COLOR CALLED “HOLOGRAPHIC SKY.”

GOT THE LAST JAR OF IT STILL LEFT IN THE SHOP;

GRABBED IT RIGHT BEFORE A REAL TOUGH-LOOKING GUY.

BEING HOMESCHOOLED IN A WAY,

I’VE FOUND ACTIVITIES TO WASTE MY DAY,

MY FAVORITE OF WHICH, I HAVE TO SAY,

IS MAKING SUGAR COOKIES!

(starting to spread the frosting onto the cookies)

SUGAR COOKIES!

THEY’RE GLUTEN FREE!

HAVEN’T MADE SUCH A BIG BATCH IN A WHILE.

WELL, IT’S A LITTLE EXTRA. Y’KNOW, FOR THE NEW KID

IN THE WEIRD SUIT, WITH THE WEIRD SMILE

WHO’S EXACTLY JAY’S CUP OF TEA.

GOD, WHEN WILL SOMEONE MY TYPE SHOW UP FOR ME?

SOMEONE TO IMPRESS WITH MY ONLY SKILL IN LIFE:

MAKING SUGAR COOKIES.

AND I’LL TRY TO KEEP IT OUT OF MY MIND THAT SHE’S AN ELEVEN.

BREATHE IN THE SMELL OF GRANULATED SUGAR INSTEAD!

IF I MEASURE THIS RIGHT, THEY’LL TASTE LIKE HEAVEN!

THE FROSTING’S GOTTA BE

AT THE RIGHT CONSISTENCY.

LET’S SEE HOW MANY I STILL NEED TO FROST!

(counting)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...11. God!

AND I’LL TRY NOT TO THINK OF WHAT THAT NUMBER IMPLIES.

SPREAD SOME GLITTER. “HOLOGRAPHIC”! GREAT, YES, JUST A PINCH.

STOP THINKING THIS GIRL’S DOOMED TO AN INEVITABLE DEMISE?

PUT THEM ON A PLATE ALL PRETTY — GOD, I’M FEELING SHITTY!

SUGAR COOKIES!

I CAN MAKE ‘EM WHOLE-GRAIN!

TRY TO MAKE SURE I’M NOT GOING INSANE!

SUGAR COOKIES ALL FOR THE GUEST —

HOPE YOU STAY ALIVE LONGER THAN THE REST!

STAY OUT OF SIGHT, DON’T MEDDLE, YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I’D SUGGEST!

AND OH...TAKE A SUGAR COOKIE.

#transcript #perfect times eleven #px11 #ep 2 #daisy noxx #rupert morello #jay mazziotta #Remington long

14 notes · View notes

afishcalledfatin · 5 years

Text

Dr NAKAMOTO

ALL MY COVERS HAVE THE NAME INSOMNIAC BECAUSE THIS WAS FROM MY OTHER ACCOUNT!!

Fafa's note: ahhh hello~ the story is super long and I apologise if the quality isn’t as good. I hope you enjoy it!

summary: in which Yuta, a scary and intimidating doctor suddenly develops feelings for a resident who was working under him, you.

Pairing: doctors! Yuta x female reader

genre: FLUFF

• He’s a neurosurgeon.

• Super serious

• A member of “handsome doctors” group.

• Has a smile that can make anyone swoon

• Rarely smiles though. Unless with friends, family and patients.

• Everyone is intimidated by him.

• But he isn’t an asshole to the residents and interns. He’s just firm with them.

• “A hospital is no place for funny business.” you’ll always hear him say this. Which is true.

• Tough demeanour

• But super soft on the inside uwu

• Has a soft spot for Dr Dong. “SICHENG NOTICE ME!” “DR NAKAMOTO STAHPPP.”

• Drinks black coffee but will get a green tea or hot chocolate once in a while.

• MAKE SURE TO ADD MARSHMALLOWS TO HIS HOT CHOCOLATE!

• Dyes his hair and doesn’t get into trouble. I don’t know how he does it.

• “Is Dr Nakamoto’s hair purple?” “Wasn’t it grey the other day?” Nobody dares to ask though.

• Will always offer to pay but secretly hopes he doesn’t have to when paying for dinner with the guys.

• Sorta scared of the emergency ward. Johnny has to go to him if he wants to hang out

• Resting bitch face is strong with this one, he looks really hot though. You could see him from a mile away and feel goosebumps grow. He’s that powerful. “Is it cold or something? Oh wait, no it’s Dr Nakamoto.”

• But will nod in acknowledgement to patients.

• Legend says if you smile to him he might smile back.

• Nurses constantly talk about him. Oh, he knows by the way. He just doesn’t say anything.

• SUPER SOFT FOR HIS PATIENTS. LITERALLY ALL SMILES AND COMFORTING WORDS.

• Hangs out with Dr Jung a lot. Also because Dr Jung is very curious on how the human brain works. Dr Nakamoto just goes along with it.

• “YUTA I HAVE QUESTIONS.” “That’s Dr Nakamoto in the work place and I’ll only answer them over coffee and cake.”

• What’s it like to work with him?

• You need to be dedicated and focused.

• Expect a lecture once in a while.

• He really loves and appreciates those who work with him. He just doesn’t show it. If he ever says “good job today.” “you did well.” “keep it up.” Its short for YOU GUYS ARE GREAT AND TALENTED I LOVE ALL OF YOU PLEASE DON’T GIVE UP.

• Loves to bully Mark and Donghyuck.

• “I’m a better doctor than Mark right?” “I like Jaemin.” “but Jaemin is a nurse.” “Your point is?” “ARE YOU SAYING WE’RE BOTH BAD DOCTORS?” “I gotta go finish my paperwork.”

• Worries for his friends sanity sometimes but loves them no matter what.

• “Yuta, why do we have fingertips but not toe tips. BUT WE TIP TOE AND NOT TIP FINGER? YUTA WHAT?” “Taeil you should come in for a check up sometime. I’m genuinely worried for what’s going on in there.”

• But sometimes he hits blunt too.

• “Sicheng, do you think fish see water? Like we don’t see air. Holy shit.” “Uhm…”

• Pays attention to everything. “Did you use a new perfume?” “yeah, I am. I’m surprised you noticed.”

• Secretly wants to find love but doesn’t know how.

• Then you walked into his life.

• You were a resident who was working under Dr Nakamoto. At first, you were under the impression that he didn’t like you. Then again, he didn’t really like all the the residents.

• But he noticed how you were always writing reminders and notes. You were skillful and made sure there wasn’t a mistake in your work. He found your bubbly personality quite questionable at first but after a while he got used to it.

• “Are you alright?” “I’m just tired, finish these up for me.” which you will. He always wondered why you never complained with the amount of work he gave until one day he asked.

• “You never whine or silently curse like your colleagues, why is that?” “I make sure I’m not a burden to you. The last thing I want you to feel is that I’m not serious about this. This is my dream and I’ll do anything to make sure it comes true.”

• After that, he trusted you with a lot of tasks. He knew you were the best one out of your whole group and you were also happy that he trusted you.

• You actually grew closer. Having silly arguments and all. You had a small crush on him but you ignored it.

• “Cereal first then milk. Period.” “Nah, milk then cereal.” “Doc, you’ve got serious problems.” “Excuse you, but the cereal doesn’t get as soggy as fast.”

• He usually lets you win

• Sometimes it’s actually serious though but its never gotten so bad where you’d avoid each other. He became really scary that one time you mixed up a bunch of papers. He was really pissed at you and you snapped causing you to get your emotions in the way.

• “I can’t believe you mixed up the papers Y/N. I’m disappointed in you.” “I’m so sorry.” “You should be. You’ve just wasted my time. Did you know that those files hold very important information about each and every one of my patients? Because of you, now I will need to- ” “I didn’t mean to, okay? Did you think I wanted that to happen? No, I didn’t.” Your voice breaking. You walked off, slightly teary.

• You were having a tough day. Your family cat had fallen ill, you couldn’t sleep, a patient vomited on you and overall you just had a really shitty day. He was shocked. That was the first time anyone has ever snapped at Yuta.

• He would normally be super frustrated but that day, his chest hurt when he saw you walk away.

• He had let you cool off first then you found a cookie with a note that said “are you okay? I’m sorry for yelling at you. Forgive me?” in your bag. You knew he didn’t show emotions well, so the fact he did that made your heart swell. That was when your feelings for him began to grow.

• At first, he didn’t understand why he cared about your feelings so much. He ignored it for so long.

• “I shouldn’t be treating her like this. All residents need to be treated equally but I can’t help but.. care for her.” He told Taeyong. Taeyong looked at his confused friend. “Yuta, I have a few questions for you. When she’s with her male colleagues, how do you feel?” “Honestly, a bit annoyed. The way they talk to her its just so irritating.” “Okay, how bout when she’s happy? What makes her happy?” “I get this warm feeling when I see her happy. She gets really excited when she accomplish things.” “Okay, final question. Do you hate seeing her sad?” “Of course! she gets teary eyed and pouty. I DON’T KNOW IT JUST HURTS.” Taeyong merely laughed.

