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covermeindinsbeskar · 1 year

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Reflected Stars

Word count: 1,756

Warnings: hints towards ptsd, trauma and a bit of sexual themes nothing explicit

Pairings: Din Djarin x reader (female reader, no Y/N)

Summary: The hunt for your new bounty begins! But, being around Mando invokes strange feeling inside you

Notes: hello everyone!! I might be slow with chapter updates, I’m having a blast rediscovering my writing skills. Work is honestly killing me and writing this gives me a great escape. Also revisiting the early eps bring me such joy

Chapter 3

You decide it's better to familiarize yourself with your new living quarters while boarding the ship. Despite being a massive metal ship, it felt warm. An almost welcoming warmth that made it feel homey. You can definitely get used to being here. Your nose picks up aromas you didn’t notice the first time you boarded the ship. Hints of metal mixed with musk and a faint note of soap float around you. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant. In a strange way it was inviting, knowing there was someone beyond the Beskar armor. You stroll down the hall until you find a ladder leading to a lower level. The atmosphere was different down there; it was dark and frigid, with only a few strands of lights piercing through the darkness. You eye the Carbonite machine which runs the length of the wall as you trail your touch on the dusty strewn-out crates along the short hall. You come to a halt as you approach a large metal box that is not covered in dust like the others. After a few seconds of reluctance, you decide to open it. With the press of a button both doors rapidly swing open, displaying a plethora of weaponry. all gleaming from good maintenance.

“Maker!" You gasp. You wonder if he'll allow you to use any of these. When you extend your hand towards a blaster, the impact of boots crashing against the metal floor above you startles you.

Mando calls for you, his voice irritated.

"Down here!” You shout at him. You seal the metal doors before climbing the ladder. As you walk down the hall a cold sweat envelops your body. Working with the Mandalorian makes one half of you uneasy while the other half is thrilled. The coldness, you know comes from the uneasiness from working beside a trained killer but the thrill… comes from a heat which brews from somewhere below your stomach every time you’re near him. You should be terrified of him. Though, as you enter the cockpit, you can’t help but to observe him in his chair. The broad expanse of his back and visibly muscular arms (which are noticeable even under his top and armor) as he pushes buttons in order to get ready for departure. His presence lures you closer. You sit quietly gazing at him for a moment. Lights reflecting off helmet make him look almost ethereal. But a new flicker of light off his body catches your eye instantly. Oh!

"Nice new pauldron, Mando!" You remark, your eyes twinkling. "Did you buy that with your down payment?" You ask.

Without looking at you, he responds, "I had it made…” shifting his helmet towards his shoulder as if admiring it. "Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yes," you answer.

There's only silence while Mando navigates the galaxy. A thick air circling you, you’re not sure if you’re making up or if he can feel it as well. Deciding to break the silence you open your mouth to speak but were surprisingly beaten to it.

“What happened back there? When we met the client?”

You put your head down in embarrassment. You know you shouldn’t have let your fear consume you.

“I’m sorry…” and you mean it. How are you supposed to be by his side if you can’t even meet with a client?

“You can’t freeze like that. It could get you- us… in trouble” he says.

“I know.” And you do. “I just wasn’t excepting our client to be, well...

Them” you spit.

“I will admit it was a shock but, you’re a bounty hunter. You need to be stronger, or at least pretend to be in front of them” he reassures.

You look at him with regret and sorriness in your eyes. Your mind drifts to the screams again while thinking about the clients. Your brain is so loud you miss him say “I have to pretend to be strong lately…”

Change the topic. Change the topic, is all your mind can say.

"When you were gone, I may have stumbled across your weapons cabinet... you take wonderful care of them," you scoot to the end of your seat, creeping closer to Mando. “They almost sparkle," you practically whisper.

He swivels in his chair. His abrupt movement makes your heart flutter. His helmet only inches away from your face.

“Weapons are part of my religion” He states. You give him a quick nod thinking you may have overstepped by looking at them. “But…” he says slowly “you’re more than welcome to use any” he spins back around in his seat, throwing us into hyperspace.

“Thank you…” you whisper. Hoping not to disturb him as he navigates. Your heart warms at his generosity.

After such a lengthy flight, you nearly sprint up to the window to look out. There was nothing but sand for miles, and the powerful sunshine that made the sand sparkle. Mando rises from his chair, forcing you out of the way with his shoulder.

“Stay here, I’m going to scout the area.” He barks.

You massage your shoulder from the shove. Walking after him, you roll your eyes at his remark. Does he really think that you'd just wait for him inside the ship? Mando descends to the lower level, and you hear the door open and the ramp extend with a thump to the desert floor. He pauses for a while and scans the horizon. You approach him stealthily. In effort for him to not hear you, you sneak up behind him on tippy toes.

“See anything?” you ask.

“Dank Ferrik!” He yells “did I not tell you to stay put?!”

“Did you really think I was going to sit there and wait for you to return? For all I know, you could take off with the bounty and leave me here” You’re only half kidding.

“I would never leave my ship” he retorts.

“So, you would leave me?” you chuckle, leaning into his side giving him a little nudge.

He stands there for moment, looking down at you. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or upset. Either way, you’re choosing to ignore it. You run down the ramp ahead of him then turn to face him.

“Are you coming or not?” you smile.

He sighs in response and makes his way down to you. “We’ll have to hurry before nightfall. We can camp out if we need to, take shifts keeping watch.” He informs while pulling out the tracking fob.

The walk felt endless. You felt hot and tired. Not to mention the sand, Maker you hate the sand. Though sure enough, nightfall has come, and you both need to rest. Mando leads you up a sand hill and drops his bag.

“let’s camp up here, we have the high ground. I’ll keep the first watch; you can get some rest” he informs.

You drop your bag and fall to the ground with a heavy sigh. Mando gets to work on a fire while you grab portions from your bag to make a soup. You gaze into the fire while making dinner, zoning out Mando’s pacing.

“raiders.”

“how far?” You ask

“Far enough, stay low and don’t cause a scene. They won’t bother us if we don’t bother them” he says, sitting down next to you.

You serve Mando a cup of soup, then swiftly consume your own while gazing at the fire. Mando holds the cup in silence as he sits, and up until this point, it hasn't occurred to you that he hasn't eaten anything throughout your time together. "Eat up," you insist, "it's good, believe me," you chuckle.

“I’m sure it is” he chuckles.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I won’t look at you” you say honestly, he looks at you when you say that. “I realized you haven’t eaten anything around me, I’m sorry” you don’t really know why you’re apologizing. But for some reason you feel to blame. You turn your back to him to allow him a chance to eat. There was only silence for what felt like a few minutes. the hiss of his helmet breaks that silence making you smile in relief. You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t curious about his looks. Is he blonde? Maybe brunette? Or no hair at all? The hiss of the helmet going back on brings you back to reality.

“You were right, it was good. Thank you” he says.

“I told you” you smile, turning to face him again. “I got some seasonings at the market to help with these flavorless portions” you lean back trying to get as comfy as possible, the sand makes it almost impossible to do so.

“Take this” Mando removes his cape and offers it to you “lay on it, I can tell the sand is irritating you.” You’re shocked at his generosity. You take it with a smile and get comfy.

“I’ve always hated sand planets” you scoff.

“So, tell me” Mando turns to you. You face him ready to answer but nervous to the question he’s about to ask. “You said you use to hunt Nexu’s, how’d you get into doing that?”

The screams return, this time louder. You start to pick at your nails in an effort to drown out the noises. "There wasn't much of a choice." You begin. "I come from a family of farmers. I grew up in the most beautiful village on Cholganna," you reminisce. Mando nods slowly at you to express his understanding. "My father used to guard the livestock.” You gaze off into the fire as you say, "Slowly, our hunters began dying or disappearing from the hunts…” you clear throat “one day he asked if I’d be willing to learn from him. I was excited, I wouldn’t have to be stuck harvesting and cooking.” You chuckle at the memories of your father's initial reluctance. “I got good, really good. But with only a handful of hunters we just couldn’t keep up.” The fire crackles in the dark, the only sound that can be heard in the awkward silence between you too. You don’t know if you should tell him the rest. You weren’t being hundred percent truthful. The truth is you did have to fight off predators the lie… they weren’t animals you were fighting. You yourself don’t even know if you can tell that part of your past to anyone.

“He taught you well” Mando reassures. You nod in a silent thanks.

“He was a great man, a brave one too” you smile.

“This is the way” he responds.

#din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #mando #sw the mandalorian #sw mandalorian #star wars the mandalorian #mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic

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therevengeoffrankenstein · 1 month

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'in my mind, the Apple was dark green-brown'

the camera nods off,

He turns me on,

this life will never be the same -

the Apple falls out not far from the tree.

at this point, i'm not sure

Who's more myself,

the hair teasing or light ribbing....

it doesn't matter Who we are; the equation can be out of order.

I'll figure it all out for You.

pandora's heart-shaped box,

'fantasy,' '05.

wear me like Britney,

i'll crawl back to You.

snake the noose around my neck, Babe,

a Lover's embrace.

Angel lust, trust, dust -

You hang the stars, hang me, hang up your coat -

i'm 'one that loved not wisely, but too well.'

leave my window open,

Peter Pan-ic, i'll go like innocence.

i don't care, Baby.

Apple Lips, Honey Hips

'stead of steadfast fast -

let me bite You.

whole foods' Soap Bar with Angel eyes -

still life, still Live;

a cornucopia, Utopia -

oh, i love You.

organic Sweetness,

it's so worth You.

Abs vs. abstinence,

Six Pack vs. twenty-four pack -

You taste better.

He is not our final judgement, Lover.

a Hell of a time,

i know. an educated choice.

- ellie revenge

#myevilposts #poetry #this one was interesting bc a lot of it was originally done flow of thought in a notebook while i was supposed to be doing school #and then now translating that to page and editing it...... i like to do that kind of thing a lot but this one is a lot longer obv.#suicide tw #food tw #drugs tw #alcohol tw #it's the implications.

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foggyfanfic · 6 months

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Mirabel's Super Secret Adventure

Movie AU

Chapter Preview: “You’re not telling anyone,” Isabela said, with all the menace of a villain from one of Tío Bruno’s horror stories, “because if you do, I’ll tell Abuela that you’ve been sneaking up to the roof at night.”

Prologue Prev Next Masterlist

5. For the Family

“What the hell were you doing? Were you eavesdropping?!” Isabela shouted. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her eyes were wild with panic.

“I was looking for-. You don’t want to marry him?!”

“Ssshhh! Shush! Are you crazy?! People might hear you.”

“Am I crazy? Are you crazy?! Why would you marry that big dumb hunk if you don’t-.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Isabela cut her off, pointing an accusatory finger at Mirabel, “and you better keep your mouth shut!”

“Why? So you can ruin your own life?!”

“Like you even care!”

“What?! Of course I care, you’re my sister you dumba-.”

“Language,” Tía Leandra called over the fighting, but otherwise didn’t interfere. She just carried her box of soap into Casita.

“Well, if you care then you will mind your own business,” Isabela said, haughtily flipping her hair.

Mirabel raised an eyebrow at that, then she narrowed her eyes, “I’m telling Má.”

“What?! No!”

“Yep, bye! See you at dinner! Where you won’t be ruining your life!”

Mirabel turned and began speed walking around Casita, ignoring Isabela’s shouting behind her. When she heard Isabela start to give chase, she broke into a jog.

Suddenly, a vine wrapped itself around her leg and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees.

She hissed through her teeth, looking down at her skinned palms. Nervously, Mirabel looked around, half expecting Abuela or Gabriel to come flying out of the bushes, insisting she go get an arepa immediately. When that didn’t happen she relaxed a little and focused on trying to get the vine off her leg.

Unfortunately, Isabela caught up with her before she could make any real progress. She had her arms crossed and a nasty smirk on her face.

“You’re not telling anyone,” she said, with all the menace of a villain from one of Tío Bruno’s horror stories, “because if you do, I’ll tell Abuela that you’ve been sneaking up to the roof at night.”

Mirabel gasped, as far as threats went, that was a pretty good one. The roof was her favorite spot in Casita, and although she knew Abuela wouldn’t want her going up there, it hadn’t ever been explicitly forbidden either. The second it was, Casita would stop allowing her to climb onto the roof tiles, and she would lose that little kernel of freedom.

However, “Seriously Isabela, you think I would just stand by and let you make the biggest mistake of your life for that? I know you hate me, but come on.”

That gave Isabela pause, her cold smirk slipping into a concerned frown. Mirabel gave up on the vine and stood so she could be as close to looking Isabela in the eyes as possible.

“I don’t hate you,” Isabela said, as Mirabel dusted herself off, “but, but, you can’t tell Má. She’ll stop the engagement.”

“Uh, yeah, kind of the point,” Mirabel said, giving Isabela her best “What are you, stupid?” look.

“No, Mirabel, this has to happen. It’s what’s best for the family.”

“What? You being miserable for the rest of your life?”

“No, Mariano joining the family,” Isabela hissed, “I mean, come on, Tío Bruno isn’t going to be around to make emeralds forever. A-and what happens once Má isn’t healing the entire village? We need to think about this family’s future. Mariano is a hard worker, and his family owns the chocolate orchard, do you have any idea how profitable that orchard is? Even just a portion of that-.”

“Isabela,” Mirabel cut in, voice thick, “your happiness is worth more than money. We can figure something else out.”

Isabela started to say something, then stopped and changed tact, only to stop again and sigh, finally she said, “My family being happy will make me happy.”

“But-,” Mirabel shook her head, trying to come up with another argument.

“No, it’s my life, my decision. I will marry Mariano,” Isabela held up a hand, putting her nose in the air, then she softened just a little and said, “but uh, it’s nice to know you care.”

“Of course I care,” Mirabel said, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say.

Isabela gave her a tiny smile, and the vine around her leg disappeared. Next thing she knew she was being pulled into her sister’s arms. She hugged back, even as her mind raced, trying to think of what she could possibly say to convince Isabela not to do this.

The truth was, Mirabel understood exactly why Isabela was choosing to put the family over her own happiness. If it came down to it, Mirabel wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do the same.

But just because she understood where Isabela was coming from, didn’t mean she was making the right choice.

When the hug ended, Isabela quietly said something about going to get ready, even though it was barely lunch time. Mirabel managed a faint “See you later” despite the many thoughts racing through her brain.

Mirabel took half a step back towards Casita’s back door. Then she took two steps towards town. Then she stood there a little longer.

Finally, she balled her fists, set her chin and walked back into Casita. She walked up the stairs to the nursery and got out her sketchbook. She flipped through it, evaluating all of her embroidery designs with new eyes, calculating how much each one would cost, and how much she could charge for it in the margins. Eventually, she closed the book and left the room again.

This time she marched right up to Abuela’s door and knocked on it without a moment’s hesitation.

Nothing happened.

Mirabel knocked again.

“She’s out.”

Mirabel jumped and turned around. Amada was stepping out of her room, holding an empty bag.

“Do you know where she went?”

“To the Guzmans’. She realized we don’t have enough table for everybody.”

“Oh.”

“Why? What’s going on,” Amada cocked her head, slowly walking closer.

Mirabel bit her lip and debated keeping Isabela’s secret for her, but ultimately, she couldn’t let her big sister go through with this, “Isabela is only marrying Mariano for the family’s sake. We need to talk to Abuela, now.”

“Oh,” Amada said. She stared at Mirabel for a beat or two, then made that same, “Hm” sound Tío Bruno did whenever he discovered something mildly surprising.

“That’s it? Just ‘Hm’?!”

“Eh, it makes sense, it’s not like Isabela is attracted to him.”

“What?!”

“Did you not know that?”

“No! How do you know that?!”

“Oh you know, I saw things,” Amada waved a vague hand while her eyes flashed gold.

“What sort of things?”

Amada shrugged, leaning against the railing with a casualness that Mirabel felt was quite frankly unwarranted, “Papá says that’s Isabela’s business and I shouldn’t tell anyone unless Isabela says it’s okay.”

“Oh. Can uh, can you give me a hint?”

“Sure. Mariano isn’t Isabela’s type.”

“…Does Isabela prefer smart guys?”

“Heh, no.”

Mirabel frowned, “Could I get another hint?”

Amada shook her head and watched Mirabel for a bit.

“So, we should definitely go talk to Abuela,” Mirabel said, when it was clear she wasn’t going to get anything else out of her cousin.

“Ummmm no,” Amada looked around the courtyard with golden eyes then shook her head.

Mirabel waited for an explanation, then when none came asked, “Why not?”

“Because you should go to the kitchen. All the good endings start with you going to the kitchen.”

“The good endings?”

“Sí.”

“What are the good endings?” Mirabel asked, even as she started walking towards the stairs.

Amada’s eyes flashed gold again, “Things will go very bad, very fast if I tell you.”

“And how many good endings are there?,” she frowned some more.

“Three.”

“Out of?”

“I dunno,” Amada said, once again sounding a lot like her father, “hundreds, maybe a couple thousand?”

This was why the villagers had very quickly stopped coming to Amada for advice. She could see the start of a chain reaction, and the possible endings, but she couldn’t see every step in between. The more variables there were, the more possible conclusions, and nothing introduced more variables than free will.

Her gift was best utilized by the bakers of the town, since she could ensure the best possible outcome for every batch of cookies and loaf of bread by spending ten minutes walking around the kitchen and writing the world’s weirdest to-do list.

Now that Mirabel thought about it, Amada alone could keep the Madrigal’s well supplied with food with less than three hours of labor a day. Factor in Octavia’s abilities, Luisa’s hard work, and the fact that every single one of them was perfectly capable of getting a job, and suddenly Mirabel felt pretty confident that their future would be just fine. So, why did Isabela think she had to sacrifice any chance of marrying somebody she loved for the family’s sake?

Mirabel asked Amada if she knew why Isabela thought she had to do this, but Amada shrugged and shook her head. They parted ways at the front door, Amada going out to the market to pick up a bruised mango (an un-bruised mango would not result in the ending Abuela wanted), and Mirabel continuing on to the kitchen.