• “Yuta.. you like her.” Yuta was staring at Taeyong. He hasn’t liked anyone since middle school. “Are you sure?” “Yuta, you get jealous seeing her with other guys. You are happy when she’s happy and you never want to see her sad because you get sad yourself. The last time we spoke of the residents, you didn’t care for any of their feelings. You. Like. Her.”

• You guys were back to normal but he seemed quieter than usual.

• You didn’t know why he was quiet and you decided to change that. You told him your jokes.

• Even though the jokes were really bad, he would eventually let out a chuckle. Followed by “Gosh, you’re really lame sometimes.” But he loved having you around anyways. He knew you were trying your best to make him happy.

• The doctors noticed how his mood has changed lately. He wasn’t as serious all the time.

• “Look, I’m not saying I didn’t like it BUT I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIM TO TICKLE ME.”

• That was when Taeyong decided to tell the group about Yuta’s little crush.

• “WAIT, SO YOU’RE TELLING US THAT OUR BROODING AND SERIOUS BEST FRIEND IS DEVELOPING FEELINGS FOR A RESIDENT?” “Yep” “Doesn't he hate the residents though?” “Oh, he still does. Except for that certain one.”

• They would occasionally ask how you were and that one time Johnny and Jaehyun joined you for lunch.

• “Y’know, finding the one can make you really happy.” Jaehyun said out of the blue. “Yeah, I gotta thank Dr Nakamoto for introducing the love of my life to me. I wish he had someone too.” Johnny said as he drank his coffee. “Uhm yeah. That would be nice.” you said awkwardly. “WELL, I MEAN HE’S BEEN REALLY LONELY AND- OH MY GOD YUTA. HEY!” Johnny dropped his spoon as he saw Dr Nakamoto standing behind you. “Uhuh, who were you talking about, Johnny?” your lunch break was over so you decided to YEET.

• “Well, it was nice having lunch together. Thank you!” you walked past Dr Nakamoto and he gave you a little smile.

• They were about to leave before Yuta stared at them causing them to sit back down. “Well, you see, Y/N is such a great person and-” “You guys, I know that you all know. Doyoung asked me about it.” he plopped down in one of the seats. “We’re really happy you found someone, y’know.” Jaehyun smiled. “I don’t think she feels the same way though...”

• The other residents were lowkey jealous of how the other doctors were treating you but they teased you about it though.

• “Y/N your favourite doctor is looking for you.” “what?” “Dr Nakamoto?” “guys.. stop.” As you run away.

• “Y/N, its urgent please come to my office.” You received a text from Dr Nakamoto. You were already on the way there.

• “Doc?” because you were typically close with him, he didn’t mind if you called him that. Only you though.

• “Hey, uhm so I wanted to talk to you about something.” For the first time, the confident Dr Nakamoto was nervous.

• “Sure! About?” you waited for his reply until he shook his head. “Uh, you are finally ending your residency in a week.” You nod, not sure what he was trying to say. “What I wanted to say was…” you waited. Secretly hoping. “I’M TREATING ALL OF YOU FOR DINNER THE DAY YOU GUYS BECOME DOCTORS.” You smile a bit. Slightly disappointed but still happy. What a goof.

• “Thank you doc. I’ll tell the rest of them.” You walked out.

• “You idiot.” Yuta muttered to himself as he plopped back into his chair. “Why can’t you just tell her?” he huffed.

• You told everyone and they were excited.

• A week has passed and you and your colleagues were officially doctors.

• Yuta came up to you. “Congratulations Y/N. Here.” He gave you a small box.

• You were shocked that he got you a gift. “Thank you, Dr Nakamoto. You shouldn’t have.”

• He smiled and walked away. You got a text from him. It was the address to the restaurant.

• Everyone was out of their scrubs and was now wearing their casual attire. You opt for an over sized sweater and tucked it into your jeans. You paired it with heeled boots. You opened up the gift he gave you and you smiled. It was a bracelet with stars. You have mentioned how much you loved stargazing. You were surprised that he remembered. You carefully picked it up and wore it. Finally, you tied your hair into a messy bun.

• You looked great.

• Dr Nakamoto hasn’t actually seen you outside of work before, so when he saw you he literally chocked on his water.

• “Doc, you okay?” you sat across from him. He was wearing a white dress shirt. He unbuttoned the first two buttons and rolled his sleeves to his elbows.

• You couldn’t help but look because hot damn.

• “Yeah, just saw… something.” He continued to sip on his water.

• The dinner was great, some doctors couldn’t drink because they were working that night including you two.

• You couldn’t help but notice how… happy Dr Nakamoto looked. He barely smiled or laughed in front of many people.

• He also invited the other doctors which caused many of the customers at the restaurants to stare at the group of good-looking men.

• You didn’t notice how you were staring at him. He turned to you and gave you a sweet smile, making you look down. You blushed, hard. Dinner was over and Yuta obviously paid, like he promised. Taeil sighed in relief.

• “Hey Doc! Wait up!” you called for Yuta. Both of you were working tonight, so you thought you could just walk back with him.

• He turned around, his jacket in his hand while his other hand was in his pocket. Man, he looked great. His shirt was tucked into his fitting pants. His hair pushed back. “Is everything alright?” he asked. You cocked an eyebrow. “I’m on duty tonight. I thought we could walk back together.” He nodded. “Sure. C’mon.”

• The walk was quiet. It wasn’t awkward, it was a comfortable silence.

• “Y/N, I need to tell you something.” “What is it?”

• “I… I really-” a raindrop fell onto his cheek. Both of you looked at each other before rain began to pour.

• “Are you serious?” he muttered, you were trying to cover your head from the rain.

• Yuta suddenly pulled you closer to him as he covered the both of you with his jacket. “Let’s run.” You both ran to the closest bus stop. You both laughed together. He stopped and stared at you, a smile on his face.

• “Y/N.” He called. You face him and saw him coming closer to you. “I swear to god, I hope this works.” You were about to question him but then his strong hand held onto your waist and pulled you to his chest, while his other hand holds your face gently. His lips on yours, moving slowly. You were shocked at first but you wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed him back.

• “You have no idea how nervous I am. You’ve been occupying my mind for the longest time. You’re an extraordinary person Y/N. When I first met you, I didn’t really think much besides how gorgeous you are. When I got to know you, I began to realise you were different. How calm you are when you speak to patients or how passionate you are while working. At first, I thought I only liked you because you weren’t like the rest of the residents but then i was wrong. I liked you because I was developing very strong feelings for you. I realised this the day I made you sad. Seeing you makes me happy, hearing you laugh gives me a warm feeling. When I see you sad, I just want to give you a hug and tell you everything was going to be okay. Basically, I.. I really like you Y/N. So, so much.” he stopped. You could hear his shallow breaths. You hugged him, resting your head on his chest.

• He sighed, hands wrapped around your waist. You suddenly let go and began pacing, he watched you intently before you turned around “WAIT HOLD ON. SO, YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR ME?” he nodded, confused as to why you were pacing around.

• “YOU’RE TELLING ME I COULD’VE BEEN WITH YOU EARLIER? DR NAKAMOTO YUTA I SWEAR TO GOD. I’VE HAD A CRUSH ON YOU FOR THE LONGEST TIME. I THOUGHT YOU HATED ME and oh my god I need to shut up.” As you noticed his amused expression.

• He laughed so hard that he was clutching onto his stomach. You both laughed until you realised the rain had stopped. The both of you walked back to the hospital, hand in hand. He looked down at your hand and grinned, seeing the bracelet he gave on your wrist.

• So, what was he like when you were together?

• Well, S W E E T.

• Writes you cute notes and leaves them on your laptop.

• “Ms Y/N, you’re leaving the stars jobless. You are glowing.” “Y’know how you were wondering on what to do on your free day, wanna go on a hike? I found a mountain with a beautiful view and I wanna share it with you my love.” “I can’t wait for our date later, aka our coffee break ♡” “Just wanted to remind you that I love you very much. And I’m hungry. Meet me at the cafeteria in an hour! ♡♡♡”

• Quick pecks right before a surgery. Coffee dates and walking around parks. He liked listening to you when you talked and when you were angry about something, he’ll comfort you and he’ll play with your hair. After you cooled down, he would advice you on your problem. When he was angry, all he wanted to do was to take a nap with you. It always calmed him down.

• You were each others support systems.

• You love Yuwin. *Yuta hugs Sicheng* “AHHH YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTEEE!” “I DON’T DESERVE YOU Y/N.” “gUYS!”

• Yuta was so public like HE MADE SURE EVERYONE KNEW YOU GUYS WERE DATING.

• The guys would TRY to tease him but he would always stare at them dead in the eye before they could even continue

• “So, how’s datin-” “Jungwoo.” “Uh I have to go pee.”

• But loves to tease you. Especially in front of the guys

• *stares at him* “So, are you going to kiss me or what?”

• *the guys stare at him with wide eyes* “Well goddamn Yuta.”

• Doesn’t matter though, you love him a lot and he loves you just as much.

Hello~ I don’t actually know how the medical world works, I only know the basics. I deeply apologise if there are mistakes.

Credits to owner of the photo.

#nct #nct imagines #nct yuta nakamoto #nct 127 #nct soft hours #nct scenarios #nct blurbs #nct drabbles #nct fluff #yuta imagines #yuta soft hours #yuta scenarios #yuta blurbs #yuta boyfriend #yuta drabbles #yuta fluff

252 notes · View notes

thedeeperlayer · 4 years

Text

I was fourteen when I first tasted the sweet, aromatic blend of tobacco, sugars, and ammonia compounds. It was 1998. The year of Clinton and Lewinsky. The year the guy from Die Hard was saving the Aerosmith-adjacent Earth from a Michael Bay Meteorite.

I was fourteen. Instead of navigating the intolerable 3D world of Hyrule in Ocarina of Time, I was out making an imprudent moron out of myself with an RCA Solid State Image Sensor VHS Camcorder. My idiotic entourage and myself thought we were the uproarious epitome of cool. In actuality, we were ridiculous, annoying fuckwits. I was an absolute pain in the ass.

I'm not going to cock and bull with excuses. I started smoking because I thought I was fucking cool. I had older friends that did it and I dated girls that did it. When my mum found out I was flicking the Bic on the cancer stick, she was both disappointed and somewhat content. Her contentment for my lung corruption behavior was only because it meant she now had a smoking mate.

Mum and Pops didn't always have a harmonious relationship. They would cross swords and oppose each other's views a lot. Mum would complain about Pops never being home. Pops would bewail mum's smoking habit. It was always constant repetition down the same path. Dad never knew I smoked. He would of berated mum and blamed her if he ever found out.

Because of our shared toxic pastime, my mum and I became very close. We discussed all things life. Everything from grace and elegance to the septic shithole bottom. We talked about atrocious dislikes and stupefying satisfactions. We told mindless jokes and gave deep-thought opinions.

For the sake of storytelling length, let's just say we always had each other's back.

Unfortunately, the clock ticks, and the hours pass. In a blink of an eye, things are different. I grew up. I got married. I moved. Mum was downhearted and sad. I was the first of her children to leave from beneath her roof.

I've worked lousey, shit jobs just to make ends. It is indeed accordance with fact, smoking does alleviate stress. I didn't think it was cool to smoke anymore, instead I smoked because my shitty job was an emotional mindfuck. Pounding the coffin nails down my throat made me feel better.

I didn't want to poison my saclike respiratory organs anymore. I tried quitting. I tried the gum that supposedly calms cravings. I tried the rubber band wrist snap when I had the desire. I tried the ridiculous electronic substitutes. Nothing worked. I thought, fuck it. I didn't want to grow old and become one of the dust bags that retire in Florida anyway.

It was October, 2015. I was just finishing a much needed break from my mediocre job. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was mum calling. I contentedly answered it.

She said she had a mass on her lungs. She told me not to be worried, it could be pneumonia. She said she would let me know more tomorrow.

I instantly broke down and wailed. I could feel that something was extraordinarily wrong. My heart was in excruciating pain. It was exceedingly difficult to finish my shift that night. Every time I was alone, my eyes would swell. It was a long, tedious night.

The following day, I anxiously waited for mum to call.

Haplessly, she called right before I had to go to work. She said it was stage 4 lung cancer. She told me not to worry. She said she was going to get help. I knew stage 4 was the inevitable. It's treatable, but not curable.

I was so heartsick.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

My family was devastated. Mum is the support beam that holds my lunatic family's structure together. My brother and sister were in severe shock. Pops was completely shattered.

The following week, my wife and I picked mum up from the hospital. She was being fitted for a radiotherapy mask. Mum was spiritless. She lacked vigor and enthusiasm. She looked defeated. This was the one time I convulsively, and uncontrollably sobbed in front of her. If you knew mum, she was always resilient and enduring. She was wholehearted, and a matriarch to many. It was challenging to see her in that frail condition.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

Mum had sort of a short fringe hairstyle with spiky bangs. She would ornament it with a decorative headband. Often she would dye it golden or honey blonde to hide the off-putting grays.

The days passed. Weeks. My wife and I made frequent visits. Mum was sitting in her recently purchased stationary style comfy chair. She was wearing a sun-style flat brim cap. Mum never wore hats. “I'm losing my hair,” she said. She lifted a grocery sac where she was accumulating a large cache of her hair.

Eventually Pops shaved her head.

My wife and I purchased her a collection of hats.

The holidays came. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mum always took pride in cooking the meals. She couldn't anymore. She was too weak. She could hardly walk. It was now Pop's responsibility to prepare the brown sugar glazed ham. She shouted out the recipe to him in the kitchen. “Heat the honey and sugar until it dissolves!” Pops would earnestly urge her not to yell. She was always short-winded and depended on oxygen gas to breathe.

Christmas morning was grim. Mum kept saying she wanted to have a nice Christmas. “This might be my last Christmas. I want it to be nice,” she despairingly would say.

We wore smiles but they were fraudulent. Inside we were somber. Cheerless. Gift exchange was dispiriting. We were appreciative, but it was hard to express it. The only audio in the room was the pulling and shredding of novelty wrapping paper. We played unintellectual board games while Mum sat in the living room and stared at the TV. The Hallmark holiday collection was on but Mum wasn't interested. She was disconnected, absent of response.

My wife and I went home. I lit cigarette after cigarette.

January came and went. February came. Mum had gotten worse. We went to visit her on my birthday. She was without emotion. Unresponsive. Pops struggled to make her recognize my company. She was comatose-like. Pops was in a panic. We rushed her to the ICU. She now had malignant brain tumors. Her recent actions were symptoms. The drowsiness. The constant agitation.

She was given enough treatment to restore her moral senses. She asked to see me and my wife. Mum was stretched out on a hospital cot. She was buried beneath intravenous lines and hoses. She saw us and smiled. “Watch this,” she gently said. She proceeded with plucking the pulse oximeter from her finger to mortify the doctors. She still had her sense of humor.

Later, Nurse Ratched impertinently pulled my family away from Mum. She disrespectfully spoke of Mum's unavoidable fate. Ratched told us that Mum will die. She told us to make sure we make the correct decision when the time comes.

No one in my family wanted to hear that.

The hospital discharged Mum.

My wife and I went home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, hardly inhaling. I breathed in a few more.

I delve into searches about the great demise on Google. I’m not one who appreciates surprises, so I wanted to be hauntingly prepared.

As the end approaches, your role is to be present, provide passionate comfort, and remove doubts from your loved one with soothing words and loving actions that help maintain their mental ease and dignity.

The entire evening I fixedly scrutinized my phone screen. It made me overwhelmed with grief. It put me in an unsettling place. It was that night that I accepted that my Mum was actually going to be gone.

Her condition continued to worsen.

It was difficult for her to digest food. She no longer could intake any solids. Pops couldn’t accept the harshness of the situation. He was in rack and ruin. Blatantly, he would hurry to the nearest fast-food establishment and order her a strawberry milkshake. In double time he would speed home to give her the malted treat. She would fiercely vacuum in the strawberry drink through a straw. Clearly she was hungry, but her gasping, pain and abnormal breathing patterns made it difficult for her to swallow.

Pops told me, the prior evening, he strenuously got Mum into the loo. He proceeded to aid her, however she immediately denied his assistance. “Let me help you,” he despairingly said. “But you're a boy and I'm a girl,” she woefully baffled.

Delirium. One of the common symptoms observed near death.

Pops was hysterical. This unforeseen responsibility was so unfamiliar to him. He was terrified. He was frightened to lose the one person he spent his entire life with.

Again he rushed her to intensive care.

My wife and I were at home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag and quickly put it out.

Mum was denied anymore treatment. She was recommended hospice care and medically necessary equipment for at-home use.

Pops thought hospice may not only be valuable to Mum, but also beneficial to him because the workers could assist him through the inexperience and unexpected. We all knew what misery and despair would come next, but Pops was in a idiosyncratic denial.

Hospice was fucking useless, but more on that a little later.

My wife and I visited her everyday.

Each day she worsened and disintegrating.

She was often confused. She would appear asleep, but her breathing would be noisy, congested. She would appear peaceful and at rest, and within seconds she would begin screaming. She would holler agonizing cries. Dad would have to pump her with morphine to tranquilise her treacherous pain.