It was empty, so Mirabel figured she’d make herself some food while she waited to see what was going to happen.

Cooking was one of those things she could do, just so long as she was willing to put up with a long lecture about kitchen safety first. So, Mirabel did it as much as possible whenever Abuela was out of the house.

She had just pulled the leftover lechona from the party last night out of the fridge when Tía Pepa walked in, holding a book of riddles. Mirabel raised a brow at the book, since Tía Pepa usually only read riddles when she needed to keep the sky overcast, and she was pretty sure the farmers had wanted sunshine today.

“Hey Tía, have you had lunch yet? I can reheat some for you,” Mirabel greeted her, choosing not to ask about the riddles. She had enough mysteries to deal with.

“Ay Mirabel, could you? That would be so sweet of you.”

“Bien! How’s your day going?”

“Busy, between cleaning up after Antonio’s party and getting ready for the engagement tonight, I have barely had time to take a breath,” Tía Pepa complained, slumping into the nearest chair. As she spoke the wind outside picked up, whipping tree branches about. Tia Pepa glanced out the window and groaned, then started in on her mantra to help herself calm down.

“Do you need any help?” Mirabel asked, because maybe helping Tía Pepa was the next domino on the path to good things.

“Oh, claro! But you know what your Abuela will say if she comes home and sees I’ve put you to work,” she huffed rolling her eyes.

Mirabel paused in the middle of striking a match. Casita had refused her mother’s requests for a more modern oven and stove, so they were stuck with the classic wood fire ones until somebody invented another stove that Casita liked.

She turned and stared at her Tía, not sure what to say. Tía Pepa had never acknowledged the fact that Mirabel wasn’t allowed to help out much before.

“What?! You know it’s true.”

“I-, sí. I guess I just didn’t realize that you…”

She sighed deeply, looking at the book of riddles in her hands, “I know, I know. But it’s best I don’t think about these things you know. Gets me too-. Well, I need to keep the skies clear for the crops.”

“Oh,” Mirabel busied herself getting the wood in the oven lit, then moved some of the lechona into a pan, all the while thinking about what Tía Pepa was saying, “Tía, is it-. You’re always trying to change your own mood for the sake of the village. Is that-, how do you do it?”

Tía Pepa held up the book, “You know how, I read books that will make me feel what I need to.”

“Sí, I know that part, but um, how do you deal with-. Doesn’t it take a toll?”

That earned Mirabel a sardonic snort, then a quiet, dry, “Claro. But don’t you fret about that mija, I’ve been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive, I’m fine.”

Mirabel drew in a sharp breath through her nose, she had now heard four members of her family insist they were fine when they clearly weren’t.

She was beginning to sense a pattern.

She sat down in the chair next to Pepa’s, facing her, “Would-. If somebody else in the familia was doing what you do, trying to make themselves feel something for the sake of the family and village, what would you do?”

“Smack them,” Tía Pepa said without a second’s hesitation, “my emotions can summon a hurricane. I need to keep them in check, or people could get hurt, even killed. The rest of you, you don’t need to be doing that.”

Mirabel pursed her lips, it would be kind of funny to see Tía Pepa smack Isabela upside the head.

She opened her mouth to blab Isabela’s secret for the second time, then swallowed her words when Tío Bruno walked in with Tío Félix. She smiled at them in greeting, doing her best not to look too freaked out. Tía Pepa gave her a calculating look, but apparently decided to let Mirabel drop it.

“Hey, did you guys want some of the leftovers?” she asked, gesturing at the oven.

“I’m fine, gracias,” Tío Bruno shook his head, “I already ate.”

“I’ll take some,” Tío Félix said, he paused to press a kiss to Pepa’s cheek, then murmured, “might as well eat as much as we can before Camilo gets to it.”

“Ay, amor, you know he’s already gotten into it by now. He must have,” Pepa gave him a half grin and they shared a look of fond exasperation for their elder son.

“Ah, give the poor boy a break, you remember how much Luisa ate at his age,” Bruno pointed out, pulling a pitcher of guava juice out of the fridge, “Camilo’s practically on a, o-one of those hunger strikes by comparison.”

“Oh I remember,” Félix shook his head, a sympathetic frown on his face, “I remember that poor girl’s growth spurts. Ay, talking about growing pains.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Tío Bruno said, dryly.

Félix barked out a laugh, but Mirabel caught the flicker of sadness that passed across Pepa’s face. Briefly, Mirabel wondered what it must have felt like, watching her brother shrink in on himself over the years.

She shook the thought off and focused on the food, adding more so there was enough for three. When it was warm enough to be palatable, she pulled it out and began plating it.

“Gracias Mira,” Tía Pepa said, with far more feeling than a single plate of food probably warranted, “come, sit with me some more.”

She did as she was told and ended up with her Tío Bruno on her other side at the head of the table. Mirabel listened, mostly in silence, as Pepa and Félix discussed what was left to do, and Bruno occasionally cracked very dry jokes. She paid close attention, waiting for the next part of the chain reaction, but as far as she could tell, it didn’t come.

Tío Bruno insisted on cleaning the plates, even though he hadn’t eaten anything, he cited all the cleaning Pepa and Félix had left to do. Not wanting to leave him alone to do it, Mirabel offered to dry.

So, she ended up standing next to him at the counter, trying to figure out what, if anything, she should say.

Should she ask what he knew about the cracks? Or maybe what he’d warned Luisa about? Or Dolores?

Eventually though, Tío Bruno paused in his scrubbing to check there was nobody waiting beyond the kitchen doorway to overhear any secrets, then asked, “Leandra mentioned-. How did your talk with Isabela go? Were you able to get through to her?”

“No,” Mirabel answered glumly.

“Ay, of course not. Although, uh, i-it makes me feel a little better that Leandra and I aren’t the only voices of reason going unheard,” Bruno shook his head.

“We need to tell Abuela, she would never make Isabela go through with this,” Mirabel said.

“I- sí, th-that is the back up plan.”

“The back up plan?!”

“Yeah, there’s-, look, as a seer I know a lot of stuff that isn’t my business, right? Well, one of the things I know is that there is a very easy solution to this if I can just get one of those two to listen to me,” Bruno was scowling down at the plate he was scrubbing, mostly to himself he muttered, “now I know how Leandra feels whenever she’s pushing me to talk to my sisters! Hm, maybe this is karma.”

“Which two?” Mirabel asked, then thought about what she’d heard Tía Leandra say, “Isabela and Dolores?”

Tío Bruno looked briefly startled, then he gave her a proud grin, “Ay, you always been so clever?”

“I uh, I’ve overheard a lot of stuff I probably wasn’t supposed to today,” Mirabel shrugged sheepishly. She hoped he wouldn’t ask what else she’d overheard, although technically she hadn’t overheard his conversation with Tía Leandra today. She heard it yesterday.

“Sí, if we can just get Isabela and Dolores to be honest with each other, this whole problem will go away,” Tío Bruno confirmed, almost casually, he knocked on the nearest wooden cabinet.

“Ok, so how do we do that?”

“I dunno, Leandra and I have been trying, believe me,” Bruno shrugged, “and now we can’t find either of them. I think Dolores is in her Sanctum, and well, who knows where Isabela is hiding. If we can’t get to them before the proposal, Leandra and I were going to sit them down and just tell them what the other is hiding. And if that doesn’t fix things, we’ll tell Abuela.”

Mirabel nodded, slowly, then breathed a long sigh of relief, “Bien, good, right. I’m so glad there’s a plan, because I was kind of freaking out.”

Tío Bruno gently knocked his shoulder against hers, “Have a little faith, eh? We wouldn’t let them do this to themselves. I just want to give them a chance to work it out, first.”

“I don’t think they’re going to Tío.”

“I-, yeah, I’m beginning to think you’re right,” Tío Bruno sighed, then gave her an inquisitive look, “Did Isa tell you why she thinks she has to go through with this?”

“She did, but it’s kinda dumb,” Mirabel rolled her eyes, “she’s worried about the family’s future, you know, like what happens when you’re not selling emeralds anymore. She thinks this is the best way to make sure we’ll be taken care of.”

“Ah,” Tío Bruno frowned into the middle distance for a second, “that’s-, hmm. That’s not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Well… don’t tell her I said this, but Isa has always put a lot of pressure on herself to be perfect, I thought this was-. I-I mean I thought she was doing this to try to force herself to be uh, something she isn’t,” it was obvious Tïo Bruno was dancing around something, probably the something that Amada had said she wasn’t allowed to tell people.

Mirabel thought about pushing, but the reasons why Isabela didn’t want to marry Mariano didn’t matter as much as the reasons why she was going to force herself to.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mirabel asked, because Tïo Bruno always let her help, even if it got Abuela upset with him.

He frowned, thinking about it, then he slowly nodded, “Maybe, it uh, it wouldn’t be a quick fix though.”

“What is it?”

“Isa is… different in the same way-, well not quite the same way, but in a similar way as me. She-, the only reason I know is because Amada saw something and asked Leandra and I about it. Isa hasn’t told anyone, you know, she doesn’t think-. She thinks she needs to be perfect,” Bruno shook his head, “I’ve tried telling her she’s fine the way she is, a-and Leandra has tried, but we’re her Tío and Tía. As far as Isabela cares-, she won’t listen to us, not when it comes to this.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“I-,” Bruno stopped talking abruptly, he examined her closely, then seemingly out of the blue said, “did you know that I used to have a boyfriend?”

“Que?”

“A boyfriend, I had one. And before I got to know your Tía, there was this guy I-, well I don’t know if I’d call it a crush, but he’d told me that he used to be in love with me but now he was over me and I just-. Curiosity, I spent a lot of time wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t been so blind, you know?”

“Oh,” Mirabel blinked a few times.

“I am attracted to women, well, mostly just to the one woman these days, but I am attracted to men too.”

“Ah.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Mirabel pressed her lips together then decided honesty was the best policy, “I mean, you’re my tío, so... Kind of grossed out? You’re not supposed to have a love life. It’s bad enough I’ve seen you kiss Tía Leandra.”

Tío Bruno laughed, “Right, bien, claro. But pretend I wasn’t your tío, pretend I was just, I don’t know, a friend from school. Then how would you feel?”

“Eh, fine I guess,” Mirabel shrugged, thinking about Sonia who loved embroidery as much as Mirabel, and had terrible taste in boys, “as long as the guy you’re dating isn’t a total sleaze.”

“Eh, he wasn’t, he just… he wanted to help me deal with the village, but didn’t know how. And the situation spiraled,” Bruno smiled sadly, “at the time it was, oof, it was not fun. A-and for a while I was convinced he was, you know, evil. But looking back on it now, we were both so young, and I can see-. Ah well. For the best we didn’t work out, Leandra gets along with my sisters better.”

Mirabel watched him as he apparently reminisced, eventually he snorted, shook his head at some memory or other, and seemed to tune back into the present. He looked at her, first out of the corner of his eye, then with his head tilted toward her.

“Mirabel, I know you and Isa haven’t always gotten along, but… that’s actually a good thing right now. If you can get her to open up to you, and you tell her there’s nothing wrong with her, she uh, she might actually believe you.”

Mirabel gulped, but nodded, “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Bien, and in the meantime, Leandra and I will work on the whole Mariano situation,” he smiled at her, a rare glow of optimism on his face, “and maybe between the three of us, everything will work out alright.”

AN: So! Here's my thought process. Way way back, like a whole two years ago when I first caught brainrot for this movie, and I started playing around with character dynamics, I really enjoyed that Bruno was sort of a dark mirror for Isabela. He was also the golden child at one point, then fell off his pedestal, and due to a lack of support just kept falling. I love the idea that Isabela is, to a certain extent, terrified of following in his foot steps. Then I read that Jared Bush tweet where he said that things would have been a lot different if Bruno had had even one strong relationship and I started wondering how the movie would have gone if Bruno was hanging around with a spouse and kids. Then I came up with Love and Fury, finished it, and viola now I have an OC ready to marry Bruno. And!! I very specifically have a Bruno that likes both men and women. So, what if Bruno is there with a wife and kids, he finds out Isabela is attracted to women, and gives her a heads up that he's like her and there to support her if she needs. She hears Bruno say he's attracted to both men and women and thinks to herself, "Oh good, so there's still a chance that I can fall in love with a man!" and spends the next few years using the fact that Bruno goes both ways as an excuse to hide from her own sexuality. I love this idea for two reasons. One, it is realistic, Isabela is young and sexuality is complicated. A lot of us in the community start off with one label, try to make ourselves fit into that label, then discover a label that fits better and slowly make the switch. Two, for the angst.

#mirabel madrigal #isabela madrigal #Encanto #Encanto AU #bruno madrigal #queer Bruno #implied queer Isabela

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expired-bat · 2 years

Text

we met in september - chapter 2

Two weeks have passed since Y/N’s arrival. She’s adjusted to home life with her new family and just finished her enrollment to the high school in the town. Tatyana is still in middle school, so there is no way that she’ll be able to help her there. Y/N was extremely nervous about starting the new school year. Knowledge Day has already passed, and she is expected to enter school tomorrow.

The girl has been pacing around her room for the past thirty minutes. When she arrived at her new room, it was empty, say less for the bed, dresser, closet, a shelf for books, and a study desk along with a chair. The wallpaper was a tint of yellow with floral designs, and the curtains were a lacy white. Now that she’d adjusted it the way she wants, it almost looked like home. Her tops and dresses are stored in the closet, her bottoms, socks, and undergarments are in the dresser, and she has a little box to store away her accessories and jewelry. She brought along her Switch, laptop, phone, and tablet for drawing, as well as her art supplies. Canvases of various sizes, different mediums, her pencils, pens, erasers, all of it! She also brought along a few framed photos of people that she’s close back at home.

Y/N had double checked in her bag that she had everything that she needed.

Notebooks? Check.

Pens and pencils? Check.

Items of entertainment? Check.

Snacks?

Damn it! She forgot the snacks!!

Oh well, she’ll do it in the morning. She’ll ask Natalya if she has some snacks she can provide.

Y/N looked at her window; the night is out and the moon is more radiant than usual. She looked at her phone for the time; 9:32 PM.

She double checked if she set three alarms for the morning, and she did. Y/N flopped down the wooly bed and breathed in. It smelled like soap and a tad bit of dust. She turned and looked at the ceiling and started to blink quickly. She overheard a while ago that if you blink at a fast pace, you have the chance to fall asleep quickly. Y/N saw a couple of spots while blinking, then a bit of fluff… then the fluff formed into a face. The face looked at her with a bored look, its eyes blackened and cheeks covered in freckles. The face then gave her a soft smile.

Y/N’s eyes shut down.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Y/N flinched as a jingle woke her from her slumber. She tossed and turned to look for her phone, realizing after a minute that it was under her head. She looked at the time, it was 6:30 AM.

She rose up from her bed and stretched. She cracked some bones and hoped off. She began her usual morning routine; showering, doing a facial, brushing her teeth, and picking out her clothes. She managed to pick a comfortable look for her since fall has begun.

Y/N heads down the hallway and enters the kitchen. Natalya prepares breakfast and lunch while Tatyana and Olga sit down eating.

“Good morning dear! Would you like to eat?” the mother asked.

“Yes please,” Y/N replied.

Breakfast mainly consists of pancakes, butterbrots, kasha, fried eggs, tea, and coffee. Y/N grabbed a plate of pancakes, eggs, and tea. She sat across Tatyana and began to eat.

“Hey Y/N,” Tatyana began, “What do you usually eat for breakfast at your home?”

“Uh… if my family is awake in time, then we usually eat [insert cultural breakfast dish of your choice]. If not, then it’s cereal or some fruit.”

“Nice to know!”

The family concluded breakfast with cleaning up their mess. After that, Y/N and Tatyana headed outside saying their goodbyes to the women. The duo walked on the sidewalk on their way to the bus stop. Y/N took in a breath of the morning air; it was chilly yet crispy. Tatyana looked at her with concern.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little…”

“Don’t worry about it! Just pay attention to the teachers and try not to get in trouble. There’s a lot of those assholes around here. If someone’s bothering you, let me know so that I’ll kick their ass.”

“Heh, thanks.”

Y/N liked Tatyana’s spunky spirit.

The bus arrived and the girls quickly ran. They entered the bus and sat down on an empty seat. It was loud, with primary aged kids taking in the majority.

Just like home, Y/N thought.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The bus stopped at the high school. She looked at it in awe as it was three stories tall, a more modern building than the rest across the block.

“Bye Y/N! See you home!” Tatyana yelled.

Y/N smiled back at her and waved. Clenching her school bag, she walked towards the glassy entrance. The lobby only consists of two doors and hallways from left and right. She looked at the signs only to see that there were Russian letters. Damn it, forgot what it means, she thought. She pulled out her phone and opened the stupid translator app. After using it, it translated as Office and Counselor. Y/N entered the office room and was met by a group of teachers. She tensed up and her face was flushed.

A big lady with glasses and buck teeth licked her licks and sneered at her.

“So, you are the exchange student?”

Y/N, extremely flustered, responded with a yes.

“Very well. We have your textbooks, map, locker, and schedule. Go on with your first class of the day.”

Y/N collected her items and headed out of the room. She let out a large exhale and touched her cheek; it was very hot. Great job dumbass! You’ve made your first impression and that’s what they’re going to look at you for the rest of the year!!

She looked at the map for the locker area. Walking down the hallway, there were a few students. Some were waiting for class to start, some were just hanging out, and some were making out. Y/N was grossed out.

Then, she heard some whispers. She could only make up some words like foreigner, new kid, and weirdo.

She stopped at her locker and opened it. The girl then looked at her schedule; she has English for her first class. She put away the rest of her items besides her textbook and closed the locker. Y/N looked at the map again for the class number.

207.

She groaned. That classroom is on the second floor!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Y/N was on her way to the classroom, only to see that the door was closed and class began.