Day after day, her conditioned intensified. Her skin's pigment distorted to a grayish tone. Her face had depressed and sunken below her eyes. Her lips dried up and shriveled.

The drainage bag connected to the catheter began to fill with a rust color.

She had abnormal growths swell in unusual parts of her body.

Day after day we visited. She no longer would move. The congested breathing was the remaining sign of life. We attentively watched over her like this for days. She didn't want to go. She dearly loved her family. The Oncologist asked her, “what do you live for?” Her response was so straightforward and emotionally rewarding. She said, “my family”. Mum was uncomplicated. She lived to be a loving mum and caring wife. She always put her family first. That's who she was.

She died on August 22, 2016. She battled cancer for seven months. She spent nearly four weeks in hospice care. Only four short instances was Hospice workers available for aid, one of the times being immediately after death. The available nurse plucked an orange Marigold from the neighbors’ garden and lied it in my Mum's cold hands. She called the Funeral Home to coordinate arrangements for pickup and hastily left.

It was a horrifying experience for my family. Not only for us observing every nightmarish minute, but for Mum too. I can't imagine how afraid she was and how she felt. I just hope it wasn't guilt that resonated with her in her final days. She was the reason my family was so profound and passionate about things. The reason we were all there, again and again, expressing our sorrow and love together.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since her later days in hospice care.

She was a beautiful, loving person, and we watched her severely weaken and diminish largely because of a lifelong bad habit. I never want to put anyone I love through that, ever again.

#smoking #quit smoking #real life #cigarettes #death #life and death #quit #bad habits #writting #write #truth #its the truth

1 note · View note

sonicenvy · 4 years

Text

tagging in from @rockford-peach‘s fun lil’ tag game!

favorite american mythological creature? Honey Island Swamp Monster, it totally reminds me of the complete aesthetic of the DnD campaign I’m currently playing

dye your hair or get a piercing? Piercing, definitely; way too lazy to do anything to my (and too broke, since every hair place ever seems to upcharge for curly hair 🙄)

write a paper or do a presentation? Wow this such a tricky one??? Theoretically I like writing; if adhd brain would ... cooperate, definitely. Presentations are totally fun to make (especially if i can include: useless history facts, shitty puns & dumb graphics) but I get very, very nervous when actually ... ya know... presenting them. So uhhhh.

berries or citrus? Citrus! Lemon Cookies anyone?

what “cringe” fandom were you a part of, and still like the content for? oh boy, uhhhh i guess ... doctor who? (people think that’s cringely now don’t they?) I was tragically a superwholock in 2011, and have peaced the fuck out of that shit, but I am still and always a Rose Tyler stan at heart.

where you want to go when quarantine ends? The park, outside, the camera store (I need to pick up some more film stock and developer), My job (I miss our kids and my coworkers who are pretty awesome), the thrift store, estate sales, the beach.

you get to hang out with one mutual for a day, who is it? don’t make me choose! I love my friends. I miss hanging out in-person with @rockford-peach, @fantastic-nonsense, @vorpal-queen, @itsthenerdwonder, @irishgirl1613, @elegant-iris @ladyofthegayships and more people whose urls i can’t spell probably. I miss seeing ... people that aren’t my pharmacist.

do you own any pride stuff? buttons and enamel pins.

“sexiest” feature you would add (wings, talons, etc)? being able to fly would be super rad!

if someone were to make an aesthetic board for you, what should it include? Oh boy! Flowers, succulents, trees, dogs, carrie fisher quotes, lines from my favorite poems, medieval art, pretty blue glazes, the train, my bicycle, victorian pictorialism, irish folklore stuff, at least (1) film camera, my dog (on repeat), choral music sung in a space with huge lofted ceilings, hozier music, old books, S P A C E, old buildings, witchy winds at the tops of mountains, a rain storm on the horizon, the forest with little gurgling creeks, the shores of the great lakes, clay, elves

Literally anyone who wants to go forth and fill out this form do it!

#text #abt #tag meme #thanks for tagging me! i loved the aesthetic question so much

4 notes · View notes

sickjoonie · 5 years

Text

fic recs for each ship

i love every ship and read fics for each ship... so i made a masterlist of my favorite fics for every ship lol. also i apologize in advance because i read really long fics

yoonjin

Precisely When Somebody Shows You to the Ocean - 21k - M

The longer Yoongi hangs around the tank in the aquarium, the more he thinks that Seokjin is, in fact, a real mermaid.

“You’re really real,” he says, keeping his voice neutral. “You’re not acting, are you?”

Seokjin smiles, yet it’s the saddest Yoongi has seen him. “I am acting, though. I’m pretending to pretend to be a mermaid.”

(we love a chaotic but soft duo)

2seok

hashtag trashbag - 15k - T

Hoseok plays video games for a living. Also, he's gay. Like, so deep in the gay, dicks in his mouth kinda gay.

(this one is fucking hilarious. i love reading it)

namjin

cotton candies and sugar addicts - 6k - T

In a final, desperate attempt to get Seokjin to notice him, Namjoon dyes his hair pink. However, Seokjin avoids him more than ever and Namjoon doesn't know what he did wrong.

(namjoon is an angsty overgrown teen but it’s okay jin loves him anyways)

jinmin

The Golden Rule of Love Curses - 16k - G

A comprehensive list of things Seokjin expected when he took a job at the library:

a decent paycheck to mitigate his growing student loan debt

time to catch up on his reading

and by "reading" he means his DS. He's going to play video games.

admittedly this is bordering on ironic seeing as he's a librarian but a chef's life isn't all about food, so he figures a librarian can enjoy other pursuits.

his would be, though. If he was a chef, it would be all food, all the time.

An incomprehensive list of things Seokjin did not expect when he took a job at the library:

a talking seagull.

did he mention the talking seagull, because he feels like no one is properly panicking about a talking seagull?

oh, and also a wizard places him under a curse.

sorry, correction, a wizard places him under a spell. There is obviously a very significant difference, apologies Jimin. A spell is so much better than a curse.

(put the two sassiest members together and you get this)

taejin

i put the EEL in fEELings - 11k - T

"Average person expresses 3 genuine feelings a day" factoid actually just statistical error. Average person expresses 10 genuine feelings per day. Spiders Seokjin, who lives in a dorm and expresses -10,000 feelings each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.

(Wherein Taehyung woos Seokjin with flowers, cooking, RJ heads, and a potato, and Seokjin... totally doesn't have a meltdown. Ever.)

(ao3 tag seokjin is bad at feelings but taehyung is a good boy)

jinkook

Fake Sugar - 87k - E

Hedge Fund wunderkind and Certified Awkward Gay Jungkook needs a sugar baby to show off at work, and Professional Competitive Eater and Objectively Beautiful Human Jin just wants to stop working shitty side-jobs. Fake Sugar Daddy AU. A trope and a half.

(this is so long but so funny but also so sad. love it. seokjin eats a lot)

yoonseok

could roses bloom - 5k - NR

Yoongi looks up and finds himself staring at a gorgeous stranger with dyed brown hair and dark circles under his eyes. He startles a bit and watches as this other man sets a glass of lukewarm water in front of him.

"In case you get thirsty," the man smiles and it's like a fragment from a dream.

(this one is kind of like a sickfic and i think that’s mainly why it’s my fav lmao)

namgi

what rhymes with pug me - 62k - T

namjoon and yoongi share a sweater (and also some feelings)

(JTOWEFWJFIWOEJF IF CUKING LOVE THIS FIC ITS MY FAVORITE AND I LOVE NAMGI OWJEFO)

yoonmin

You’re a Flame In My Heart - 29k - T

Yoongi is a permanently exhausted part-timer in a flower shop who hates flowers, and Jimin is a dancer that is allergic to pollen and needs a better boyfriend. Yoongi thinks Jimin might be his favorite flower, and he's biologically human, what the fuck.

(yoonmin often has yoongi as this cold, edgy guy. this fic accurately portrays them. also some soft, caring yoongi heals the soul)

taegi

my heart flutters from the sugar high - 5k - M

Yoongi and Taehyung sneak around together, cheating on their diets. The group? They've drawn different conclusions.

(also fucking hilarious. they’re oblivious)

yoonkook

let the light in - 65k - T

There is magic in the world, but for years Jungkook has shied away from his gift. (It's intrusive, unwelcome, dangerous.) Now, he's in New York City, battling loneliness and a college course he hates. Until on one particularly bad day, he turns down a side street in East Village and his life changes forever.

(you think you won’t cry but you will. you WILL.)

namseok

tadhana - 32k - E

The site was in English, and Namjoon really should've checked it over before Hoseok booked the room, but there's nothing to be done about it now.

They've got a ten day honeymoon package on a beautiful island, and they're going to make the most of it. Even if it means pretending they're newlyweds to win extra prizes from the resort.

(probs the least angsty fake dating au. i feel like this is the most accurate portrayal of them)

jihope

out of the blue and into my world, you could be the making of me - 23k - E

jimin and hoseok are spies who are deep undercover. everyone thinks they're happily married and at some point, the two just stopped pretending.

(wholesome soft husbands. also there are kittens, that’s important)

vope

Vortex of Death - 16k - M

Jung Hoseok is mortally afraid of roller-coasters and water-slides. He’s also fatally attracted to the boy who works as a lifeguard at the theme park’s greatest attraction: the Vortex of Death.

(hoseok gay panicking for 16k words)

hopekook

DOES/DOES NOT - 20k - G

Jeongguk thinks Hoseok likes him. Hoseok thinks Jeongguk does not like him.

They are both wrong and get yelled at by Yoongi.

(character developement....chef’s kiss)

minjoon

of dogs & men - 20k - T

I work at a vet clinic and you work for the mafia. You started coming in to get patched up and threatened me to not to turn you into the police. Little do you know that I remember you as my high school crush, and you have no need to threaten me, because I'm still charmed by you

(an ACCURATE mafia au. mafias aren’t sexy and this depicts what it is actually like. namjoon isn’t too deep involved, just as a spoiler)

vmon

i see the sun in your ocean eyes - 14k - T

Taehyung is a selkie who wants to live in the human world; Namjoon is a boy who doesn't know how to. They figure it out together on an island off the coast of Jeju.

(this is soft and sad. good for rainy days)

namkook

bees, knees, and emotional crises - 20k - T

Jungkook and Namjoon meet at the weekly farmer's market where Namjoon sells honey that he makes himself, and Jungkook has a crush the size of Pangea and also cries about bees a few times because they're important, damn it

(bees. bees! BEES!)

vmin

we feel the same within our veins - 12k - T

the au where taehyung wakes up glowing, jimin is probably his soulmate, and everyone is reasonably concerned

(WE ALL KNOW VMIN ARE SOULMATES OKAY. OKAY??? THIS IS SOFT)

jikook

oh boy (will you awaken the hidden me?) - 6k - T

Jimin thinks he's lucid dreaming and kisses Jeongguk.

(shy jungkook is my aesthetic. they do some smooching)

taekook

Cinnamon Crisp - 21k - M

Jungkook needs his daily dose of cuddles and Taehyung likes to wear Jungkook's clothes. They don't care that alphas and omegas aren't supposed to be best friends.

(if you want non traditional/toxic abo fic... with soft taekook cuddles.... and soft warm fuzzy love...this is it)

#finn recs #long post #i love these esp the namgi one and the taekook one #eheheh

29 notes · View notes

wigwurq · 5 years

Text

WIG REVIEW: AVENGERS - ENDGAME

You guys can you believe I saw a Marvel movie within like 5 days of its release? I DID IT! AND NOW I CAN WRITE A LOT OF SPOILERS - READ ON ONLY IF YOU HAVE SEEN THIS 3 HOUR MARVEL OPUS TO ITSELF! But what about the wigs? OH GURL. LET’S DISCUSS.

We begin in the Mid-waste (I think?) where Hawkeye has been taking some time out of the fight and hanging by a sleeping tree, Bran-style (oh get ready for a lot of GoT crossover comments as I saw this right after the Battle of Winterfell episode and I might get my nerdy details conflated). Anyhoo, did you know that Hawkeye is married to Linda Cardellini? Is she just the supportive wife in everything? Side note: this fact might have existed in an earlier MCU movie. To be fair, I have seen MOST MCU movies (except Thor 2 and Spider-Man and I’m not correcting that) and only saw the other ones like once so I was going into this movie like most of America: vaguely confused about former facts and really exhausted about where this 3 hour movie was about to take me. ANYWAY, Hawkeye’s entire family vanishes like at the end of Infinity War and ugh I see what you’re doing Endgame: this movie is gonna be a BUMMER.

Iron Man of course lightens the mood with some cute banter with Nebula but also: they’re fully about to die in the space void and did RDJr lose a lot of weight or is this just that Marvel technology they used to make Chris Evans look spindly in the first Captain America? Anyway, things are looking BLEAK but then our girl Captain Marvel shows up and saves the day.

Back on earth, the Avengers are really bummed out about half the population being gone (but not so bummed out that ScarJo and “Best” Chris Evans haven’t taken some time to get haircuts - they look great!) But no time for hair maintenance talk: Brie Larson is ready to go back to space! Also her hair looks good! This movie was made before Captain Marvel and it looks like they just used her real hair and it’s so much better than her wig in that movie.

Anyway, to space! Wait, now Brie is wearing a wig. UGH. Dammit, space! However, I think this is ScarJo’s real blonde hair (a more natural look than her blonde bob wig seen in Infinity War) and what a long strange trip it’s been since Black Widow’s first perm to her mall hair in Age of Ultron and beyond. Thank the lord for this lewk.

So the (remaining) Avengers land on whatever planet Thanos is living on now and apparently he’s using old Avengers costumes as Scarecrows? Ok I know we’re supposed to hate this guy but he’s all for population control, gardens, AND now recycling are we sure we hate him? The Avengers definitely still hate him and after learning that he destroyed all the jewelry he spent all of Infinity War finding, they are PISSED. Thor is so pissed he kills him! Which is a super hot-headed thing to do and is basically as bad as “worst” Chris Pratt’s behavior with Thanos in Infinity War and will these alpha males ever learn??? How are they gonna reverse this whole half of the population missing thing now?

Spoiler (haha these are all spoilers!): THEY DON’T. FIVE EFFING YEARS PASS. And in real movie time, at least like 45 minutes? In which we’re supposed to believe that Black Panther (and other notable Avengers but mainly Black Panther) are going to remain dead. GET ON WITH IT MOVIE. Even more damning: Black Widow is now a sad sad lady making sad sandwiches alone and with THIS HAIR LEWK. I was so damn happy for ScarJo to be wigless and THEN THIS. WHAT IN OMBRE HELL. I think (?) what we’re supposed to think is happening here is that she’s so damn sad that she’s failed at hair maintenance and let her blonde highlights grow out into this mess? Here’s the thing, this wig is actually fine - it looks like real hair - but with A TERRIBLE DYE JOB WHY UGH.

Speaking of new lewks, ScarJo still skypes with the remaining Avengers (bless her heart!) and Captain Marvel went ahead and got THIS HAIRCUT WHAT. I guess the internet can stop talking about how much she needs a scrunchie? I think that this is actually truer to her comic book self but also is giving me all the Lilith Fair vibes (IN A GREAT WAY!) It is still a bad wig in a man wig way (the back taper is a mess) but you’ve gotta love the 90s gelled sideswept bangs for pure nostalgia.

Speaking of nostalgia! Ant-Man is back from the quantum realm and damn am I happy to see Paul Rudd (ALWAYS). He is shocked to learn that five years have passed while he was gone (this storyline is very Flight of the Navigator) and goes to find his now teenage daughter even tho he looks exactly the same (tho this would be true regardless - Paul Rudd doesn’t age). However, she’s all alone in her house with no Judy Greer or Bobby Cannavale in sight and does this mean they’re vanished or just not in this movie? Is this daughter being raised by Michael Pena now? Also why isn’t he there? EVERYONE IS IN THIS MOVIE I DEMAND ANSWERS.

So anyway, Paul Rudd is all: why don’t we just time travel through the quantum realm and get those damn jewels and fix this whole Thanos situation? Best Chris and ScarJo are in, but Michael Douglas and Michelle Pfeiffer are the real pros at this whole quantum realm thing but are definitely vanished (as is Evangelline Lilly) so they go find Iron Man since he’s smart, right? Unfortunately, he is now living in a cabin by a lake and has a daughter (mazel! but this is def gonna throw a wrench into the time travel thing). Also Gwyneth is around looking tanned and vaguely ginger. Her wig is basically a more expensive, highlighted version of Nicole Kidman’s wig in Big Little Lies which is to say: MUCH BETTER BUT STILL PRETTY SHITTY. There is also a “joke” (?) about Gwyneth reading a book about composting which I think was supposed to be a Goop dig but honestly: WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THAT THIS MOVIE IS ALREADY SO LONG CAN WE JUST GET TO SAVING BLACK PANTHER AND THE OTHERS?

Iron Man def is like: dudes I’m not time traveling - I’m gonna do this whole dad thing WHICH IS FAIR so they go find the like #5 smartest person they know: DR. HULK. There are no pictures of this (that I could find) but Bruce Banner is now living life just AS the Hulk (but not an angry one) so he’s basically a bulky green guy in glasses which is fine but where does he buy those huge cowl sweaters? Asking for myself. Also ScarJo finds Hawkeye in Tokyo being some sort of hooded vigilante with a fauxhawk and guyliner and jeez someone is not dealing well without Linda Cardellini.