Shit! Already?! I thought it was supposed to start at 8:30!!

She panicked and nearly fell to the floor. Her breathing became uneven and she could feel her eyes becoming wet. Don’t cry damn it.. Don’t cry!!

Then, the door opened. It was a young woman with glasses. She had medium length black hair wearing a white sweater and black pants.

“Oh, hello! You’re the new student!!” she beamed.

Y/N and the teacher entered the room, and she became the center of the class’ attention. All eyes were on her and it made her shake.

“Class, please give a warm welcome to our exchange student for this year!”

She transitioned to English.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Y/N took a breather and looked in front of the class.

“Hello. My name is Y/N L/N. I’m from [insert country of origin] and I hope to get along with everyone.”

Some students gave out their welcome with their broken English. The teacher, Mrs. Semyonova, clapped her hands.

“Thank you dear. Please take a seat next to Dee. Dee, raise your hand please.”

A hand rose up. That’s when he saw him.

Dee, a lithe boy with blond hair tied up to a ponytail, dark makeup, ear piercings, freckles, and staring at her with his resting bitch face. His eyes are what caught her attention, as they were icy and piercing.

Y/N flushed. He’s kinda cute.

She strolled to the empty chair and sat down.

“Now class, we will begin with understanding the basic rules of English…” Mrs. Semyonova rolled on.

Y/N pulled out her materials and followed the lesson. Her mind was mostly on autopilot, as her seatmate is what is in her mind. He looked handsome just by looking at his side profile. She looked away quickly and continued taking notes for the lesson.

Just ignore him. He’s probably like everyone else around here.

#metal family #metal family dee #metal family dee x reader #dee x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #milo writes

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

The Rugged Cowboy p2

Media: Godless (Netflix 2017)

Character: Whitey Winn (Thomas Brodie Sangster)

Couple: Whitey Winn X Reader

Rating: Adorable + Mild Flirt

Concept: Tour Of Town

I woke up to a surprising amount of light flooding into my little house, forcing open my eyes to greet the New Mexico morning sun. I noticed I had failed to close one of my curtains last night but honestly the house needed more work than that so I didn't let it weigh too heavily on my mind. I could hear the town already busy with folks coming back and forth so I climbed from my bed and made the sheets behind me. I washed my face with the small white soap bar and some water from the basin, making sure to clean my skin well for the day ahead. I slipped my nightie off my shoulders letting it pool at my ankles as I grabbed my undergarments from the chair working on the intricate procedure it was to dress. Grabbing my boots from the door and slipped them on lacing them up high as I would be unable to once all my garments were on, once it was all they should be I chose a blue dress with small white flowers slipped it on and tieing it all up. I plaited my hair quickly my fingers moving around the strands by pure habit without even having to look at them in the mirror or at my own hands then pinning said plait up around my head. I took my small blue parasol in hand and headed out my door being now fully greeted by that harsh sunlight. already the heat seeping through me.

I stepped out down my little porch and into the slightly yellowed dirt and sand, taking my steps slowly and carefully down the street seeing all the little shops opening up, dry goods, undertakers, hairdressers, the hotel, bar and all manner of other such things. Everywhere I looked women worked, walked and waved. Many worked on the shell of a church near the end of town and carted the supplies needed for it. Once I arrived in the centre of town admittedly I felt slightly overwhelmed by it all, the new faces and places that would soon become merely normality in my mind.

I caught sight of the sheriff's office as battered and broken as you would expect it to be, and I smiled thinking of whitey. honestly, no wonder he was the deputy the sheriff's office and himself shared a.... broken down dirty quality. I hitched my parasol on my shoulder a little and headed over stepping up onto the porch closing it down and using the metal tip to tap on the door.

"Uhh... it's open?" The familiar voice yelled from within seeming perplexed as to why anyone had knocked, So I gently pushed open the door and took and step inside shutting the door with my hip behind me.

The office was, well. A large wooden room that had been patched many times, the windows didn't quite fit into the windowsills they laid in with small cracks in the glass and cream blinds half drew to keep out the high sun, wood panelling on the walls to about my hips and then once cream-painted plaster to the ceiling with the prints and streaks of thousands of touches from dirty hands never move having been cleaned. the floor is dusty and would likely give you a splinter if you walked across it barefoot. I stood with the door behind me the small light from the little glass around the door illuminating my shadow across the room, to my right was a hook with a familiar stetson hat, besides it on the next hook was an old moth-consumed brown leather jacket with a layer of dust over it, next was a window that sat beside a tall tower of brown filing draws, then against the wall in front of me sat an old wooden gun cabinet a mirror in the back and two square wire doors that had been left open and by the dust likely had rarely been closed, a few rifles, shotguns, and other such weaponry stacked up around the mirror rather than having been put away. the front shelf was covered with boxes of ammunition all laid out by size and design in front of the cabinet was a wooden desk well battered and bruised, with a few papers, some books and such strewn about on it but the chair empty, looking into the room there where three fairly sized cells sealed off from the rest of the office by the metal poles the furthest had a small window to the outside side of it which seemed, like a bad idea. none of the beds inside was made up, and a small wall protected the second desk from the cells. and speaking of the second desk, it sat with two large windows behind it and two more to its side, much cleaner and better cared for than the first, more books and paperwork over it some keys hung on it, and behind it a wooden chair where a familiar boy sat himself. He sat his brown boots crossed on the floor a small pile of dust below them having been knocked off from his slight movements, the same textured tight pants I had seen him in yesterday fact the same shirt and jumper too, his deputy badge glinting on his shirt pocket where it caught the sun from the window to my right, his hair allowed to flow as it wanted a messy madness of dirt, curl and flick that I doubt had been combed for... Oh goodness, I wouldn't like to guess. his face read of confusion at first until he realized it was me and a smile cracked across his lips, in his left hand sat a bullet casing that he was tossing around playing with it in his fingers fidgeting with it, and in his right sat a copy of my book 'The Garden of Roses' which he shut in his hand as he saw me.

"Well. Miss Y/l/n what a nice surprise" He says

"Good Morning Master Winn, Up bright and early I see"

"Well, when the sheriffs not 'ere, somebody has to look after all ya lovely ladies"

"Important work indeed" I smiled

"Important work, and hard work, but someone has to do it darlin'" He smiled stepping out from behind his desk taking my hand and giving it a soft kiss "How are ya findin' LaBelle so far then?"

"Perfectly Pleasant" I smiled holding my parasols handle "How are you enjoying the garden?" I asked

he seemed confused for a second so I glanced at the book he had left on the table "Ohh yes. very beautiful I struggle with some of the words there a bit.... long. for me"

"well I could always answer things if you get stuck Master Winn" I laughed

"well, then... this one," he says grabbing the book and flipping through the pages "Here, Botanial?"

"Botanical" I corrected "It means flowers, so a Botanical garden is a flower garden, and a botanical perfume is a floral or flower perfume" I explained

"Ahh. Thank you. I was stuck on that for ages" He says "Well, I'm sure I need anymore help I can always ask the lovely writer herself" He smiled giving my hand another kiss "Ya know, I'm not too busy, if ya like I'd be happy to take ya around give ya a little tour of LaBelle?"

"That would be mighty kind of you, But I don't want to be any trouble"

"It's no trouble miss y/l/n I'd be honoured to show ya around"

"Are you sure?"

"Course"

"Well, I'd like that very much" I smiled offering my arm he happily let me take his arm giving my hand a tap

"And just whitey, I insist"

"Alright whitey," I blushed "Then just y/n"

"May I?"

"You may"

"Alright, come on then I know the perfect place to start off" he smiled

Whitey took me around LaBelle to all the little shops and sites introducing me to all the lovely ladies about town, I had to admit for whitey being such a rugged cowboy he was a perfect gentleman and once we had been all the way around town he took me back to my little house and I let him in for a cup of tea,

"Impressive," he says "Ya only arrived yesterday"

"Well, I like to be comfortable" I smiled

"Well ya sure do look comfortable," he says glancing around my house at my nick-nacks and such as I made the tea "Ohh? Ya workin' on a new book?" He asks looking at my typewriter

"No" I snapped dropping my teapot on the table and rushing over putting my body between him and the typewriter even if it meant my body was pressed against his and clearly he felt how close we were too as a smirk grew across his face

"why? ya workin' on some little smutty story or somethin'?" he smirked wrapping his arms around my waist

"whitey!" I gasped in shock

"Sorry" he chuckled moving back "Come on let me see"

"Sorry whitey, but no. I never let anyone read my work until it's done" I told him "Not even my editor or my publisher. they don't get anything till I have the first draft"

"Alright, sorry I asked"

"It alright you didn't know," I said heading back to the table and doing the tea and he happily came to join me.

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karskarmen · 1 year

Text

"Newbie." Soap x Fem!NewRecruit!Reader Triggers: Swearing, flirting, mentions of blood and repairing wounds. Short fic,SFW, no mention of Y/N, code name is "Mercy". Soap falling in love at first sight <3 Note: This is my first fic, let me know if Soap isn't too accurate!

"They'll be delivering the truck around noon, said they've got someone new with it." Soap listened to the conversation the two in front of him were having. New people were common but not too common, but he was fine with being friendly unlike his fellow soldiers. He wondered if they were nice, he wondered what they'd be like. He's terribly curious, hence how he's always gotten himself in trouble every now and then. He scrunches his nose up. The rumble of a truck engine was enough to catch his attention by the way it came down the road. It kicked up dust and dirt, enough to make the collective around as it stopped hack and wheeze a little too hard. Price walked up, seemingly having a well conversation with the man in front who had been driving while Ghost stood by and calmly watched. "So you're bringing a medic?" Ghost ask, seemingly confused as the man in the driver's seat was busy undoing his seatbelt to help himself out. "She ain't bad, friend. I promise you. She's a good shot too, if you guys are really looking for that." The driver said, voice half muffled from the mask he had tied around his nose and mouth. He stepped out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him before walking over to the back with the other two. This surely made John curious, medics weren't exactly the thing to keep tabs on. But if she was a good shot, a good shot is what they may have needed. He stayed behind Ghost as they came to the back of the vehicle, eyes moving over the crates of supplies. Some labeled fragile. There's a shadow moving in the back for a moment, and his hand doesn't leave the rifle that's strapped to his chest. It makes him nervous, oddly enough. "That them?" He asks Price, slightly uncomfortable with not being able to see the face. Sure, he's use to Ghost, but then again Ghost was somewhat of a friend to him. He scrunches his nose again and looks around mindlessly. "Supposedly. Mind giving your new friend a hand?" Price asked him, to which Soap let out a soft groan. He unstrapped the rifle, handing it over to him before walking up to the truck. He stepped up, back kind of sinking from the weight of him climbing on to investigate. There's someone in the back, quietly shuffling through the crates of supplies. Though, he nearly collides with them as the figure backs up and turns to him. "Shit! I need my space!" John is confused, stepping back once the figure had collided with him. The woman turns, raising a brow at the man as she's in the middle of taking her things from the crate. Oddly enough not only is he confused, but he's actually very intrigued at the woman before him. She's cute, she's a bit shorter than him, currently scrambling for the supplies in the crate. Though she's confused, why was her team member staring at her like that? "Can I help you?" She asks, a tinge of bitterness to her tone. Soap came from his little observation daydream, staring now at the woman before him. He's got no words, near speechless and unsure of what to say. "Sorry. Captain said you needed my help." "..Yeah, just get me that box right there. Scared the hell out of me.." She grumbles, mostly to herself as she takes a small glass vial out and checks it. It's the prescription she needed. She moved passed soap, combat boots clanging against the floor as she exited the vehicle to introduce herself to the two that waited outside. Soap could hear it, the heartbeat in his ears. His face felt warm, a little tingle in his fingers as he watched her leave. He felt fuzzy inside, near uncomfortable but the same delightful feeling.

By now the woman is walking away, and Soap had barely got her name. It's a nice name, it rolls off of his tongue as he silently repeats it to himself.

"Soap, are you alright?" Soap again comes from his daydream, awkwardly giving the thumbs up to his captain as he gets out of the back of the truck. "Apologies." Though he can't see it, he believes that Ghost is raising eyebrows at him. "Seems someone has a bit of a crush." Ghost said, snickering to himself while Soap hands over a glare. "Normally you're so charming, Soap." "Be quiet, Ghost." "Is that a challenge?" He asks, laughing softly beneath that damned mask. Soap sighs, looking around as the woman is casually chatting away with another member. He wanted to hear her name again. For her to introduce herself to him. He sighed through his teeth, straightening. Whether he liked it or not.. He was going to speak to her. He dismissed the other two with a wave of his hand amidst the snickering and playground teasing. "Pardon me, madam.' The woman turns, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She holds out her hand. "I'm sorry for earlier. I was trying to find something." When she tells him her name, oddly enough there's fluttering in his chest. "..Soap.. It's a uh.. Pleasure to meet you.." He pauses to shake her hand, and the butterflies fly higher. "I hope we can get along.." He says, smiling to her. "More so, I hope you can see me as I see you." He thought.

#cod mw soap #sfw fic #call of duty #cod mw fanfiction #cod mwf2 #cod modern warfare

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phantomrose96 · 3 years

Text

Buds After the Frost

This was supposed to be a short warm-up writing exercise yesterday and then it got... longer. Enjoy!!

...

The doors opened for Maddie Fenton with a pneumatic hiss. Pressurized nitrogen released, splitting open the vacuum seal on the door as its twin halves slid apart, slotting into the wall-mounted sleeves. The nitrogen misted out, cold and dry, air currents catching in swirls around Maddie Fenton’s lab coat. Her feet thocked against hollow metal, amplified by the coldness and the vastness of the containment room beyond.

She paused short of the specimen’s cell, mindful attention drawn to the panel of controls nested rightmost against the wall. The monitor read out stats, tracked metrics of the specimen’s heartrate and blood oxygenation and blood pressure. Dials beneath the screens offered her means of interaction, manipulating the cage’s environment without needing to tamper with it by hand. She ignored these, as she had been ignoring them the entire time, and paid mind only to the single switch which would seal shut the doors behind her.

She pressed it. Another pneumatic hiss followed, locking out the world behind her. Her breath curled, cold. She and the specimen were alone.

“No coffee this morning?” he asked.

Maddie sat down at the control panel, elbow leaning against the dashboard for support. She turned to the cage. “No. One of the interns broke the pot last night. New one should be delivered today.”

Phantom let out a huff of air. “You mean in this whole gigantic mega-hyper-futuristic government lab, there’s nothing that can stand in as a coffee pot?”

“I wouldn’t stay employed long if I tried using equipment to brew coffee.”

“Use one of the big ectoplasm beakers. Ectoplasm washes out with soap and water. Just suds it up and throw it in the coffee maker. I’m an expert about these things.”

“It’s more about protocol.”

Phantom waved her off. “’Protocol.’ Bureaucracy is standing between you and a delicious cup of ectoplasmic coffee, Dr. Fenton.”

Maddie looked forward now, taking him in. He’d hovered to the front of the cell, translucent reinforced glass separating him from the rest of the lab. Green eyes shined above a cheeky smile, a dusting of loose white hairs falling over his eyes, the rest of his bangs swept slightly to the side. His tailed flickered, his aura pulsed, his vital readings blipped out steady, normal, healthy.

“Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

Maddie paused.

“Why are you still here?”

The ghost boy let out a small guffaw. He motioned his arms around him, hands waving. “I dunno. Maybe the big ghost-proof box I’m in has something to do with it?”

“The shield is down, Phantom,” Maddie answered quietly. She set her eyes to Phantom, investigating. “…I put it down last night. It’s down now. You knew this.”

Phantom took just a moment too long to react, eyebrows arching up. “Oh, huh! Nope I didn’t notice. I mean it’s not like I’m constantly throwing myself at the barrier to electrocute myself so no I just didn’t try getting past it last night so I didn’t notice.”

“Phantom,” Maddie said again, voice measured, words stern. “You saw me crank down the dial that controls the shield.”

“Well I don’t know what all those buttons and dials do.”

“Yes you do. You’ve been observing me since day 1. You knew.”

Phantom kicked back in the air, floating a fraction back and higher. “Well maybe I thought it was a trap, I dunno. Or maybe I just like to get in your head, you know? What unpredictable thing will Phantom do next! Gotta write another 200 equations about ghost theory to figure that one out, Dr. Fenton.”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you not want to leave?”

“Oh I wanna leave.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“We’re having a conversation. That’d be rude.”

“Will you leave as soon as I exit the room?”

“Who knows?”

“Phantom.”

“Yeah?”

Maddie stood. She left her chair and the control panel behind. She walked up to the specimen cage instead. It was cubic, a skeleton of metal bar ribbings with a metal mesh that plastered the glass sides like a membrane. The top anchored to the ceiling, the bottom—raised by about a foot—anchored to a pedestal on the floor. Maddie stared through the mesh into Phantom’s eyes.

“Is there anyone who realizes you’re missing?” she asked.

Phantom chewed on the question. “Nah. Well um, trick question, actually. Probably not. Assuming I do this right, then no one has even realized I’m gone.”

“Do what ‘right’?”

“You know that thing about Clockwork I explained?”

“You said he’s the ghost that controls time and reality.”

“Yeah. SUPER powerful.”

“And you said you …were from one of those other realities.”

Phantom nodded. “Maybe I touched some things in Clockwork’s lair I wasn’t actually allowed to touch. Jury’s still out on whether I’m in trouble for that or not. I’ve been a little too ‘stuck in this reality’ to know if Clockwork is pissed. But yeah, I got um, bopped into your reality instead of mine. So technically my reality is lacking me right now, and yeah there’s people there who’d know I’m missing.”

Phantom flipped upside-down, as though laying on his back. He rested his palms beneath his head, elbows out, suspended in an invisible hammock, head tilted far back so that he still stared at Maddie. “Especially since it’s been, what, a month that I’ve been gone?”

“2 weeks.”