Also not dealing well? THOR! #2 Chris is off in Asgard living life with the best supporting characters from Thor: Ragnarok (TAIKA WAITITI 4EVR) and LETTING HISSELF GO. Oh also, Tessa Thompson is there too being a fisherman (?!?!?!) even tho she’s an effing valkyrie how did she get this job?!?! But I have to give full credit to Chris Hemsworth for fully embracing the deglam life here and for the next several hours of this movie. DEGLAM THOR IS EVERYTHING.

However, the wig is obviously terrible. ZZTop beard aside, the wig is these weird dreadlock tendrels which I’m guessing Thor wouldn’t have had time to maintain between playing video games, drinking beer, and eating pizza. Side note: I was really disappointed that he wasn’t eating Billy’s Pan Pizza (Lisbeth Salander’s #1 food choice in Sweden through all of those terrible books) which I actually tried in Iceland once and spoiler alert: original flavor INVOLVES HAM. Just saying: the devil’s in the details. Anyway, Thor and Iron Man decide to give this whole time travel thing a try (why not?) AND YES ONCE REASSEMBLED, IRON MAN’S FIRST POINT OF BUSINESS IS MAKING A BIG LEBOWSKI JOKE.

Iron Man somehow whips up some time travel gps bracelet and holy shit all of the Avengers movies are literally about jewelry. Then it’s on to making some sweet new time travel suits, Hawkeye gelling up that fauxhawk, and away we go to the quantum realm! Nothing bad can happen!

First stop: the first Avengers movie! OH GOD I SEE WHAT THEY’RE DOING HERE. The MCU literally made a plot where they could journey back to all the other MCU movies like a greatest hits tour and THIS MOVIE IS ENDLESS. This also involves journeying back to the ghosts of wigs past AND GURL I’M SHOOK. I guess I have to give credit to the MCU for wig consistencies - these wigs are as shitty as the originals! - and I guess they saved a lot in the already nonexistent wig budget. Also TILDA EFFING SWINTON IS THERE. This cast, dudes. Dr. Hulk and Tilda have a whole Back to the Future (which they make fun of in this movie, btw and I wasn’t here for it) discussion about time travel that I pretty much zoned out on until Tilda was just like eff it: here’s the jewelry you want, you seem pretty chill now, Dr. Hulk.

Oh and Tom Hiddleston’s shitty Loki wig is back! Jesus Christ this wig. Also, Robert Redford is back? How do I not remember him being talked into the MCU?? Anyway, the jewelry Iron Man and Best Chris were looking for is DEFINITELY snatched by Loki so they have to figure out a new time travel scenario.

Oh and Best Chris and Iron Man totally made up after being at odds for the last 2-3 Avengers movies. Also what do we think the hairspray budget was for these two? There is also a LOT of talk about Best Chris’s ass in this movie (they literally refer to it as America’s Ass) and I feel like this could very much be its own movie with maybe some added Best Chris badass twitter wars. Just saying.

Meanwhile, back in olde timey Asgard circa Thor 2, RENE RUSSO IS BACK (also Natalie Portman LOLOL everyone is in these movies). However, Sir Anthony Hopkins is definitely not wasting time on this nonsense and: fair. Also omg this wig on Rene. GURL. I don’t know what GoT prostitute dayplayer they stole this from but regardless: it’s a mess. Also apparently, Rene is about to die (I didn’t see Thor 2) and Deglam Thor is a MESS about it (also still very much a drunken mess also). He almost effs up the plan by going and crying on his mom (don’t worry - Bradley Cooper in his best work to date as Rocket Racoon got the jewelry!) And Rene tells Deglam Thor it’s ok to not be who he’s supposed to be an just be HIM which is very good advice OMG I LOVE RENE RUSSO.

So speaking of parents, Iron Man decided to go find some Infinity Stones in the 70s where his dad, John Slattery is! Apologies for the quality of this picture - it’s the best I could do. Anyway, John Slattery was made for period piece witty repartee tho his man wig (like all man wigs) is a friggin’ mess. He and Iron Man have some fairly emotional dialogue despite the fact that John Slattery doesn’t know that he’s talking to his son and also someone refers to RDJr as Mungo Jerry so I was really down with this whole section of the movie.

OH AND MICHAEL DOUGLAS IS THERE (again apologies for photo quality). What Marvel does best is face deaging technology (I still demand this be used for more 80s movies Michael Douglas wasn’t able to make at the time) but what Marvel consistently does worse is: wigs, specifically man wigs. WOOF. Regardless, they got all the jewelry they needed from the 70s! Moving on!

Over in Thanos town (probably what it’s called), nice Nebula is reunited with her former shitty self and also her sister. Jeez this whole part of the movie is family reunions. Anyway, Gamora’s wig is still a Hot Topic mess. Also a mess: Nebula let Thanos into the whole time traveling jewelry snatching heist which will definitely ruin everything.

Meanwhile, over by the cliffs of sorrow (also definitely official name, probably), ScarJo and Hawkeye and their upsetting hair looks are trying to get that one piece of jewelry that can only be gotten with human sacrifice, which they somehow had forgotten since Infinity War when Thanos sacrificed Gamora to get it. Maybe they just weren’t that tight with Gamora and forgot this? Anyway, the most important thing is that ScarJo gave herself these highlight braids which make this whole look slightly better but it’s still really bad. Also bad: one of these characters has to die! In the end it’s ScarJo I think because she doesn’t have a Linda Cardellini to go back to (or 3 kids) but I don’t really like what the MCU is implying here about the value of single ladies but regardless: goodbye ScarJo and your wig! You are probably better than this whole mess anyway!

Anyway, all the (remaining) Avengers time travel back to present day (aka 2023 just go with it) and everyone is so stoked that they got all the jewelry but then bummed when they hear about ScarJo. Side note: I forgot to talk about Iron Man’s highlights and feathered lewk. It’s upsetting! Moving on! Linda Cardellini calls Hawkeye which means this whole time travelling thing worked and they brought back half the population and also most importantly probably Black Panther so go team! But before we can talk to Linda Cardellini, Thanos crash lands into the Avengers HQ AND DAMMIT NEBULA.

So then everyone is somehow transported (?) to Thanos town aka Fightsville which feels like a great place to probably die in the apocalyptic fight FOR JEWELRY. All the Avengers yet again suck at fighting computerized Josh Brolin aka Thanos and then he calls in all his evil space backup army and everyone is definitely effed. It’s a lot like the part in the Battle of Winterell when the Night King does a Nancy Pelosi clap and reanimates all the dead people to fight the living and Jon Snow cries.

It doesn’t even help when Deglam Thor gives hisself the most wild lightning based makeover. Seriously, he surrounds himself with lightning, gets those badass Total Eclipse of the Heart eyes, and somehow is able to use lightning TO GIVE HIMSELF A HALF UPDO AND BRAID HIS BEARD HAIR AND NO I’M NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP. The lightning fails to remove his beer belly and again: I’M HERE FOR #2 CHRIS COMMITTING TO THIS DEGLAM BODY. I don’t know the hows and whys of lightning makeovers - I guess it’s just restricted to hair. Which still looks like crap, beard braids or no. Moving on: Best Chris can somehow use Thor’s hammer now and did I miss something? I think it’s a Chris thing and I’m glad that everyone agreed that Worst Chris wasn’t invited to it. But also he’s not there. YET.....

BUT THEN. Dr. Benedict Cumberbatch who I definitely forgot about (and who has the most hilarious American accent) creates all his sparkler circles. Also his whole wig/goatee lewk is like that one adjunct professor you had who kept office hours at a coffee house and/or a part-time vampire. Anyhoo, he BRINGS. BACK. EVERYONE. Black Panther (and all of Wakanda!) Spider-Man! Guardians of the Galaxy! ETC! THE JEWELRY HAND CHANGED HANDS MANY TIMES. THERE WAS SO MUCH GOING ON. Everyone starts kicking ass but it’s still not enough until Captain Marvel and her 90s pixie cut show up and I swear to god all the lady Avengers made a protective barrier around her like the Lilith Fair is serious getting back together (I WISH!) It was all the ladies you love - Valkyrie on a flying horse! Wakandan warriors BUT NOT LUPITA BECAUSE US IS BETTER THAN THIS! Elizabeth Olsen in that terrible red wig! Kate from Lost! Gamora and Nebula I think! - plus also Gwyneth who I totally forgot had an Iron Man suit too but sure! It was a very girl power moment that almost worked but very did not. In a final moment we all saw coming since before Infinity War, Iron Man sacrificed hisself for the jewelry hand (also: humanity). Thanks for your service: the jewelry was saved! OH MY GOD THIS REVIEW IS SO LONG. Am I still writing this? Are you still reading this? THANK YOU FOR READING THIS.

In the end, everyone is saved and reunited...to have a sweet funeral (apologies again for picture quality)! I shit you not: they gave Iron Man’s electric heart a viking funeral at his cabin. Really! And all the other prestige actors you weren’t sure would make it to this movie were there: Marissa Tomei in some sweet beachy waves! Michelle Pfeiffer in some not so sweet beachy waves but whatever: I’m always happy to see her! Michael Douglas! The Winter Soldier in his somehow shittier than Loki wig! That chick from How I Met Your Mother! Other people! Samuel L. Jackson! Oh and I think Iron Man’s daughter is now being co-raised by Jon Favreau? Ok! It was also a funerary co-production for ScarJo and I guess (?) Elizabeth Olsen’s computer boyfriend (aka Paul Bettany) who somehow wasn’t able to be revived by jewelry for reasons unknown. Oh and where the eff were Bobby Cannavale, Michael Pena OR GODDAMNED JUDY GREER I DEMAND ANSWERS!!!!!

SO THEN. Captain America has to go back in time to return the jewelry because Dr. Hulk promised Tilda Swinton and I still don’t get how time travel works in this movie. Also Dr. Hulk is still running the time travel machine even though the whole Ant-Man crew specializing in this technology are back but ok? It all goes great until Captain America returns IN OLD AGE MAKEUP WHAT. Turns out he took a detour to have a life and get married and huh? He then tells Anthony Mackie that he can be Captain America now - officially making the MCU America of 2023 on the level of real America in 2008 and I can’t believe they didn’t cut to a weeping Jesse Jackson (or at least Don Cheadle?) However, Deglam (still!) Thor makes Valkyrie the King of Asgard which officially makes MCU Asgard of 2023 definitely way better than the America of 2019 (yeah I went there) and then he decides to be a Guardian of the Galaxy which means we get to spend an agonizing 3 minutes with Worst Chris. Then they cut to the 1940s and a slow dancing Best Chris and Hayley Atwell and truly: if you can just time travel and be happy can’t we bring back all the dead Avengers too then? HUH? Whatever: THE END! Oh and there’s no post-credits scene but still watch the first like 5 minutes of credits to enjoy the truly mind boggling way that the MCU chose to credit the 5000 people in this movie. Are we please done with Avengers movies now?

VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ (BUT NOW I WANT A LIGHTNING MAKEOVER)

#avengers #avengersendgame #wigwurq #lightningmakeover #deglamthor #lilithfairreunion #MCU #RENERUSSO #WHEREISJUDYGREER #VikingFuneral

9 notes · View notes

tonicandjins · 6 years

Text

seven wonders

characters: lee jihoon/reader

genre: romance, fluff, idolverse

word count: 3240

warnings: mentions of depression, suggestive

Jihoon’s body is your wonderland and you feed your wanderlust in him.

Head

Lee Jihoon’s head holds the most beautiful of things, and you would love to get lost in his thoughts and stories while your fingers traverse through the waves of his hair—only if he allows you to.

He likes his peace more than anything else so for the most part, you spend the beginning of your blossoming friendship in silence. Jeonghan thinks it’s cute when you say that the after-hours of writing lyrics and composing new tunes with Jihoon is serene. Seventeen’s schedule is always jam-packed; you can’t even recall a day for the last six months when any of them went out for fun. So it is no surprise to you that after seven hours of working with Jihoon, he’d rather much go back to their dorm and sleep.

When you met him, he introduced himself as Woozi, the vocal unit’s leader and group’s composer. You called him by his stage name for days you couldn’t count with two hands until a lonely night in the studio when you two felt more glum than usual.

“You seem off these days,” he remarks after a small argument about the pre-chorus of the song you’re working on. Jihoon decides to call it a day after seven hours of perfecting a song. He wasn’t sure if it was him or the lack of sleep on either side that was spoiling your mood. “Bad week?”

“Bad life,” you answer, reaching for your notebook on his desk. “I’m sorry. Things outside work have been unbearable and I know it shouldn’t be an excuse for my terrible cooperation skills but it’s been really depressing. It sucks because this studio has been my querencia and I’m damaging it by being a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t know much about you outside work but,” he starts off, looking at the screen of the computer, his right hand clicking the mouse. “If you need to talk about anything at all, since we’re almost always together during the process of making music, you can rant to me.”

Jihoon sits about two feet on your left, directly in front of the computer, and it has always been like that—sometimes even farther—so it catches you off guard when he suddenly turns his swivel chair to face you and puts his weight on his soles, moving closer to you. He rests his left elbow on his desk and puts his chin atop of his palm while looking directly at you; you almost miss the way he smiles softly for a second.

“T-thanks,” you mumble and carry on with putting your notebook in your backpack. “It’s not that serious; if anything, it should be you who’s complaining and not me. Anything you wanna talk about?”

“I’ve already stressed enough about my exhausting job to the members and producers,” he answers. “I think you’re the only one I don’t talk about it with.”

You do not get offended because after all, you’ve only known him for half a year; your conversations only vary from lyrics and tunes and titles. Seungcheol has always told you about Jihoon’s closed-off character and how one shouldn’t take it personally when the lyricist refuses to talk about anything. You understand, of course, but when he comes up with heart-wrenching phrases that keep you up at night, wondering how one person could feel those things and put it in beautiful words, you can’t help but wish to learn more about him.

“That’s fine, I guess,” you shrug. “I’m sure the members are helping you cope up with the stress. Cheol talks to me about it but I’m sure knowing simply doesn’t suffice in understanding what you’re going through.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know if it’s because the last time I slept was 32 hours ago or if it’s the fact that the clock tells me it’s past four in the morning that’s making me say that things my mouth is about to utter but—”

He pauses, eyes still on you. The dark circles under his eyes and small blemishes on his cheeks do not make him look any less beautiful under the lights of his studio. His hair looks incredibly soft and you set your eyes on its natural color as you know he’s going to dye it before promotion starts. You wonder how it feels to run your hands through his hair.

“I forget about the self-induced pressure on my chest and the heavy feeling of stress when we’re working,” he continues, making you freeze as you zip your backpack. “I like our silence.”

Speechless, you only nod and smile at him, prompting a soft grin on his lips as well.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Woozi,” you say as you stand. His eyes only follow you. “Try to get some sleep before I come back.”

He doesn’t say anything and you take it as a signal to leave but just as when you almost shut the door close, he speaks again.

“It’s Jihoon,” he says softly, audibly tired and sleepy. “See you.”

You wonder what’s going on inside his head.

Shoulders

His are the shoulders you call home, a place where you anchor yourself too many times, tracing the trails of kisses you plant upon them.

It takes you and Jihoon a year to sort out your feelings and decide whether or not you should go for it. Sure, you love your friendship—you love getting calls at two a.m. because he’s excited over the new Marvel film coming up in theaters; you love arriving at his studio with a cup of iced coffee ready for you; you love listening to his deep, raspy voice on the early hours of the morning when he tells you a story about their recent show; you love the pieces of advice he tells you when things get bad; you love his hoodie hanging on your frame when you forget to bring a jacket on a rainy day—but the idea of being allowed to do more than that kept you both awake at ungodly hours of the night. And although most part of it is risky, you decide to go for it and see what happens.

So far, things are good and all seem well for your relationship. Sometimes you wish Jihoon was enough to make everything completely good but life finds a way to screw you up every time something amazing happens.

He comes to your apartment at three in the morning after hours of practicing for the new single they’re releasing in a couple of weeks and declines when you convince him you’re okay with being alone. The sight of you opening the door—you orbs empty and in pain, under eyes tired and swollen from God knows how many hours you spent on crying, lips pale—visibly breaks his heart. Pulling you for a hug, he whispers a reminder that he’s there.

Jihoon is unfortunately not spared from the empty feeling that depression gives to people, so he knows that words mean nothing sometimes. But he also knows that him being there, while you cry on his shirt and he reminds you until sunrise that you have him, makes up for the feeling of desolation, and although it is really not enough to pull the strings of sadness from your heart, you hold onto him and lean on his shoulder because the comfort he brings you makes staying and enduring worth everything.

Knees and toes

Jihoon has never been the kind to cuddle with anyone.

He tells you it’s not cute while his arms are wrapped around your torso from behind, face buried on the back of your neck. His shifts closer to you so his knees are locked around your legs, his toes gently massaging your calves, and complains about your unnecessary liking for spooning and cuddling.

“The new track sounds good,” you say, ignoring his complaints about how cuddling makes him want to vomit.

“I don’t make shitty music,” he grumbles, pulling you closer so that his lips are touching the back of your neck as he speaks. “Of course it sounds brilliant.”