“What? No way. I’ve been here absolutely forever it has to have been at least a month.”

“This is day 14 of your observation, Phantom.”

Phantom blew a strand of hair out of his face. “Anyway. Two weeks is still long enough to have a search party out on my butt. But whether or not that’s happened is up to – it’s kind of a Schrodinger thing. Because here’s my strategy. Assuming Clockwork hasn’t banned me from reality-hopping forever, I can just get him to send me back to my own reality at the precise moment in time I vanished. And then bam, no one ever knows I was gone. And it makes no difference whether I do that today, or next week, or next month. So assuming you eventually let me go, then I’m all set there.”

“You say that almost like you don’t care when it happens.”

“I dunno, more like I’m just not losing sleep over it. It’s not like I have a say in the matter. You do. I don’t.”

“Is the time you spend here just meaningless, to you?”

“I wouldn’t say meaningless. I’m still aging goddammit.”

“You’re a ghost.”

“I’m complex.” Phantom flipped right-side-up again. “If I start growing facial hair, send me back. I’m gonna have some awkward questions to answer if I show up again with a ghost beard suddenly.”

“…And what if I never send you back?” Maddie asked, careful with her words. “How does your plan work if you stay here forever? If I destroy you first?”

“Um. …It doesn’t, I guess.” Phantom set a hand to his chin, thinking. “Yeah um, please don’t do that. I don’t wanna worry my whole family like that.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“What part?”

“That you have a family.”

“I mean. I think that came up in Interrogation Session #3. Consult your notes.”

“I just have a hard time believing you.”

“Because I’m a ghost?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a complex ghost.”

“I know. You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

Silence filtered in between them.

“…What is your family like, Phantom?”

Phantom stiffened a fraction, his eyes finding Maddie’s and shifting away. “Oh, you know, family.”

“Do they exist here too?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from another reality, at least you’re claiming you are.”

“I gotta be. The me from this reality died 6 months ago, didn’t he?”

“The you from most realities is dead, Phantom. You’re a ghost.”

“A complex ghost.”

“The you from this reality was destroyed 6 months ago.”

“Which you validated with your own sciencey equipment, right? You said so! So you know I’m not lying. Unless you think I recombobulated myself from being a protoplasmic smear on the sidewalk.” Phantom caught himself, registering the flinch in Maddie’s body. He deflated a bit, eyes averted. “S-sorry. Inconsiderate phrasing.”

“Why?” Maddie asked, tone flat, blunt.

Phantom’s eyes shifted back. “Um. Just. You know. That accident was. There were um, you know—”

“Human causalities.”

Phantom squirmed. “We don’t have to talk about that, you know? No one wants to talk about that. Okay as a ghost I guess ‘talking about how I died’ is sort of a bit more normal, but this is weird yeah, ‘talking about how an alternate-me died permanently’? That’s morbid. No one wants to talk about that.”

“Okay then. You can go back to answering my previous question.”

“Um. I forget.”

“Does your family exist in this reality?”

“Um, well who really knows, you know? I had like a grand total of 20 minutes of freedom in this reality before you captured me, so, don’t ask me like I’m any kind of expert about your reality. What’s it matter?”

“I want to know if there’s anyone in this reality who’s mourning you.”

Phantom’s face schismed with surprise. His front dropped, and the first look of genuine emotion sank into his glowing eyes. “Woah… That’s um, weirdly nice, of you, I guess. Why do you… want to know?”

Maddie said nothing.

“I. Um. I think the answer is no? So don’t um. Worry about that. If you were worried? Which is weird. I’m the enemy, aren’t I? Evil spooky ghost to be studied?”

“I’m not so sure what you are…” Maddie answered. “I heard you got destroyed trying to save them.”

“The um… the human casualties?”

“Yes.”

“I said we don’t have to talk about that.”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Do you know who they were?”

“The… casualties?”

“Yes.”

“Come on we’re on a different topic now.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“I don’t—how’m I supposed to know? I don’t know how I died here, you know? You think I’ve got some kind of like… parallel-universe death vision?”

“So you don’t know?”

“N-no.”

“I have a different question, then.”

“Okay, good, because I haven’t been liking these previous ones.”

“Are you staying just to keep me company?”

Phantom faltered. He looked left, then right, hand scratching at his chin. “I’m staying because I’m in a ghost-proof box.”

“It’s not ghost-proof anymore. The shields are down.”

“I feel like you’re circling around some accusation I’m not smart enough to follow. This feels like entrapment.”

“Then I’ll be more direct.”

“Oh no there is an accusation.”

“I think you do know how you were destroyed in this universe, Phantom.” Maddie took a step forward, and she let her left hand touch the glass, eyes focused on her fingers. “I think you know what happened at the Nasty Burger.”

“That’s—um—the human food… consumption… location… that the local human adolescents meet at, yes?”

Maddie looked up, and she locked Phantom with her stare. He squirmed, and he relented.

“I um…” he continued. “I—yeah—yeah, okay? I know about the Nasty Burger accident. It was supposed to happen to me too in my reality but I—Clockwork—stopped it from happening in my reality.” Phantom glanced left, right, as if staring beyond the confines of his cage. “When I first got knocked into this reality, I went to go find the Fenton portal so I could try to refind Clockwork and fix this and… Well it wasn’t there. And I tried to find some people I know and… I checked out the library in case the Fentons just lived somewhere else and. I um. I found the articles.” His eyes focused on hers again. “They all say you were the only survivor, yeah…?”

“I was sick, that day. It was just a cold. My husband Jack went without me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It took my daughter and my son too.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“And it destroyed you.”

Phantom opened his mouth, but no words followed.

Maddie looked up.

“You knew this. You’ve known this ever since I captured you.” Maddie let her hand slide away from the glass. “Did you let me capture you?”

“Why would I let you capture me?”

“Because you feel sorry for me.”

Phantom’s eyes flickered about, unwilling to meet hers. “…Nah. Nah. I don’t—come on ‘sorry’? I’m a ghost you know? Bane of humanity! We’re enemies. You were just too skilled a hunter and you captured me.”

“And yet you won’t leave.”

Phantom lapsed silent.

“I um… I wasn’t happy to read about—to know the, the thing at the Nasty Burger happened here, okay? That’s something that I kinda didn’t want to believe existed in any reality anymore, but I guess… And if you were still alive. I was… maybe just kind of happy to see you? That you were okay. And still hunting. That was kind of, like a small relief.” Phantom glanced away, back again. “I wasn’t evil, you know. In my reality or this one. I care about what happened to the Fentons…”

“You let me capture you. …And you did it because you thought it would be a nice thing for you to do for me.”

“I Just—I thought maybe, um… I mean when you phrase it like that. I mean what else could cheer up renowned ghost hunter Maddie Fenton quite like a ghost subject to study? Me, especially? The ghost boy or public enemy #1 or whatever. I’m fun, aren’t I?”

Silently, Maddie pushed away from Phantom’s cage. She moved to the control panel, stiff movements and numb fingers. She entered the release code into the console, and unslung the key from her neck to twist into the override, and she threw down each successive lever in the row of four lining the top of the mechanisms.

The scrape of glass sliding away sounded behind her. All four walls of Phantom’s enclosure dropped away, metal mesh sliding away piece-meal. Phantom stared at her, blinking, floating in place.

“You’re free to go, Phantom.”

“I—uh—well hang on, I don’t think the Guys In White would be too happy about that. You can’t just let me—”

“Go, Phantom.”

“They could like, fire you.”

“I don’t care about this job.”

“I—come on, you still wanna study me, don’t you? Chat with me? If you feel bad maybe just get me a couch and some video games for my cage then I’ll be—”

“Phantom.”

“What?”

“Go home to your family.”

The half-hearted smile dropped from Phantom’s face.

“Come on. You can’t just evict me on such short notice. I’m not ready for Clockwork to kick my ass so soon.”

“Go home.”

“I’m not in any rush! I like talking to you. Don’t you—don’t you like talking to me too? In like a scientific way?”

Maddie lowered herself into the chair by the control panel. She leaned forward, arms pooled in her lap, eyes to the floor. “You have a family to get back to, Phantom.”

“It’s—there’s time travel shenanigans! Like I said they don’t even know I’m gone.”

“Every single day, Phantom,” Maddie looked up, eyes stern, “…I wish every single day that my own family would just come back home. I won’t do the same to you. I won’t do the same to your family.”

Phantom said nothing. A somber acceptance sunk into his eyes.

“They’re… alive, you know. In my dimension.”

Maddie dropped her head, and she blinked away the wetness in her eyes.

“I actually… in my dimension I’m kind of closer to the Fentons than I think the, the Phantom in this dimension was. It’s… complex.”

Maddie said nothing. Silence built between them.

“Jazz is um… Jazz is applying for colleges, y-you know. She got in early-acceptance to Yale but um, we all—they all—visited Columbia last month and I think that’s what she wants the most. I can see Jazz in New York City. I think she’d rock it.”

Maddie blinked again. Tears plicked into her lap.

“…Should I stop?”

“Jack… Tell me about Jack.”

“Oh. Yeah he um… big and goofy as ever. He’s got some kind of eight-armed-octogun he’s working on. I know because I was his target practice, involuntarily by the way. He keeps trying to merge “Fenton” and “octopus” together with mixed results. We—Mo-addie—you… are still trying to talk him out of ‘Fentoctopus’.”

Maddie’s ribcage shuddered, a repressed sob, a repressed laugh.

“And Danny?”

“Danny… um… Danny is...” Phantom’s shoulders fell a little bit. He looked away, and then back at Maddie. “He loves you. I know that.”

Maddie blinked, and blinked again, and her eyes wouldn’t clear.

“And are they happy?”

“They’re happy.”

“Am I happy…?”

“You’re…” Phantom’s tail bounced. “You’re happy, I think. I like to think so. I think you’re very happy. You have a great family.”

Maddie nodded.

“Now go.”

“But I still—”

Maddie reached forward, and she grabbed the ecto-gun propped against the control panel. She lifted it into her shoulder, and flicked the safety, and the charge built along the rising whine.

“Go.”

Phantom balked. He blinked. He kicked away from his wall-less cage. “Not forever. I’ll be back. You won’t be alone here forever.”

He was gone.

And Maddie was alone again.

…

Clockwork surveyed the boy in front of him whose head was bowed nearly to the floor, white bangs trailing along cobblestone, hands clasped, apologies repeated, begging case made.

Clockwork ran a hand along his beard, which unfurled, drew back, undid itself with the shifting of his form to a simple child.

“So let’s see. You have the audacity to break my rules andbeg me to meddle on your behalf in the time stream, all in the same breath? Apologies don’t usually come with additional requests for favors.”

“I know,” Danny’s head dipped lower. “You can punish me however you want for touching the restricted timelines but you have to help it, or let me help this one timeline. Please, please just send me back to the Nasty Burger incident so I can save it.”

“It’s already been saved.”

Danny faltered. He looked up.

“You died at the Nasty Burger incident that night,” Clockwork elaborated, form shifting older. “There is no you to ruin that future. That timeline is safe. It’s a very lucky timeline.”

Danny blinked. “N-no. No that’s not what I mean. Save it like you saved my timeline.”

“That did happen. You’re describing your own timeline.”

“I mean do it to THAT one.”

“You are misunderstanding timelines.”

Danny lapsed silent. Worry bled into his eyes, and Clockwork sighed.

“There is no undoing timelines, Danny. There is only forking them by meddling in the stream. All futures and pasts you witness exist, and do exist, and continue to exist,” Clockwork paused, “with the exception of realities I needed to cull, to prevent utter catastrophe.” His gaze fixed on Danny. “The futures that your evil self destroyed, I did have to cull. And culling a reality is not to be done lightly.”

Clockwork motioned with his staff. “There were a handful of surviving realities that I was able to save. That room you meddled in without my permission—they contain the realities off the main track where, for one reason or another, something else succeeded at destroying your future self. …Your own deaths, in fact. In every one of those realities, Danny, you are dead.”

“I don’t…” Danny shook his head. “So then just tell me how to save that one I was in, okay?”

“Oh, that’s easy.”

“How?”

“You don’t.”

Danny said nothing. Clockwork shifted young.

“You can let it live on in that room, or you could ask me to cull it, Danny. You could ask me to cull every reality in that room, so that the main branch, the one you’re from, is the only reality in existence. So you never have to worry about any existence where your family is unhappy. And it will be that way until you, or I, or someone else, meddles with the timestreams again, and more splits occur.”

Still, Danny said nothing. Clockwork continued.

“Sometimes, a mass culling of realities is healthy for the tree of time, like pruning a plant down to its stalk to survive an unforgiving winter, or a terrible disease. But I did that, just recently, to save all of time from the blight of your future self. It would feel cruel to snip off the first buds that have come after the frost.”

Danny lowered himself to the floor.

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay. Just. I have a different question then.” He looked up, a young devastation wet in his eyes. “Can I still go back and visit that reality, sometimes?”

“No. I cannot give you permission to do that.”

“Please!”

Clockwork spun his staff. A portal swirled into being in the space between him and Danny. Washes of color formed patterns, shapes, objects, images. Like a mirror, it reflected Clockwork’s lair beyond its shimmering surface.

“This is a portal back into your own reality. It is set to the location and the time that you vanished. Go there, and leave through the Fenton portal, and nothing will be amiss.”

“No. No no I won’t. Clockwork you have to let me—”

“I am doing you a favor, Danny, getting you home after you caused more trouble. Do not make further demands of me.” Clockwork curled forward, old, sallow skin sagging, and he turned his back to Danny.

“You have to give me permission—”

“I am the only one who has permission to meddle in realities, Danny. This is an absolute.” Clockwork glanced over his shoulder. “And because this is an absolute, I have no reason to have a lock on the room housing those budding other realities.”

Danny blinked.

“I wonder if anyone might break my rules anyway. I wonder if anyone might be nosy, and enter that room anyway, and water the plants in that greenhouse without my permission.” Clockwork stared forward again.

“Clockwork…”

“Luckily I am the master of all time. I would be able to see this coming. And maybe plan for it. If ever such a person would come into my lair, and meddle in my timelines, and try to spread a bit of his own kindness to the realities he couldn’t quite save, I would be fully prepared to stop him.” Clockwork spoke into the green abyss beyond him. “Unless, maybe, I were to accidentally have my back turned.”

Silence trailed after Clockwork’s words. He kept his back to Danny, staring into the abyss of swirling green ether beyond.

“…Thank you,” Danny answered, quietly. “I’ll be back.”

“I imagine you will. Those realities may get lonely without you.”

When Clockwork glanced back over his shoulder, both Danny and the portal were gone.

#Danny Phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #me: -writes any kind of interaction between Maddie and Phantom where Maddie has captured Phantom-#me: 'haha sick Phantom of Truth reference'#ANYWAY i got really attached to a terrible what-if #please enjoy

912 notes · View notes

hypmic-writings · 2 years

Note

perhaps a scenario with jiro having a short s/o ^^? fluff please!

━━ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ━━

Pairing: Jiro Yamada x short!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Word Count: 714

A/N: This one was cute! I’m definitely not short though, so I kind of just rolled with this and made it up as I went along haha hopefully this is along the lines of what you wanted~

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

You groaned as you opened the supply closet, seeing the cleaning materials on the highest shelf. It was bad enough that you had to stay back to help clean up the classroom today, but seeing how impossible it was to reach the bucket and soap made you only more frustrated. Instinctively, you looked around for a box to use as a step ladder, groaning even louder when you couldn’t find one.

“Y/N, are you dying?” Jiro’s voice rang out, making you turn around. He was still wearing his school uniform, leaning against a broom as he smiled down at you. You pouted at him as you crossed your arms.

“No, but when I find out who put the cleaning supplies all the way up there, someone’s gonna die,” you growled. Jiro glanced up at the closet and let out a small chuckle, stepping towards you and grabbing the bucket and soap easily.

“I think it might’ve been the lower classmen,” he mused, handing you the items.

“Well tell them they don’t have long left,” you said, grabbing the mop and stomping away from the closet. Jiro chuckled and closed the door behind him.

“Hey, it’s not their fault you’re…” he trailed off. You faltered for a step as you turned towards him with raised eyebrows.

“That I’m what?” you egged him on. “Go on. Say it. I dare you,” you scowled, continuing on down the hallway, already knowing what Jiro would say.

“You’re adorable, you know…but you’re…pocket sized,” he said with emphasis. You glared at him before rolling your eyes playfully.

“Shut up,” you grumbled.

“Hey, don’t be grumpy! Being short isn’t a bad thing…I mean we’re young, you could still have time to grow right?” Jiro added, teasing you slightly by patting the top of your head with his free hand. This time you swiveled around at him, waving the bucket in his face.

“How dare you!” you shouted, jokingly. “I’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with being short,” you declared, holding your head up high.

“Really? Yesterday you couldn’t reach the spicy ramen packets at the grocery store,” Jiro explained.

“That’s their fault! Who puts the best flavor at the top?” you exclaimed.

“And then last week they had to measure your height at the theme park before they let us go on the rides,” Jiro added, smiling lightly at the memory. You, however, shuddered.

“It’s a stupid rule that should be based on age, not height! I know the risks and I’ll take them for the roller coaster!” you shouted back, huffing. Jiro chuckled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, kissing the top of your head. The two of you were always teasing each other and this was a sort of normal, everyday occurrence in your relationship.

“You don’t need to be so defensive, I think it’s cute that you’re short,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him as you pushed him away.

“I’m not cute and at least I’m not a freakin’ giant like you!” you waved. “It’s unnecessary and I’d rather be compact than…lanky,” you shot back with a pursed smile. Now it was Jiro’s turn to gasp, feigning hurt as he pouted.

“I’m not lanky! I’m lean!” he said, defensively. You patted him on the back, shooting him a sour smile that was just a little bit too big as you both reached the classroom

“So we’re in agreement then?” you offered. “Your height makes it easier for you to dust while my height makes it easier for me to mop,” you declared, setting down the bucket on the floor. Jiro smiled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yea, that sounds fair,” he chuckled, grabbing the dust cloths and setting to work.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed while the two of you cleaned the room until you found Jiro beside you once more. He arms wrapped themselves around your stomach from behind as he pulled you into his chest.

“Jiro!” you exclaimed, almost dropping your mop as he nuzzled his face down into the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your cheek and you could already feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as he hummed happily.

“You know, you really are the perfect size, Y/N.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #jiro #jiro yamada #jiro x reader #jiro yamada x reader #imagines #scenarios #hypmic imagines #hypmic scenarios #hypnosis mic imagines #hypnosis mic scenarios #hypnosis microphone imagines #hypnosis microphone scenarios

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wing-ed-thing · 3 years

Text

Mob Wife (Kakuzu x Reader, ft. Hidan) Part IV

Synopsis: The Akatsuki are in emergency mode. Kakuzu leads Hidan to the only place he knows for sure is safe to regroup.

Word Count:

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blackmail, Language, Fem!Reader, HouseWife!Reader, Moll!Reader, Attempt at Humor, Ceremonial Drinking of Sake, Traditional Wedding

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Finale

Notes: It’s back. Writing Hidan has got me feeling a certain way rn

It rained on your wedding day: weather fitting for, and not minded by, a criminal and a deserter. As you approached the temple, he tried to tell you many times that you were going to be turned away, but as you spoke to the shrine masters, you were greeted warmly and welcomed. You were young with a warm face that offset Kakuzu’s intimidating exterior. Everyone always loved you right away, a way about you that Kakuzu could never begin to consider replicating. With your open heart, you brought a foreign concept into his world: acceptance. The few priests and priestesses at the temple on the border of the Land of Stone looked upon you kindly, a kindness that you and Kakuzu continued to repay years later. The small village of a few hundred that housed that shrine would never see a shinobi attack. Now, only you continue to repay years later.

You could tell that Kakuzu didn’t like being in the temple in the slightest. He had never been one for religion or structure or ceremonies, so you tried not to laugh the first time you saw him in his montsuki haori hakama. You wondered how much grumbling went into getting Kakuzu in such formal attire with a goofy, lopsided grin. Even as he gazed upon your amused, upturned lips, his infamous temper laid unusually dormant. Kakuzu never thought that he would see his own wedding day. Being the kind of man he was, he never thought that he’d have one. He didn’t think that he deserved it, but for once as you stood in front of him in your shiromuku, all of his jaded thoughts seemed to fade. Of course with you, all doors opened.

Kakuzu knelt next to you at the shrine, ever stoic. He put his hair up before the ceremony and secured it neatly behind his head. You remembered it when it was short. As the priest announced your marriage to the gods, you couldn’t help but glance at Kakuzu out of the corner of your eye. He held himself together better than you imagined he would.

“Well, yes. I am an adult,” he would tell you later.

But at that moment, he received the first sakazuki. The priest's vessel tipped over the small cup two times before pouring. Kakuzu brought the dish up to his lips and took three sips: pointless seeing that neither of you had parents, but traditional nonetheless. You were taught to always honor your ancestors, but you doubted that Kakuzu felt the same. You received your cup and the same sake, taking the same three sips and the ceremony went on. The second sakazuki represented your vow to care for each other. You received a slightly larger cup and once again, you each touched the sake to your lips three times. The third represented fortune and fertility.

The Heavens, the Earth, and the People.

You offered Kakuzu a light smile as you moved to the next part of the ceremony, a gesture to assure him that it was almost over. He would have rolled his eyes in any other setting, but Kakuzu didn’t even have to speak for you to know exactly what he meant. You knew that more than anything, he was happy to be with you. Out of all the things that he had done as a shinobi, he could handle a stuffy ceremony.

“I thought you liked stuffy things,” you teased him later, parts of your robes slung over forearms and shoulders for better mobility as you walked through the gardens. Your hand rested in his as you balanced yourself on some raised, rock ledges. His expression could have easily been mistaken for exasperation as he scoffed, but you knew better. He looked happy. “You’re a shinobi. Now that’s stuffy!”

The priest had you stand and you received a flowering branch to offer to the gods. As you held the sprig in your hand, you glanced at Kakuzu. His eyes met your own and you quietly prayed over your offerings before presenting them together, stem first. You bowed together, the rituals vaguely familiar to you as you performed them.

With the blessings of the gods, you had received your rings. Your thumb ran over the skin of Kakuzu’s hand. They had a familiar gruffness to them and held smooth bumps from old scars. His fingernails were short. You slid the band onto his ring finger. The black suited him. He squeezed the fingers of your other hand. The space behind your eyes stung as you held back tears watching as he placed the ring on your hand.

Neither of you had family, so you thanked the shrine priests and priestesses and enjoyed their hospitality. You took a single picture. It was the same frame that you held in your hands now.

Kakuzu walked out a few hours ago, taking Hidan with him. Your kitchen was, for the most part, wrecked. Your doing. Your tears had since dried up and your trembling was beginning to fade. With a shaky breath, you brought yourself to your feet. You placed the picture face-down on the counter and reached for the broom in the corner. Your heart hurt, but the world continued on. And if the world continued on, so should you.

***

You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t feel hungry, but you stood over the sink anyway biting into whatever you could pull from your fridge. You cleaned up the kitchen to the best of your ability. Trash piled up in neat bins outside: splintered wood, broken plates, and any other particles of dust that you managed to sweep up. You could handle it later. At least the rest of the kitchen was spotless. You glanced down at the thick wedding band that sat in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, you bit into your bell pepper like an apple. That was the kind of night you were having.

A harsh pounding came from the front door and for a split second you wondered if your husband came back. Ex-husband. You didn’t think so. You kept your eyes on the kitchen window but the pounding continued adamantly. A slight shiver went down the back of your neck. The next farm wasn’t for miles. That was definitely not Kakuzu.

You put down your pepper and rolled out your utensil drawer. Your fingers danced across the kunai strapped to the bottom as you silently hoped that your training hadn’t worn off too horribly. The banging ceased as the doorknob began to rattle. The door swung open and you launched your kunai with immense velocity and precision. It was snatched out of the air.

“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch!”

Hidan stood in the entryway with his hand still held up and wrapped around your weapon. Blood dripped onto your floors as the kunai clattered to the ground. He shook out his palm, now sporting a deep gash. All you could do was stand and blink, wondering why he was there and if Kakuzu was with him. Hidan threw his cloak onto the rack. It slid, hardly staying on as he marched over to you. The door didn’t fit into its frame the same as it did before and there was no sign of Kakuzu.

“Can you patch me up, lady?” He looked around your kitchen for somewhere to sit, but found none. He dripped more onto your floors. You quickly guided his wrist over your sink and looked up at him. Beads of water fell down his face. You didn’t even hear the rain outside.

“What happened?” you asked sternly, your voice cracking a bit with worry. Hidan groaned.

“You fucked up my hand, can you at least fix me? I’m traumatized over here.” You sighed, yanking him forward before turning the running water on over his hand. You held it there for a second as if telling him to keep it there before running off to get your medical kit.

“Hidan, you have to tell me if there is an emergency,” you said as you heaved the box onto the counter from your spare room. You cleaned his palm with soap and disinfectant before applying pressure. While you didn’t have to worry about blood loss with Hidan, you also didn’t want him passing out on your kitchen floor either. That would make one more thing to clean up. “Hidan—” You pulled the gauze extra tight. He didn’t seem to be listening to you. —“Is there an emergency?”

“No, lady, it was just cold as fuck and Kakuzu’s got a stick up his ass that’s worse than usual. But you already know what that’s like.” The atmosphere stood still at the mention of Kakuzu’s name.

You knew that you shouldn’t worry about him. As far as you were concerned, he had just divorced you a few hours ago, and even if he hadn’t, you were certain that he could take care of himself. You apparently didn’t do a great job at masking your worry.

He usually didn’t care about the effect of his words, but as you frowned to yourself, Hidan couldn’t help but consider how sad you looked. He pursed his lips, never one for comforting others. For a split second, he wondered whether or not he should have brought up his partner at all. Two fingers gently bumped the bottom of your chin and you looked up at Hidan.

“Don’t look so down. It doesn’t look good on you.” He hesitated. “He’ll come back.”

You dropped his wrapped hand, not noticing that you’ve been drawing loops around his knuckles with your finger.

“I don’t know. He’s usually pretty certain about things and I can’t dwell on that.” You shook your head, turning the water back on to wash your own hands. “You have to go. I know that you have things to do and my— and Kakuzu won’t like that you’re here.” He pouted as you moved around him. You had blood to clean up.

“But it’s raining…” he pouted, expression falling in your peripheral. “And he’s miserable right now which means I’m miserable. C’mon let me stay, I’m miserable.”

“Hidan.” You turned to him and leaned on the doorway from your kitchen to your small living area. “Your partner doesn’t live here anymore.” You flicked on the entryway light, your bucket in hand. Hidan followed behind you, now taking your spot in the doorframe.

“But that doesn’t mean that I have to leave. You know he’s being stupid, but that doesn’t mean that I need to suffer out in the rain because Kakuzu’s a crotchety, old bastard.” You sighed, resting on the handle of your mop. You shook your head.

“I’m sure by the time you get to town the two of you can find somewhere to stay.”

A silence overtook the house again, full of raging, but unspoken thoughts. You squeezed out the yarns and tended to the floors. It, at the very least, gave you something to do. Hidan’s blood already dried part way and you scrubbed harder, but not before it was snatched out of your grip. Hidan shoved you over to take your place. The backs of your knees hit the armrest of the modest couch that you almost toppled down onto. He took to scrubbing.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Hidan peered at you with his bright violet irises.

“I’m trying to be nice and ask you about your problems, so you better start chatting before I lose interest.” The mop splashed back into the bucket. “Who else do you get to talk to?” You pursed your lips. You knew that he was biding his time to wait out the rain, but his words weren’t wrong. The hurt still felt fresh and perhaps you were feeling a bit desperate to get it out of your system.

“I’m not sure what happened. I asked, but, well, you know how my… how Kakuzu is.” And you found yourself retelling the entirety of what happened: the argument, the ring, Kakuzu’s misplaced comments about children. You left out the part about the wrecked kitchen. “And then he said something about ‘now letting this happen’ which had to be the last straw for me.”

“Did you want brats?” Hidan had since stopped his cleaning. Surprisingly, he listened intently to your rambling as he propped himself against the wall. You swung your feet back and forth over the side of the couch.

“I never really thought about it before and Kakuzu and I never talked about it, so I don’t know why he brought it up.”

“Because he’s a dumbass who thinks too much. I never know what’s going on in that fucked up head of his. If I had a home to come to like this with a cute little thing in an apron—” Hidan scoffed. —“Fuck the Akatsuki. I wouldn’t be hiding you out here because of some band of losers in capes.” That made you laugh.

“You’re in the Akatsuki,” you giggled and Hidan raised a slender eyebrow.

“So? I’m the best one out of all those guys.”

“The best out of some band of losers?” The corners of Hidan’s lips turned upwards into a brief smile as he rolled his pretty irises.

“Listen, I got my devilish charms going for me which is better than Ragdoll. He looks like a fucking pin cushion.” Your hand came over your mouth as you laughed. Hidan looked down at where you sat, pride swelling in his chest at the prospect of cheering you up. But your face quickly morphed into something sentimental.

“Aw, but he’s a cute pin cushion…” Your bottom lip curled into a pout, but at least you didn’t look quite as sad as before. Hidan leaned a bit forward.

“He’s a little over a hundred-eight centimeters tall and has a big-ass nose.” You let out an amused breath. “I’d hardly consider that ‘cute’.”

“But it’s a cute nose. It’s slender and has that cute little bump in the middle.” Your voice grew quieter. Another silence, the third of Hidan’s visit.

It all felt too confusing for you. Maybe Kakuzu was never that interested in you in the first place. You shook your head then and there, much to Hidan’s confusion. Despite Kakuzu’s attitude towards most everything, you knew that he cared deeply about you. Perhaps he had grown bored. Despite ninja work not being of interest to you, you knew that many found the profession very exciting. You ran many profitable operations in the surrounding area, but more money could be made elsewhere, you knew that much. Your lifespan was nothing compared to Kakuzu’s nearly a century of living. He had done everything in life that he had wanted to do and all you had little to show for your existence.

You kept replaying his words about the time that you had. That you had enough time to do more. But if you really thought about it, you were content living the way you had been. You were happy and for a split second you considered whether or not Kakuzu actually saw himself as worthy of you. You shook your head for the second time. No, if anything, you considered it the other way around. You’d imagine that you would come off as boring and childlike to an immortal.

“That’s a lot of thinking.” Hidan had taken to wandering around the room. You hadn’t noticed. “Fuck thinking. You deserve better than taking care of some place in the middle of nowhere and running numbers on boring-ass shit.” You smiled again to yourself, something else that you didn’t notice.

“I actually like it here,” you mumbled. Hidan yawned.

“Can I stay now?” You deliberated to yourself before grabbing the bucket and the mop away from him. He didn’t do a great job, but you found yourself relatively uncaring at the moment.

“Yes, you can stay,” you sighed. Hidan was already halfway down the hall by the time you finished your sentence.

“Good because I was going to crash here anyway.”

@brokennerdalert @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @krispypotato @meme-queen-1999

Notes: Reader and Kakuzu had a Shinto wedding if anyone’s interested.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #kakuzu #hidan #Akatsuki x reader #akatsuki #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto scenarios #naruto scenario #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #x you #x reader #reader insert

242 notes · View notes

a-monsters-love · 4 years

Text

Hit with a quirk that turns adults to children

Shoto Todoroki x Reader

Genre: massive fluff. angst if ya’ squint

Warnings: implications of abuse, little OOC Shoto but its cannon that he smiled more when he was a kid (the gif is a perfect example)

A/N: FIC SWAP WITH @hxwks-gf ILY2 SWEETS - You’ll find her fic [here]

(Y/N) = Your name

(E/C) = Eye color

(H/C) = Hair color

[Master List]

—————

“How could this happen?” Endeavor hissed at Aizawa.

Aizawa, who looks like he’s about to explode on the man in front of him, lets out a deep sigh. “As I said before, Shoto got hit with a civilians quirk. It should wear off in the next couple days.” Endeavor scowls at you as you cross your arms and deadpan at him, your frame standing protectively in front of a now child Shoto. Shoto’s been holding on to you desperately for the past few hours since the incident, only letting go once to get changed into the smallest gym uniform the school could provide.

You offered to hold him but he chose to take refuge in the back of your legs rather than face the situation. The two of you had been working together on a project for Aizawa when you ran into villains on the street, at some point Shoto had a run in with a civilian who accidentally turned him into a child with their quirk. The face of despair and unbridled childlike tears that welled up in his eyes will haunt you.

“I don’t have time for this.” Endeavor groans, he pulls out his phone and calls Fuyumi. She’s a school teacher she should be able to handle this, right? After about 20 minutes of light bickering on the phone, he comes back. Neither of his siblings can help and his mother is ‘sick’.

You look back at Shoto’s shaking frame and take a deep breath, “I’ll take him.” The two heroes look at you with raised eyebrows. “As Aizawa already knows, I have the next few days off for personal reasons. Which means I have plenty of time on my hands to take care of a kid.” You squeak through the tension in the air.

Aizawa sighs, “Are you going to be able to handle it though? With everything going on?”

You laugh softly and rub little Shoto’s head, “I’m great with kids, and I could use the company.” You smile sadly at your teacher, who only nods in response.

Endeavor huffs and kneels down to Shoto, who hides himself further in your knees. “Contact me if anything happens.” He says looking at you.

“Of course, sir.” You had your suspicions before about Shoto’s childhood, this only brought the situation to light. Never have you ever seen the calm and collected Shoto petrified enough to have him in tears. “I will be running by your family home to pick him up a few different pairs of clothing. We don’t know how long this will last.” You tell him, you don’t bother asking. You don’t care for his opinion, he just needs to leave.

He nods in agreement and provides you the address and a vague idea on where to look. After he does, you scoop up your quivering classmate and speed walk out the door. He freezes at first but instinctually wraps his arms around you and buries his embarrassed face in your neck.

He hasn’t said a word since the incident and you don’t know how much of the man you know is still in there. As much as the idea of your crush burying his face into your neck makes you blush, protecting him is your first priority.

You quickly make your way to the Todoroki residence, well, as quick as you could. Shoto quietly asked to be put down about half way there, you walked as quickly as his little legs could comfortably take him.

When you arrived you looked at the note Endeavor gave you once more, “Alright, so, your father said there’s should be a box in the attic with your old clothing.” You squatted down and smiled at him, a small embarrassed expression was still present on his face. “Do you want to look with me, Shoto?”

He glances at you with a blush, the two of you weren’t on a first name basis outside of fact that his Hero name is his first name. Honestly you couldn’t find it in your bones to call a little kid by his last name, it felt too weird. He nods shyly, “Yes…(Y-(Y/N)…” His voice was almost a whisper.

You giggled a bit and finger combed out a few ruffles in his hair, “Wonderful, because I have no idea where your attic is.” The comment earns you a stifled laugh from the boy and he pulls you along by the finger.

After pulling down the latter to the attic you send Shoto up first, following close behind. You both cough at the dust but quickly find the boxes, after he pulls out a few outfits you inspect them for signs of deterioration. When you find no problems you both leave the attic and head down to wash the old clothing.

Shoto freezes as he passes through a hallway, the color has run from his face. “(Y-(Y/N)..” His voice shook as he stared at a door, you walk up to him slowly and offer your arms for him.

He awkwardly steps into your embrace, “Lets wash these at my house.” You say quietly, rubbing his back.

When you get home you walk in and show him where to put his shoes, “I’m home.” You say loudly to the nearly empty home. A meow is heard from upstairs and you wait as your old cat walks down the stairs to greet you. “Hello Cali, I’m home. I brought a friend.” You pet the cat who wasted no time rubbing up on Shoto. “This is Shoto, he’s going to be with us for a few days.” You explain to the cat, who meows lazily in return.