“For a track that I did not co-write, it’s decent,” you correct. “That’s what I was meant to say, but go off, I guess.”

“Admit you like it,” he mumbles against your skin, tightening his arms around you.

“It’s okay,” you lie, making him playfully bite the skin on your neck. “It’s beautiful,” you admit. “Kind of makes me miss writing songs for you.”

“You can always come back,” he mutters, lips pressed back on your neck. “Why’d you even agree to write for NU’EST, anyway? They’re not your friends. You’re ours.”

“I’m PLEDIS’,” you answer. “But I am also yours.”

You feel him smile against your skin. In return, you take one of his hands and kiss the back of it.

“You’ve never written me a song,” he remarks suddenly. “You’ve made songs with me, but never for me.”

You chuckle. “Have you made a song for me?”

“Make a song for me first,” he answers. “Then we’ll talk.”

He attempts to pull you closer but there is no longer any space for him to fill up, so he presses his lips harder against your neck in hopes of feeling you closer.

“But I have written you songs,” you answer.

“Which ones?”

“Figure it out,” you reply, kissing the back of his hand again and tangling your legs even more.

Eyes

You love the way Jihoon’s eyes light up when he talks about the things he loves and you wonder if they light up the same way when he talks about you.

Seungkwan and Seokmin sit across you while you discuss the next vocal unit track you’re working on when a notification from a streaming app chimes on your phone. It tells you that Jihoon is currently online and streaming live for his fans. Seungkwan receives the same notification and suggests that the three of you take a break and watch Jihoon. You move to sit between the boys, huddling as you listen to what your boyfriend is saying.

He begins to talk about the new music he’s working and then proceeds to talk about Black Panther. His eyes visibly light up when fans spam the comment section with questions about the said movie. Jihoon discusses the film and his undying affinity for Marvel with a grin on his lips. You aren’t sure if it’s the lights inside the room he’s in reflecting on his eyes that’s making it dazzle brighter than usual or if they always looked that beautiful. But either way, it makes you happy when he talks about what he loves.

You tell the boys what you observe and they agree; Jihoon’s eyes tell a lot about how he feels over something.

“That’s exactly how he looks and sounds like when we talk about you,” Seungkwan nonchalantly remarks. “Except his eyes are a million times more… sparkly.”

“He doesn’t have heart-eyes for you like the emoticon,” Seokmin adds. “Sparkly eyes is more like it.”

“And people say he has the coldest glare,” the younger of the two mumbles.

Ears

Jihoon is better than other people when it comes to perceiving and remembering sounds, but for someone who’s supposed to be good at hearing, he sure does suck at listening to you.

“I have told you over and over again,” you whine, exasperated as you walk around the room he shares with Mingyu, picking up pieces of clothes scattered around while your sick boyfriend rests on his bed. “Prioritize your health over anything.”

“What can I do?” he asks from the top of the bunk, sniffing. “I didn’t know it would rain.”

“It’s July, for God’s sake,” you holler. “Of course, it’s gonna rain. I always remind you to bring the umbrella I gave you or at least have a spare hoodie in your studio in case it rains, but you never listen. Look what not listening to your girlfriend cost you.”

He sneezes before giggling and it riles you up even more, making you aggressively throw his clothes in the laundry basket.

“First, you don’t listen to what I say, and you don’t take me seriously,” you angrily remark. “Don’t date me if you don’t wanna listen to what I say.”

You are about to pick up your backpack when your boyfriend suddenly gets up to step down from his bunk; he groans when a wave of dizziness hits him. Sighing, you quickly climb his bed and hold him in place.

“See,” you mutter as you help him steady himself. “I told you ten minutes ago to rest; still you don’t listen.”

Jihoon only smiles and leans on your chest while you’re kneeling and hugging him.

“I’m sorry for snapping on you,” you apologize. “It’s just really frustrating to see you sick on the bed and miss your schedule simply because you caught a cold from the rain.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry,” you mumble against your shirt, keeping your warmth closer. “And for the record, I always listen to you.”

You laugh. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” he admits in defeat. “I don’t do relationships. I’m still in the process of mastering the art of listening to my girlfriend.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” you sigh. “It’s not that I don’t wanna be a nagging girlfriend who orders you to stuff; I’m just—”

“Concerned and very much in love with me,” he says for you, coughing a little.

It makes you giggle and kiss him on the head. “I’m not sure about the latter but you’re sick so okay. Live your fantasy.”

You reach up both hands to rub his ears in attempts of transferring more of your warmth to him.

“I love you,” he confesses. He’s never said it before.

It shuts you up and makes you think it’s his cold and the medicine that’s talking.

“It’s not the tylenol or whatever you’re thinking that’s making me say this. I really do,” he interjects, confirming that he knows you too well. “I’ll do my best to listen to you better.”

You don’t immediately respond as you are still stunned by his confession, but you continue rubbing his ears and neck while you’re still seated on your knees and his head rests on your chest.

Moments later, Jihoon reclines on the bed and pulls you in with him. The bed is small; you two could barely fit. This time, it’s you whose head rests on his chest while one of his arms are under your neck, hugging you close. He asks you to sing him a song and you hum an unfamiliar tune to him but he doesn’t say anything about it. Jihoon listens to every song you make before you allow anyone to hear it; this one’s new yet he hasn’t heard this from your files.

You look up to check if he’s sleeping as he hasn’t said anything since you started humming. His eyes are closed but you know he’s not sleeping, so you shift closer and peck a sweet kiss on his lips.

“I love you,” you say. Jihoon listens intently when you say it over and over again.

Mouth

Your boyfriend is a damn good kisser.

His mouth is like an uncharted island while your tongue is an explorer, a cartographer, eager to discover all the wonders he holds and map out his crooked smile. He holds you close, one hand wrapped around your waist as you sit on top of his legs, the other caressing your neck as he kisses you fervently.

The group’s tour has deprived him so much of your kisses and at the moment, all he desires to do is have your mouth pressed against his (and perhaps other parts of your body as well) and you are just as eager.

Glorious sounds come out of his mouth when you massage his scalp as you run your hands into his hair. The action makes the hand that’s holding the back of your neck travel to the hem of your skirt. He hikes it upwards until your entire right leg up to your underwear and the skin on your waist is on display. His hand begins to caress your skin and this further pushes you to swipe your tongue harder on his.

It doesn’t take long for your underwear to be tossed somewhere in your room and for you to remember the other wonders his mouth can do.

Nose

Jihoon likes eskimo kisses more than anyone else in the entire world.

Either he’s kissing your nose or it’s you that’s doing it, it doesn’t really matter to him as long as he gets his eskimo kisses. He would often giggle when your noses touch and like every little thing he does, it makes your heart leap.

You are finally letting him listen to the song you’ve been hiding from him for a couple of months. You allow each other to listen to the tracks your working on but you kept this song in particular.

PLEDIS is debuting a new duo and had assigned you to write and compose songs for them along with Bumzu months ago. Today is the day you’re reviewing all the demo tracks before handing it to the producers. Jihoon always listens to the songs with you and gives you his final opinion. He had, of course, listened to the other ones except for I Wouldn’t Mind, the track you wrote especially for Jihoon.

You are visibly nervous before you play it for him so he smiles at you and clicks the mouse for you.

The track starts off with a guitar—"a classic Y/N-composed song,” Jihoon remarks two seconds into the song—with your soothing voice making melodies. Your boyfriend listens.

“Carefully we’ll place for our destiny,

you came and you took this heart and set it free

every word you write or sing is so warm to me, so warm to me

I’m torn, I’m torn to be right where you are

I’m not afraid anymore

I’m not afraid

Forever is a long time, but I wouldn’t mind spending it by your side;

Tell me every day I get to wake up to that smile,

I wouldn’t mind at all.”

When the song is finished, silence covered the atmosphere.

“I already said I wrote you songs in the past,” you start after a moment of silence. “But I’ve never written one like this. One that’s solely in my control.”

Jihoon stares at you.

“I wrote this while you were away for three days. Because I missed you and I—” you stammer. “I love you.”

Jihoon pulls you suddenly and kisses you softly, pulling his lips away just by an inch, making your noses touch. He repeats the action until you’re a giggling mess with tears on your eyes.

“That was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” he says, mouth still close to yours.

You kiss him softly. “You said nothing in the entire universe could beat the Black Panther official soundtrack.”

He kisses your lips again, moving his head in a soft manner so your noses are caressing each other. “Okay, most beautiful song after the Black Panther OST.”

You allow him to give you more eskimo kisses.

“I love you,” he tells you and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

#sfwseventeen #write-svt #svtwriters #woozi scenarios #seventeen scenarios #woozi scenario #woozi fluff #woozi idolverse #woozi romance #seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenario #seventeen romance #seventeen imagine #seventeen fic

298 notes · View notes