You chuckle as Shoto shyly pets the cat, “I’ve never had any pets before...” He says quietly.

You hum a bit and head to your wash room, “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to experience having one while you’re with me.” You smile at him, he slowly follows you poking his head around doors and entryways.

“Where’s your family?” He asks, noticing the lack of life in your house.

You croon at the question, “It’s just me and Cali. It’s been like that for awhile.” That was all you could manage on the situation as you made sure his clothing was set in the washer.

Regret is visible on his young face and he brought his hands to his mouth, “O-oh..I’m sorry..” He murmured towards the floor.

A chuckle escapes you, how can he be so cute? He looks up in confusion at you, “You did nothing wrong Shoto, you don’t have to apologize. Why don’t you go explore while I clean up a bit?” He nods at you and runs off, you walk up stairs and open up your little brothers old room. You move to open up the window and start dusting off the contents of the room when you hear heavy little feet making their way up the stairs. “Find anything interesting?” You ask.

Turning you see him carrying Cali, his arms scooped under the cats front legs in a manner that makes the beast look long. “You have a piano.” He says, you can hear stifled interest in his voice. Your heart breaks at the fact that a 5 year old is stifling their emotions.

“I do indeed!” You chirp while putting new sheets on the bed. “Do you like pianos?”

You can almost see the gears moving in his head. “They sound pretty.” He finally says, releasing the cat.

You chuckle as you finish cleaning up. “They do, my mom taught me to play when I was your age. She told me that music is the window to ones soul.”

It’ll be nice having him around, you think seeing him look at you in awe. “You can play it?” He asks, excitement can be heard in his voice for the first time.

“I can, I just had it tuned too.” You smile widely at him, glad his wall is coming down. “But first, we must bathe!” You scoop him up and tickle his stomach, “I think we’re both pretty stinky.”

He giggles from being tickled and then blushes at the idea of bathing with you. “Together?” He mumbles, you blush a bit at the comment.

“I-If you would prefer me being there, I su-suppose we could figure something out.” You stammer.

He doesn’t say anything as you walk to the bathroom and start filling up the bath when he pulls on your shirt, you look back at him and squat down. You tilt your head to the side, waiting for him to choose his words. “Stay?” He asks.

You smile, “Of course. Let me go grab a few things and we’ll get in.” You rush to your room and change into a bathing suit, grabbing your brothers old swim suit from his dresser. You hear a loud splash as you walk back, you see Shoto wet in his clothing from the trying to turn off the water. “Someone’s excited.” You tease.

He looks at you with a distressed pouting face, “N-No I-.” He stutters as you move to turn off the water. “I was trying to do that..”

You laugh and offer him the shorts, as he changes you move to grab a few bath soaps and bubble bath. “I appreciate all your help, Shoto.” You say walking back, helping him into the tub. Both of you let out a small sigh as you sink into the hot water, causing small chuckles between you.

You scrub off some of the slime from the day and start pouring bubble soap into the bath. “What’s that stuff?” He asks.

“Oh-Ho. Bubbles of course.” You wink at him and quickly mix the soap to create bubbles. He helps you make bubbles, he giggles a bit at the action and then blushes.

Shoto doesn’t understand what’s come over him, his mind is still all there but he has so much less control over his emotions, let alone his behavior. He hasn’t meant to say half the stuff he has since the accident. He watches you happily go along with his childish antics as if the whole situation were normal. You smile at him when you catch him staring and scoop bubbles onto his head. “H-Hey!” He whines, pushing bubbles at you.

You laugh as he falls into you, the tub is smaller than you’d like but you’re content with space you have. “Careful there.” You scoop him up, you find his eyes wandering along the deep scars all over your body. You reached for the sponge, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You say softly.

Without realizing it Shoto found himself sitting on your thighs, tracing the scars on your shoulder with his fingers. He jumped back when he felt the soapy sponge touch his arm. “I can do it!” He said louder than he meant.

You hand him the sponge and grab another to scrub yourself. You get out of the tub to rinse off and wash your hair before he’s done. “Come here when you’re done, I want to wash your hair.” You say, he just nods with a bright blush.

He gets out by the time you start putting conditioner in your hair. “I can wash my own hair..” He mumbles, awkwardly sitting in front of you.

“I know you can, but I want to.” You say quietly, this whole situation is like a fever dream for you. Getting to wash your crushes hair and satiating the hole that was left without your family? Win-win (Y/N). “I like doing these things.” You say as you put shampoo in his hair.

“Why?” He asks plainly.

You hum as you massage his scalp, a small sigh leaves him from the feeling. “I like spoiling people I care about.” You blush a bit at the statement, blaming the steam for the heat in your face.

“Y-you care about me?” The question broke your heart.

“Of course I do, I wouldn’t have brought you to my family home or shared a bath with you if I didn’t.” A smile can be heard in your words, he doesn’t say anything.

He sat with his thoughts as you rinsed his hair of shampoo and started applying conditioner. The ‘shared a bath’ comment running through his mind, partially clarifying the fluttering in his chest when he’s around you. Maybe I can ask these questions since she thinks I’m a kid mentally. he thinks, “Hey, (Y/N)?” You hum in response. “What does it mean when your belly flops around?”

“Hmm, in the literal sense or do you mean when you feel like you have butterflies in your stomach?” You ask, focusing more on detangling his unfairly soft hair.

“Like butterflies.” He murmurs.

“Well, it can indicate excitement, anticipation, nervousness but often times it‘s a sign of love-“ Your breath hitches in your throat are the last word, a deep blush taking over your face. You make a feeble attempt to finish your work.

You were so focused on trying to hide you embarrassment you didn’t see Shoto’s reddening face. He stood up quickly and grabbed the shower head from the floor. “I’ll r-rinse your hair.” He says, giving you no time to argue as he walked around you and started the rinsing the conditioner out of your hair.

Both of you felt like your heads were going to pop, while the feeling of his little hands in your hair provoked giggles from you. You reached back and helped him, he struggled getting out knots from your hair and elected to leave them for you to sort out. His small frame doing him no justice as his hands traced the scars on your back but froze. “It’s okay.” You said softly, letting his childishly addled mind explore. You imagined if you had children they’d would do the same thing. “Let me rinse your hair when you’re done studying.” You tease. The comment pulled him from his wonder and he sat in front of you.

After the bath you both changed into pajamas. He lets you blow dry and brush his hair and followed you around like a ducking into the kitchen. “Can I help?” He asks on his toes at the counter, watching you pull out food for prep.

“Of course, pull up a chair.” You respond pointing at the kitchen table and he does just that. He pulls up a chair and you have him washing vegetables while you prepare a pan to cook in and start the rice cooker. “How does Oyakodon sound?” You ask looking through your fridge.

“I don’t mind as long as you make it.” His tone was soft, he didn’t dare to look at you in his own embarrassment. I didn’t mean to say that, he thinks.

You smile widely and pat his head gently, “You are too sweet, ya’ know that?” You giggle softly. “I’ll get you to decide on what you want tomorrow.”

He smiles lightly as you take the vegetables from him. He pushes the chair closer to the stove to watch you cook and watches how delicately but precise each movement you make is. He knows a little about cooking but he can’t understand how you quickly made a dish that seems so complicated.

He drags the chair back to the table when you start serving the dinner, he sits down excitedly as you bring out his plate. A happy noise escapes him as he starts to eat. You smile softly at his childish behaviors, “You’ll be a good mom.” He says with after chewing.

You chuckle and pull rice off his cheek, eating it yourself. “Maybe, I’ll need to find a husband first, and I’m pretty sure boys are terrified of me.” You recall interactions with other students after the sports festival, the girls were all excited but the boys seemed to shy away.

“You’re not scary!” He says almost dropping his spoon, you laugh and roll your eyes. “You’re not! You’re so nice and helpful and smart and-and pretty!” He felt like the room was spinning as he spat out how he felt, why did I say that?! He scolded himself internally, looking down. “If I could eat your food all the time I’d be your husband.” His words were so quiet you almost didn’t hear him, but you did.

You felt like your heart could jump out of your chest, my crush just said he’d be my husband! HOW DO I RESPOND TO THAT?? You tried to keep your face passive, coughing slightly to hide the quandary you’re in. “Maybe when you’re older.” An awkward giggle escapes you, “You’d have to be my boyfriend first though.”

His face was red but he nodded and scooped the last of his food into his mouth. “Okay.” He said with food in his mouth, “I’ll be (Y/N)’s boyfriend.” He continued, more to himself than you, nodding as if he just came to an agreement. You nearly choke on your drink before you both chuckle awkwardly, “Are you gonna play a song on the piano?” He asks as you take the dishes and wash them, letting him help store the left overs.

“I can, what kind of song?” You hum.

Shoto pauses and thinks about it, he doesn’t say anything until you walk up to the standing piano. “Something for me?” His voice was almost a squeak.

You turn and look at him, he’s looking down and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Maybe a song that reminds me of him? That’s not too tough, you hum and pat the space next to you on the piano bench. “I think I’ve got one.” You scoop him into your lap, giggling as he makes a feeble attempt to escape. “I don’t want to elbow you on accident.” When he stops wiggling around and you start playing the song, singing out the lyrics quietly as he watched your finger fly delicately across the keys. The harsher notes surprise him, but he glances at you with a slack jaw. Your eyes half lidded followed your hands across the keys, a small smile curled at your lips.

“You can do everything.” He gasps, earning himself a bashful blushing smile from you.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” He nods happily at your suggestion.

He ended up sitting curled into you, under a blanket, you made herbal tea and put on some movie he chose. While finishing his drink it didn’t take long to get tired, he rubbed his eyes incessantly. “I’ll lay down after the movie.” He yawned a soft plea, you can’t imagine how tired his young body must be. Even as an adult, the day you had was a bit much.

He fell asleep not long after, you scooped him up and laid him down in your brothers old room. You left his door open after tucking him in and walked into your own room. You plopped on top of the blankets and dozed off quickly.

You woke up a few hours later to the soft sounds of crying, stifled and buried noises. You quickly got out of bed and walked over to the source, “Shoto? What’s wrong?” You asked softly.

He made an awkward grunt while wiping his face in the pillow, “Nothing, bad dream. I-I’m okay.” He pleas, but his childish form betrays him. “I’m sorry for waking you..”

“Well, you don’t look ‘okay’ to me.” You tease a bit, “Come here.” He instinctually follows you back to your room, you sit him on your much softer bed and wipe his face. “It’s okay to not be okay, Shoto.” You pat his scarred cheek, thumbing at stray tears before crawling into bed behind him. “Come lay down, take advantage of being little.” You say, you’re clearly still half asleep as you lift you arm for him to choose to lay with you or not.

It doesn’t take long for him to crawl into your bed, curling his sleepy small frame into your arms. The smell of you consumes his mind, calming him down. You pet his hair and rub shapes into his back until you both fall asleep.

——

“AH.” You woke to the sound of a surprised little Shoto, I thought that was a dream. He thought when he woke up wrapped in your arms and nuzzles into your chest.

You rubbed and picked at your eyes as he scooted away from you, glancing over at him. Oh yeah, “You sleep okay?” You’re far too tired to be embarrassed.

He watches you stretch out, your hair and clothing are disheveled. You’re glancing at him with half lidded bedroom eyes, your morning voice was softer and raspier than usual. A blush consumes him, I wish I was grown right now. He thinks, Wait…What? “Ah, y-yeah actually.” He rubbed his own eyes, “I slept good.” Better than he had in a long time.

You smile and sit up, quickly getting out of bed. “Good, why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll start breakfast.” You wink and smile at him as you head to the bathroom. He just stares at the door for a moment before rushing to the other room.

Shoto follows you down the stairs after you’re both dressed, noting you’re semi-casual clothing. “I have one thing I have to do today.” You tell him, “After that we’ll be free to do whatever you want.” You start reheating rice and cooking meat for breakfast, along with prepping food for lunch.

“You’re cooking a lot of food.” He comments from over the bar.

A soft smile graces your face, “We’re going to see my family today.” He notes the mild sadness in your face but doesn’t push.

“What are they like?” He asks walking around the counter to enter the kitchen.

“Oh they’re wonderful, my mom is very goofy. She loves music and weird philosophy that I still don’t understand.” You laugh talking about her, “My dad was a loud man, he’s soft and loved when he could take care of me and my brother. My brother on the other hand is a lot like the other boys in our class. A bit of a screw ball but he always means well.” Shoto quietly watches you talk passionate about your family, he smiles softly at the way you smile wide enough for dimples to show.

You set a plate down for him, you eat in the kitchen while you finish packing lunch. “You think they’ll like me?” He asks between bites.

You laugh, “They would have loved you.” Thoughts flash in Shoto’s head, she’s introducing me to her parents? He’s enamored with the idea but his current situation makes it very strange.

He loses himself in thought, not noticing you packing incense into your picnic basket. You feed Cali and start cleaning up, check the weather, and take your time cleaning up. You make a glass of fruit tea for Shoto, who’s watching cartoons. You watch him blow on it and take a careful sip when his face lights up, “This is yummy.” He smiles shyly.

“I’m glad, it was my favorite when I was your age.” You chuckle.

“What’s your favorite now?”

You hum at the question, “I haven’t met a tea I didn’t like. I’m not sure.” You stared blankly at the TV in consideration, it’s been a long time since you’ve been unsure of something so simple.

A couple hours pass before you leave for your picnic. Shoto wishes he could help you carry the basket and blanket, he fails to notice where you’re both headed until you stop. You pull out a key card and open the gate to a cemetery for Heroes, he looks up at you in concern but you smile softly back at him and pat his hair. When you finally stop you set up a blanket in front of a decorated family head stone, he just stares at you in surprise. He goes to say something when someone else calls your name. “Miss (Y/N)!” You look over and see an older man. “Is it the anniversary already?”

You wave as he walks up, “Takahashi! Good to see you old timer. It is, I can’t believe you still work here.”

He laughs loudly, “Your parents saved my life so of course I do! Who’s the tyke?” He asks peering around you.

Shoto bows politely, “I’m Shoto! Who are you?”

You both chuckle, “Polite young thing,” He says to you. “I’m Takahashi Jin, grounds keeper of this ‘er cemetery.” He smiles to Shoto, “You two enjoy your lunch, don’t get into trouble like last time missy!” He teases and turns to leave.

“Me? Trouble? Never. Not even once.” You snort, winking at Shoto who chuckles. You both chuckle further when you hear the old man huff.

Shoto lights the incense and both give your prayers before you open up lunch. Neither of you pay any mind to the strange looks you get as time goes on. Shoto doesn’t understand your happiness as you sit in a cemetery eating lunch with a classmate, you’re alone in this world. His heart aches but he’s glad you seem okay. The old man from earlier stop by again and hands you a few flyers, “You think we should go?” You ask Takahashi with knitted brows. He nods, sending an empathetic smile. You shrug and hand the papers to Shoto.

“A festival?” He looks at you wide eyed, “Can we go?”

“If you want to, then absolutely.”

“I’ve never been to one,” He whispers to himself behind the paper.

——

When you return to the house you drop the basket off on the counter and run upstairs. Shoto follows behind but waits as you head into a room he hasn’t seen yet, “Shoto, come here.” You call, he walks in hesitantly and looks around. “Face the door for a moment.” He does, only glancing over as he realizes your measuring him. “Yeah, this should fit.” Your voice was excited.

He turns to see you have a set of matching yukata’s, a larger white one with red geometric flowers on it, the smaller one was white with fine red and black lines running across it. “We’ll match?” He asks, these types of things were never something his father allowed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You poke at him, “Let’s get changed. It’s a bit of a ways away.”

You got him changed first, making sure the Geta sandals fit him. Once he’s sorted you make your way to your room, of course putting on a yukata alone isn’t easy, you groaned internally. It took you longer than you would’ve like to get ready, the outfit then the hair, natural makeup, the whole nine. You grabbed a small shoulder bag and your shoes as you finished.

You stared at the hair stick before grabbing it and walking down the stairs. “Shoto, can you help me with something?” You heard him run over before you saw him, he blushed and gasped at you.

“You look so pretty.” He whispered, cupping his mouth in embarrassment.

You hand him the hair pin and kneel down, “Can you put this in for me?” He looks at the hair stick and then at your hair, his expression softens as you allow him to put it where he likes. “My hero, thank you.” He blushes at the comment but doesn’t say anything. You offer him your hand to hold, he grabs your pinky and ring finger and the two of you set off.

—

“Wow.” He gasps, the streets are lines with lanterns as stalls, you hold his hand and let him pull you to everything that grabs his attention. You buy snacks as you go, you show him and a few other kids your goldfish catching skills and ended up giving all the fish away. You wouldn’t be able to take care of them anyway, the two of you stop by a mask stall. He stares at them in curiosity, the person running the stall explains them and lets him try on a few.

You look at your phone for the time and lift him up, “Look up.” You tell him, as he does fireworks go off. It’s the first time you’ve seen pure childish glee on his face since the incident, if ever. Everyone stares at the fireworks calmly as they go.

When they finish you walk over to a food stand, “Soba!” He cheers, you laugh and order him a bowl. You quickly find a bench to sit at and eat, “Did you know I like soba a lot?” He asked innocently.

“Yes I did, I thought you’d like to have some at your first street festival.”

He watches you eat Takoyaki with a content smile, he didn’t realize you heard that comment. “How long is this going on for?”

You hummed as you finished chewing, “3 more days, I think.” You wipe your mouth, “Did you want to come back?”

He chuckles softly, “Maybe when I’m older.” You smile at him, not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Is this a date?” His question caused you to almost choke on your food.

You looked away as you regained your composure, “I s-suppose i-it is.” You stammer out, your cheeks dust with blush and you’re grateful for the dim lighting. When you glance back at him you see a soft smile on his face, what on earth is going through his mind?

After another hour of playing around you both head back to your home, “Thank you.” He says, squeezing your fingers.

Squeezing his little hand back you hum, “What for?”

“Everything.” His voice was small but content.

You pat his hair with your free hand, “It was my pleasure, Shoto.” You watch the stars as you walk, “Thank you for meeting my family, it’s lonely to go by myself.” You sigh softly.

He glances up at you, “You’re welcome. I don’t want you to be lonely.” You look down at him, a sad smile graces your face. “I’m here for you since you’re gonna be my wife.” His hand quickly covers his mouth at the comment but you can see the smile he’s hiding.

The single comment broke the sadness on your face, causing you to laugh. “That’s a good reason.” You snicker as you make it back to your house.

“We’re home.” You say to the mostly empty house. “Let’s get changed and off to bed.” He nods and follows you up the stairs.

He falls asleep quickly as you tuck him into bed, when you’re sure he’s asleep you press a soft kiss to his forehead and head to bed yourself.

Shoto wasn’t completely asleep when you left a soft kiss on his skin. A smile grew on his face as he got comfortable, you curled into bed quickly dozing off yourself.

You were stirred in the middle of the night by heavy weight of a body curling into your chest and neck. You didn’t bother opening your eyes as you sleepily remembered your guest, you lazily wrapped your arms around him and found his head of hair with you hand to pet as you drifted. “Sleep well, Shoto.” You mumbled as you started to doze back off.

Shoto, now fully grown, had made quick and delicate work of wrapping himself into you. A soft happy noise escaped you as you got comfortable, “I think I love you, (Y/N).” He said softly into your chest, assuming you were asleep.

You hum sleepily and squeeze him a bit, “I think I love you too Sho…” Your voice trailed off indicating your sleep, Shoto squeezes you back as a small happy smile crept up his face.

As much as being turned into a child could have been an absolute nightmare of a situation, he was happy to have had this time with you. He never understood why he was so drawn to you but after all this he seemed to understand more. He never thought being a kid again would have its advantages. He never thought you’d let him so deep into your personal life, between meeting your family, cooking for him and taking him to his first festival. All he wanted to do was stay in your life like this, now he was certain he actually could.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha shoto #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha fanfiction #mha fan fic #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto #shoto x reader #fic swap #bnha fan fic

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tobiosmilktea · 3 years

Text

red ink — semi eita

2.5k words | genre/s: tattoo shop!au, friends with benefits, smut | warning/s: uhh badly written nsfw | pairing: musician!semi x tattoo artist!reader

↪︎ in which famous musician, semi eita is a regular at your tattoo parlor and only gets work done from you and you only. the only catch is that fans only know that much and definitely not the fact that you and him are friends with benefits.

a/n: happy belated bday for my good friend @kitsunetea. here’s my shameless second (third?) attempt at writing smut as a late bday gift bc fuck it, amirite haha ✋🏻😔

please take it easy on this one,, this is singlehandedly one of the worst nsfw pieces i’ve ever written and i just want to apologize in advance...

semi had forgotten the tingling feeling of a tattoo gun striking away at his skin. he liked how each indent of minuscule pinpricks would leave a mark on him forever. the pain, though not enough to make him grit his teeth like the first time around when he impulsively got one on the side of his ribcage, was actually quite nice. the sensation was almost addictive, however, it wasn’t as nearly as addictive as you.

it was no shock nor surprise that each reveal of his newest tattoo was always done by you. most would understand the practicality of going to one tattoo artist consistently. if anything, most of his fans would come to believe that he simply just liked your style of tattooing and artistry, but no one would even claim to think that you two had even a pinch of something going on behind the scenes. it wasn’t like he would always stop by your shop all disguised and covered up in a black cap and a face mask just in case there were any hidden onlookers that would blatantly assume the worst.

the worst being that semi eita, the nation’s current rockstar heartthrob, was hooking up with some obscure, back alley tattoo artist.

but it was safe to say he was as addicted to you as he was addicted to the infamous pain of receiving a tattoo.

it had been ages since his last tattoo. this one especially was placed on his right forearm of a snake that spiraled up and around his wrist in red ink.

times like these—here, where your eyes are focused and locked onto his skin, making sure to capture each intricate detail, brows drawing together in concentration as you made swift and accurate runs over his skin—came to realize how much he missed the feeling of getting tattooed. but most importantly, he missed the feeling of you. the warmth of your skin, body blazing underneath him as your breath tickled at the nape of his neck.

at moments like these where he could just stare at your entirety for an hour and a half, admiring how the low lights cast shadows upon each and every curve of your body was enough to keep him occupied through the process.

you lifted your tattoo gun up as your other gloved hand wiped the area clean from any residual ink. you took one last look at your work, clean and well-done.

it was pretty good if you could say so yourself. the linework was easily one of your best, and the shading was even better. no wonder semi liked getting work done by you so much (other than the fact that you two are friends with benefits—he would joke, “i’ll give you the best night of your life and you can give me a free tattoo in return.”)

you’ve never seen that man back out of a joke that quickly in your life. regardless, you still found yourself taking him up on that offer, still paying for his tattoos as a good customer should. support local businesses as they always say.

“alright,” you say, breaking the last ten minutes of silence as you cleaned him up. “you already know the drill–gently wash it with warm soap and water at least twice a day, pat dry, and then apply ointment.”

semi looked up at you once you stood up to grab a box of saniderm from another station. he stands up, making his way to one of the large mirrors on the wall to inspect his tattoo as a smile crept onto his lips.

“how is it?”

“it’s perfect,” he says, “as always.”

“well, you shouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

“you know, you don’t have to be so professional all the time. the shop’s already closed and no one else is here but us.”

you give him a pointed look as you take out a strip of saniderm large enough to cover the circumference of his forearm. you press the thin plasticine carefully around his freshly bruised skin, peeling the protective backing off of the clear bandage. “technically, you’re still a customer. can’t really give you any more special treatment.”

“says the girl who literally gives me tattoos after the shop closes,” semi fires back.

“or you could actually come in during normal hours to get one instead of coming a minute before we close just so we can hook up,” you deadpan, ignoring the look he gave you as you turn around and made your way towards the front desk.

semi doesn’t miss a single beat in following right behind you, stopping in front of the counter as you were on the other side with the cash register.

“well if you didn’t want to fuck in the back room anymore, you could’ve just told me,” says semi as you tap away at the screen in front of you, “we can go to my apartment instead.”

“paying with card again?” you ask, completely ignoring the way your body heated up all of a sudden.

the musician in front of you nods, handing you his card quickly. you take the thin plastic out of his hand and swiped it in one quick motion, handing it to him once the machine properly reads his card. within seconds, the receipt comes out of the printer. you snatch it from the opening before shoving it into semi’s chest.

“so what do you say?” he presses, continuing to follow you around like a dog as you serpentine your way back to your station.

you let out a sigh, huffing as you start cleaning up, “about what?”

“about me taking you home. maybe spend the night?”

you swerve around to face him, a spray bottle of disinfectant in one hand and paper towels in the other. you give him a coy smile, “you’re funny,” you huff before pushing past him to spray the chair then wiping it down.

“come on, (y/n), it’s been a while since we’ve last done anything together.” semi gives you a mischievous pout, “don’t you miss me?”

his words immediately flush out your cheeks as you recalled the memory so vividly, it was like you could almost feel semi’s large hands exploring every inch of your body, memorizing every dip and curve like it was second nature. to think that all happened in the storage closet while there were people still in the shop. the simple thought of your last rendezvous with him went straight to your heat.

no wonder you haven’t done anything with semi in a while after that little stunt he pulled almost a month ago.

in order for a tattoo shop to run properly, it needed to be completely sanitary to prevent any health complications considering your job was to literally puncture tattoo ink deep into people’s skin, the risk of infection runs high in situations like these. so by law, fucking in a tattoo shop, regardless if it was in the backroom, was completely out of regulations. not to mention the scandals to potentially spread like wildfire that one of the world’s favorite musicians being at the root of all this.

those poor fangirls, you thought. drama was the last thing you wanted.

“so?” you say, trying to pull yourself together as you finish sanitizing the chair. you turn to face him, hoping that he couldn’t see the way your cheeks were burning up knowing he would only keep up the teasing. “why don’t you just fuck one of you groupies or something?”

semi scoffs, “i’d never stoop that low. besides, you’re the only one i’ve been with ever since this started happening between us.”

“good for you for not being a whore, i guess?”

you brush past him again, this time cleaning up the mess on your table. placing the spray bottle of water, rolls of paper towels, bottles of red ink, and your gloves away–you discard anything else in the bin.

“don’t be like that,” he sighs as he comes and wraps a strong arm around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, the tip of his nose tickling at your skin as his mouth latches onto your neck. “i for sure missed you.”

“eita,” you say, attempting to hold back a moan as he nipped at the sweet spot on your neck. despite your efforts, quiet mewls escape your lips as his thumbs rubbed circles over your hips. “i-i still have to clean up. let me finish and then maybe we could—”

without another word, semi lets go of you and immediately starts getting to work, gathering up all the one-time-use disposable items and dumping them all in the trash. he moves quickly, rubbing down every nook and cranny of your station until it’s squeaky clean. your eyes widen at his state. it was clear he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he can finally have you all to himself.

did he really yearn for you this much?

in just a few minutes, the job is already done. clean and spotless and ready for tomorrow’s workday as semi gives you a hopeful look. “is that all?”

you hold back a smile as you motion towards the boxes stacked up near the entrance of the backroom, “i still have to put those away and then we’re all done for the day.”

the man doesn’t even let you finish as he’s already making his way down the hallway. There was no sign of hesitancy in his actions as he grabbed two of the boxes, one stacked on top of the other as he barged into the backroom. you follow him in with only one box in your hand as you placed them in their respective places on the large industrial shelving.

you let out a grunt as you picked up the last box and inserting it into its spot. you sigh, dusting your hands as you turn around to face semi, “alright, we’re all d—”

semi doesn’t hesitate for a second to push you up against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with such desperation and fervor. he had been anticipating this for the past two hours. from the moment he walked in, to the moment you finished tattooing him; all he wanted was you.

you moan into his lips, his hand cupping your jaw while the fingers of the other were already working their magic. his touch greatly juxtaposed the zeal in the way he kissed you deeply, dipping his tongue between your soft lips as his finger, slightly calloused from years of guitar playing, gently trailed their way up your shirt.

there was a brief moment where you had to pull away from him in order to catch your breath. chest rising and falling rapidly along with the quickening beat of your heart, semi dived down to your neck, marking you with dark red bruising to anywhere he had access to. his large palms rubbed your sides before squeezing at your breasts to elicit a pleasurable groan from you. the pent-up heat within you only built the more he played with your body, fingers flicking at your nipples.

“what happened to taking me back to your place?” you asked breathlessly.

“i couldn’t wait any longer,” he mutters on your warm skin, feeling his soft lips twitch into a lopsided grin as before you knew it, he was already tugging your shirt over your head. “jump,” he says and you don’t miss a beat.

he catches you quickly, hands palming your ass as he steers you towards one of the supply tables. pushing away loose items and paperwork off to the sides.

semi’s lips meet yours again as he fiddles with the button and zipper of your jeans, diving his hand inside. he palms your sex, the pads of his fingers teasing up and down your slit as his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit. your moan muffles into his shoulder, breathe heavy and uneven.

you couldn’t seem to catch your breath as he dipped two fingers into you, pumping them in and out slowly. it was a nice change of pace from earlier, and yet you couldn’t help but let out mewls of impatience as you ground your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

semi knew what the hell he was doing.

he was a musician after all. his entire career was literally built off of his innate ability to play the guitar that each expertly placed finger and movement that accompanied it was guaranteed to send waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. he was good at what he did and he knew it. he didn’t need to see the way you were shaking under him, coating his hand with your juices, or have to hear your addicting moans to know you felt so, so good.

“eugh, eita–” your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you, rubbing the spongy spot deep within you in the best way possible. you curse under your breath, savoring the pleasure as you felt your release coiling in your abdomen.

“you’re close aren’t you?” semi didn’t even have to ask to know as your walls tightened around him. you nod hastily, eyes coating in lust and the desire to feel the release as you look at him.

the look that you gave him as enough to send him over the edge, his thoughts blurring once he quickens his pace, his middle and ring finger pistoning in and out of you.

you let out a cry, practically trembling under him. “oh my god, oh my god.”

with his other hand, he finds your clit again, rubbing you over the edge. it was all too much. from the mixing cacophony of the most obscene and vulgar sounds of sex emanating from the backroom to the absolute thrill of how good semi was making you feel—you were ready to feel that euphoric glow.

“fuck,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. “shit, baby, i’m gonna—”

semi doesn’t mind the sting of your scratches at his body as he was too busy paying mind to you cumming all over his hand. gushing fluid escapes from you in waves as semi continues pumping his fingers in and out of you, his pace matching with the way your walls pulsated around him.

as you came down from your high, your arms that rested on the table to hold you up felt weak. almost immediately, your body slumps onto semi as he licks your pleasure off his fingers. you bury your face into the crook of his neck as you both stayed there for a few beats to catch your breaths, savoring the unique afterglow whenever you were with semi.

perhaps it wasn’t so bad doing this type of thing with him a bit more often. you didn’t mind what you had with him right now even if you two were just friends with benefits. you liked what you had now and asking for more would certainly cause a strain you don’t want to happen so soon.

your hand reaches up to run through his soft hair.

“hey,” you softly say. he only responds with a hum, “what about you?” you ask as your eyes cast down to the straining tent in his jeans.

he doesn’t answer. instead, he places a few kisses on your cheek and down to your neck before placing one of your lips. “let’s continue this at home, i have a surprise for you.”

general taglist: @yongboxerrr @rosepetalhaven @tvwhoresblog @tanakaslastbraincell @kellesvt @kitsunetea @anejuuuuoy

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fluff #semi eita #semi x reader #semi scenarios #semi imagines #semi smut #semi fluff

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peachbear88 · 3 years

Text

Tale as Old as Time

A/N: Yes, it's basically Beauty and the Beast. I LOVE DISNEY MOVIES OKAY?

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

You shiver on the cold stone of the jail cell, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. How did you end up in the jail cell? A series of long, unfortunate events.

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

The door to your shabby home swings close as you prance down the cobble streets, book in hand.

"Little town,"

"It's a quiet village."

"Every day,"

"Like the one before."

"Little town,"

"Full of little people,"

"Waking up to say."

Windows are flung upon as the townspeople peer down at you.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!

"Bonjour."

A man with a long white apron proffers a tray of fresh, steaming buns towards you and you snatch one, nodding your thanks.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always,"

"The same old bread and rolls to sell."

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

"Every morning just the same,"

"Since the morning that we came,"

"To this poor provincial town."

A man approaches you, tipping his hat.

"Good morning Y/N." You smile at his kind, pudgy face.

"Good morning Monsieur Hogan. Have you lost something?"

"Well, I believe I have. Problem is I can't remember what." He scratches his chin. "Oh well. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." His eyes float down to the book clutched in your hand. "Where you off to?"

"To return this book to Monsieur T'Challa. It's about 2 lovers in fair Verona." He snorts.

"Sounds boring."

You shrug and continue down the stone path towards the small town library.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question."

A small band of boys watch you as you walk down the street.

"Dazed and distracted can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd,"

"'Cause her head's stuck on some cloud."

"No denying she's a funny girl that Y/N.”

The marketplace is bustling as usual as you slip through the many stalls. The familiar buzz of conversation fills your ears.

"Bonjour, good day, how is your family?"

"Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?"

"I need, 6 eggs."

"That's too expensive."

You sigh, spinning around.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

You fling the door of the library open to find your second favorite person in the world, T'Challa, dusting the shelves.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town! Where did you run off to this week?" He waves the duster at you, making you cough.

"Two cities in Northern Italy. I didn't want to come back. D'you have any new books?" You inquire, leaning over the small collection piled in the corner.

"I'm afraid not," He sighs. "But you may read any of the old ones you'd like."

You pick out your personal favorite.

"Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." T’Challa smiles.

"Bon voyage!" He shouts as you close the door behind yourself.

"Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,"

"I wonder if she's feeling well." A scholar mused as you passed.

"With a dreamy far-off look,"

"And her nose stuck in a book."

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Y/N."

You hop onto the stone wall of the well, still reading the book, nearly stepping on the hands of the laundresses cleaning on the edge of the well.

"Oh, isn't this amazing?" You twirl around on the stone wall, earning many disgruntled looks from the laundresses. "It's my favorite part because, you'll see." You hop off the stone wall, continuing down the path back to your home. "Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him, till chapter 3."

"Now it's no wonder that her nickname is Beauty,"

"Her looks have got no parallel."

A disgruntled mother says, her fair daughters standing behind her, glaring daggers at you.

"But behind that fair facade,"

"I'm afraid she's rather odd."

"Very different from the rest of us,"

"She's nothing like the rest of us,"

"Yes, different from the rest of is Y/N!"

Peering through his golden telescope at you, Steve Rogers sighs from atop his handsome horse.

"Look at her Sam. My future wife." He hands Sam the telescope who accepts it rather reluctantly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in the village. Makes her the best." He whispers confidentially, waggling his eyebrows. Sam cringes.

"But she's so... well-read. And you're so..." He looks Steve up and down. "Athletically-inclined." Steve waves him off, setting his horse at a healthy trot towards the town.

"Yes, ever since the war, I felt like I've been missing something. She's the only girl that has ever given me that sense of..."

"Je ne sais quoi?" Sam proffers. Steve scoffs, entering the village.

"I don't know what that means."

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,"

"I said she's gorgeous and I fell."

"Here is town there's only she,"

"Who is beautiful as me."

"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Y/N."

The fair girls from before swoon as Steve walks by, who only has eyes for you.

"Look there he goes,"

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Monsieur Rogers!"

"Oh he's so cute!"

"Be still my heart,"

"I'm hardly breathing,"

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"

They shriek in disgust as Steve hops off his horse, splattering them with mud. Sam hops off his horse as well.

"It's never going to happen ladies." He whispers as they whimper in distress.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Steve attempts to push through the crowds to get to you.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely flowers!"

"Some cheese, ten yards, one pound-"

"Please let me through!" He grabs a bouquet of flowers from a nearby stall.

"This bread."

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell."

"Madame's mistaken!"

"Well maybe so-"

You burst through the masses of people, twirling as you reach your home.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

Steve slicks back his hair, approaching you at a smart pace.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Y/N my wife!"

The town resumes their unashamed staring at you.

"Look there she goes the girl is strange but special,"

"A most peculiar mademoiselle!"

"It's a pity and a sin,"

"She doesn't quite fit in."

"'Cause she really is a funny girl,"

"A beauty but a funny girl,"

"She really is a funny girl,"

"That Y/N."

The townsfolk resume their normal quarrel and haggling as you slip through the flimsy gate and through your cabbage patch. Steve follows.

"Y/N!" You turn to find Steve flashing you what he thinks is a dashing smile. You recoil in disgust, instantly speeding up your pace, hoping to get inside before he can get to you. A flood of hope grips you as your hand wraps around the door handle but a strong arm grips your other wrist and you deflate.

Sighing, you turn to face Steve.

"Yes Monsieur Rogers?" He flashes a greasy smile your way and shoves the flowers into your face.

"For your dinner table! May I join you tonight?"

At least he has the manners to ask, you think.

"Not tonight, no." He deflates slightly.

"Oh. Busy?" You wince, prying his fingers off your wrist.

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Then why not-" You cut him off.

"Listen, I really have to go. Books to read, places to explore, people to ignore." You open the door, sliding in and closing it before he can follow you. "Good bye."

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

You sigh with relief, taking a moment to catch your breath before continuing further into your home. A drawing pinned to the drawing board catches your eye. A charcoal sketch of you. Well, baby you to be exact. A smile graces your lips as you tear your eyes away from the sketch and to your father, Tony Stark. He hums a small tune as he tinkers with an elegant music box.

"How does a moment last forever?"

"How can a story never die?"

"It is love we must hold onto,"

"Never easy, but we try."

"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"

"Somehow our time and place stand still."

"Love lives on inside our hearts,"

"And always will."

You wrap your arms around him and he smiles.

"Hello papa."

"Hello Y/N. D'you think you could pass me the-" You roll your eyes, handing him the tool before he finishes his sentence. "-tweezers- Oh. Thank you." He pulls a broken cog from the music box. "And now, something long and thin-" You pull the hairpin from your hair and hand it to him. He glances at it and a smirk grows on his face. "No, no, not quite-" He glances at the machine again. "Actually, yes, exactly."

With a final prod, the music box comes to life once again. The two of you share a small smile before he shoves it into his leather satchel and hauls it outside. You follow him, watching as he loads it into a rickety wooden cart along with a few other items. Your horse, Elm scuffs the cobbled pathways with his hooves, eager to get a move on.

"Well, I'm off to the market dear. Anything you'd like me to get for you?" You smile, leaning against the horse as Tony swings his leg over the horse to straddle it.

"A rose." He scoffs, tipping his hat down to you.

"You ask for that every year!"

"And you bring it ever year." You retort and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"Very well. A rose you shall receive. I'll see you in a few days!" With a flick of his wrists, Elm starts off at a trot and Tony waves goodbye one more time.

"Be careful," You whisper as he disappears from your sight. With a sigh, you return to the house.

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

You throw your dirty clothes into a barrel, adding some soap rinds into the mix before carrying it to the town well and rigging it to a horse which marches around the well. You smile proudly at your handy work. Self sufficient laundry machine.

Leaning against the wooden support beam with a sigh, you pull out your book and start reading. A small voice next to you grabs your attention.

"What are you doing?" You smile at her.

"Laundry. Come, come!" You pat the spot next to you encouragingly. Tentatively, she sits next to you and you hand her the book.

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

The pastor storms towards you and the little girl.

"Teaching another girl to read? Isn't one enough?" He sneers. You glare back at him, snapping your book closed indignantly.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know more."

"We've got to do something about this." His wife mutters.

Before you can comprehend the meaning of her words, a man pulls your barrel of clothes out of the well and throws them to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. You fall to your knees, scrambling to pick up the clothes as others laugh at you.

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

"Wow. You are so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to marry you. So dashing." Steve whispers seductively, flexing in front of the mirror. Sam clears his throat causing Steve to jump. "What do you want Sam?"

"A certain damsel in distress awaits you." He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing with his head to where you crouch, gathering your sopping wet garments. He turns back to the mirror, slicking his hair back.

"It's hero time. I'm not done with you yet." He winks at the mirror before rushing to you. Sam leans into the frame of the mirror.

"Me neither."

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

From the corner of your eye, you spot Steve approaching rapidly. Gathering the last of your clothes, you scurry away.

"Ah Y/N!" You groan at your luck. "I heard you got in trouble with the pastor. S'all right. He never liked me anyways."

You groan in frustration.

"I was just teaching a child to read!" He smirks, sliding closer. You step back.

"The only children you should be concerning yourself with are..." He gestures between the two of you. You arch an eyebrow. "Your own!" You scoff, slipping through the gate and into the cabbage patch. He jumps over the flimsy gate and stomps towards you, squashing at least 4 cabbages. You watch him with barely disguised disgust.

"Look, you know what happens to girls when their fathers die? They end up like poor Agatha, forced to beg for scraps!" He points at Agatha, a rather kind but unlucky woman.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." You reply coldly.

"Look, let me make it simpler for your tiny female brain." He growls. You arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Marry me and you will never have to deal with that." You scoff.

"Marry you? I'd rather marry a rock." You slam the door in his face. He sighs, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Dejected, he walks back to where Sam stands. You glare at him from where you stand on the balcony.

"Can you imagine, me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

"Madame Rogers,"

"Can't you just see it?"

"Madame Rogers,"

"His little wife."

You groan in disgust.

"No sir, not me,"

"I guarantee it,"

"I want much more than this provincial life!"

You sprint towards the green hills a good distance from the walls of the village.

"I want adventure in the great wide somewhere,"

"I want it more than I can tell."

"And for once it might be grand,"

"To have someone understand,"

"I want so much more than they've got planned..."

You sigh, running a grime covered hand through your hair before returning to your home.

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

You're pulling the ripe cabbages from the ground when it all comes crashing down.

A panicked whine comes from beside you. Your head shoots up to find Elm, pawing at the gate nervously.

"Elm? Where is papa?" Elm rears back, clearly skittish. "Take me to him!

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

You arrive at a monstrous looking castle, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs guarding the doors. You gulp, brandishing a large stick. The door handle is cool to the touch, sending shivers down your spine. You enter to find a well lit entrance hall, adorned with brilliant paintings and sculptures, although in the dark, they appear much more menacing.

With a gulp, you continue on, bringing the massive stick a little closer.

"Look Doctor Strange! A girl!" A voice whispers from the shadows.

"Yes I know it's a girl! I can see." A second, older voice snaps.

You whirl around but all you see is a flash of misty blue. Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself to investigate the blue wisps when a rough cough sounds out from above.

"Papa!" You race up the winding stairs into a much more sinister looking tower. Laying there on the cold stone floor is your father, his face pale and body shaking with each cough. The cold sunlight illuminates his face and he jumps up, grabbing the metal bars of his cell.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" You shake out of stupor, smacking the iron bars in a futile attempt to free him.

"I'm here to rescue you." Fear floods his features.

"No! You must get out of here! I'm old and my days are numbered. But you, you're young and you have so much to live for. Go, get out of here before she comes back!" You scrunch your face.

"She?" Massive footsteps echo from further up the stairwell. You raise the stick in front of you. A tall shadow appears on the stone walls of the tower. You gulp, inching forward but the figure stays in the shadows.

"You should not have come," A heavily accented voice rings out and your throat dries up.

"I had to. He's my father. Please, let him go." You call back but the figure scoffs.

"Your father is a thief!"

"Liar!" You cry.

"He stole a rose."

"I asked for that rose!"

An idea forms in your head and you slowly lower the stick. "Wait. What if you let him go and I take his place?"

"No! She means forever!" Your eyes widen.

"You monster! A life sentence for a rose?"

The woman laughs humorlessly.

"I was given a life sentence when I was little. Do you think I deserved it? You may call me a monster but trust me, I've been called much worse." You sigh, the gears in your brain whirring.

"Can I at least have a moment to say goodbye to my father?" The voice grunts and the shadow recedes. "Are you so cruel you won't even allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" The figure pauses but slowly comes back down and into the light. Your throat dries up at the sight.

A beautiful girl in a blood red cape with auburn hair that burned in the torchlight, you felt your ears flush bright red. With a flick of her fingers, a red mist surrounds them and the metal gate swings open.

Your eyes grow wide at the display.

Magic.

You don't have time to think about it however as a strong set of arms wrap around you.

"Y/N!"

"Papa!" The two of you embrace as you discreetly waddle around so that his back is to the cell door.

"Y/N, listen to me. You have so much to live for. I lost your mother already and I can not lose you too. Live your life! Forget about me." He whispers into your hair and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

"I will never forget you Papa. And don't worry. I will find a way out of here." His eyes widen before you push him through the threshold of the cell and slam the door behind him. He stumbles, falling onto his back, betrayal clear in his eyes.

"Y/N!" The woman stares at you for a moment, disbelief glimmering in her eyes before it disappears.

"You fool." She spits. Your father watches you with wide, horrified eyes. The woman grabs him roughly and drags him down the stairwell, his screams echoing off the walls.

"Papa! Don't hurt him!" A sob escapes your throat as you curl into a ball, wrapping your cloak further around yourself to preserve the warmth.

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

You sigh, shivering as a cool gust of wind hits your back.

'Forever damned to freeze in a cell. Some adventurous life this is' You think to yourself as sleep claims you.

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

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

Under The Weather

Some pointless fluff that's been floating around my head for a few days. Also on ao3 🙂

It’s not the usual alarm clock that wakes her this time - the tauntingly peaceful melody that she now associates with being ousted from a dream every morning.

In fact, Emily is hardly awake. Her eyes are still sealed shut, she��s still nestled under the covers because the thought of moving is almost unbearable. Even in her sleep induced haze, the only thing she’s fully aware of is just how shitty she feels, like every part of her body has somehow teamed up against her in unison. What started last night as a subtle headache is now accompanied by a persistent rawness in the back of her throat. The same pain has crept in to settle behind her eyes, and now radiates around her head, like a pair of gnarled hands wrapped and clenched around her brain. But that isn’t the only thing - everything just hurts. Her limbs feel like lead, her throat is now on fire, lips cracked and chapped from the winter air. Her mouth is dry as dust as she grapples for the glass of water Aaron had left on her nightstand hours ago - something he’s done since they moved in together.

Cracking one eye open takes monumentally more effort than it should. The wind rattles against the windows, whistling through the bitterly cold February morning and Emily groans at the prospect of even moving from the safety of their warm bed. A glance at the clock tells her it’s 5:40. Aaron’s side is empty, the sheets cooled, but she can hear the steady pulse of the shower, see the steam curling out from under the door. The cloying pull of sleep is too consuming, the glass of water all but forgotten as Emily groans. The notion of having to get up in less than a half an hour is making her stomach roil in protest.

Instead, she burrows herself deeper into the blankets, wishing somehow this day would somehow restart itself. Her eyelids are too heavy to stay open, even though the looming reality of her alarm hovers over her, along with the daunting challenge of making it through the day. Emily remembers the stack of unfinished case reports left on her desk from yesterday, abandoned in the wake of remembering Ava’s ballet class just a few minutes too late to be early for once. That’s about the time the headache started, subtle enough to temporarily ignore as their daughter happily chattered away in the backseat, little legs kicking against the leather upholstered seat - a story about unicorns and fairies, one Emily could probably retell herself she’s heard it so many times. If only she knew then.

The next thing she’s aware of is Aaron bending down to kiss her awake, fresh from the shower and half dressed in an undershirt, his skin still damp as he murmurs good morning . The whiff of eucalyptus soap and his mouthwash only makes her dizzy as she all but pushes her husband away from her with an ill attempted protest against his affection. “Five more minutes,” she croaks. “S’tired.”

“Sweetheart?” Aaron questions even though he doesn’t have to. He’s no stranger to her indifference to early mornings, the way her arms wind around his neck to pull him close most days when he wakes her with the same kisses, the same sweet nothings in her ear. On the rare occasion when they have more time, he ends up back in bed with her, making the most of a few precious moments. Those mornings are his favorites - the ones where he gets to press her into the mattress, get her leg over his shoulder, seal his mouth against hers to muffle the moans he hasn’t grown tired of hearing even years after he first heard them. But this is different. He figures it out immediately, knuckles brushing against her flaming cheek, skin clammy under his touch.

“Hmmph?” Emily shrugs out from under his touch, the cool hand on her burning forehead a reminder of just how awful she feels. “Five more minutes and I’ll get up.”

Aaron laughs softly, already reaching for his phone on the dresser. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll be fine in a half hour.” It’s a futile attempt; Aaron knows her better than she knows herself by now. Emily doesn’t get sick often, maybe once every few years. But when she does, it hits hard and fast, rendering her inherently useless for a day or two, and they’re all a little thrown off kilter without her. Even though her eyes are closed she can practically see him making arrangements - school dropoff and pickup, soccer practice for Jack, ice skating lessons for Ava. It’s also a Wednesday, the one day a week he spends mostly in meetings as unit chief. It’s the day she picks up more slack around the house, handles the after school activities in addition to her own professional responsibilities. It’s a routine they’ve perfected through trial and error over time.

“You weren’t yourself last night,” he sinks down beside her, his weight dipping the mattress down as he pushes some hair from her face. “You barely touched your dinner. You fell asleep with the light on,” he adds pointedly, pressing his lips to his wife’s forehead for confirmation. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Do not,” she argues. It’s becoming harder and harder to challenge him, a battle she knows she’ll ultimately lose. There’s no way he’ll let her out the door let alone into the BAU at this point. Despite the sweat that trickles down her back, her teeth chatter together.

Aaron wraps her into his arms, aware of how she melds against his chest as she seeks the warm comfort of his body. “Do too.” His tone is light, which only manages to frustrate her more. “And you’re staying home today. Don’t even try to argue with me.”

Emily attempts to pull away from his embrace. “I have a meeting too, you know. Jack has practice and Ava -”

“Has ice skating. I know, Sweetheart.” Aaron gently pushes her back down, tucking the blankets around her. “I know their schedule. And yours. We’ll manage.” But he’s already reaching for his phone, dialing a number he knows by heart.

“Who are you calling?” She asks weakly, succumbing to his insistence. The sky has lightened to a shade of dark blue instead of inky black, the first traces of the winter morning starting to peek through the curtains.

“I’m texting Garcia. If she can take Ava this afternoon, I can get Jack to soccer after my last meeting.”

Emily grumbles while he taps out a message as she runs through her day ahead. There are her own meetings, of course, a slew of chores around the house waiting when she gets home, all the little things that accumulate during the week without fail, over and over. Aaron can almost read her mind as he gets dressed, disappearing into the depths of their closet to pluck a suit from the rack on his side. “Things won’t implode without you, Em. We can survive one day.”

From her place in bed, Emily watches him dress, securing the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket stretching across his broad shoulders over the crisp fabric of his shirt. Some days, she can’t believe they’ve come this far. Seven years of marriage has brought its fair share of ups and downs, most recently an ill-timed miscarriage in the days before Christmas. She hadn’t been too far along - ten weeks - but December 23rd was spent at her doctor, Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers as the news was broken, their eyes glued to the ultrasound screen. They hadn’t been trying at all. It was a surprise neither of them expected, which only seemed to worsen the blow when it abruptly ended. Emily had been the picture of composed, smiling through her grief on Christmas Eve, distracted by Ava and Jack’s excitement, the endless mountain of gifts to smuggle from their closet under the tree, only to spend the early hours of Christmas morning crying in his arms until he rocked her to sleep. She closes her eyes, wills herself not to think of it. It’s still a little too soon.

When he’s fully dressed, traces of cologne lingering in the air, Aaron gathers a box of tissues and fills a glass of water, setting both down next to Emily. “I’ll bring you some toast before I leave. You need to eat something.”

“You need to wake -”

“I’m already -”

“Mommy?” The voice outside the door tells them at least one more Hotchner is already awake. Aaron drops a quick kiss on Emily’s head, frowning when he notes how warm she is. He makes a mental note to bring some ibuprofen with the toast and opens the door just a crack to find their daughter on the other side, fully dressed, not a hair out of place.

“Where’s Mommy?” He’s met with the round, concerned eyes that belong to Ava. Even at six, she could be Emily’s clone, with sleek dark locks and the same pale skin. Ava is precocious, sharp as a tack yet sensitive, hesitant to trust but loyal to a fault. Her arrival in the world had been dramatic, at one point downright terrifying for a few minutes, shoulder dystocia to blame. Aaron had turned ghostly pale as the doctors rattled off medical jargon he’d only ever seen dramatized on primetime television. Yet it was that same efficiency and urgency that ultimately brought their daughter safely into the world a short time later. The moment she was placed in his hands, Aaron was completely smitten, his world forever changed.

“Mommy isn’t feeling well, Ava.” Aaron explains with an abundance of patience, his tone soft and reassuring. In the days after Christmas, following the miscarriage, Ava had been confused when Aaron took Emily’s usual place at the new, massive dollhouse from Santa, doing his best to display the same enthusiasm his wife so effortlessly showed. He’d uttered the same words - Mommy isn't feeling well - when she protested, complaining about his doll handling skills and seeming inability to make their hair look half as good as Emily did. Even though his placations held an entirely different meaning then, Ava questioned him relentlessly. Telling a version of the truth had been harder than he anticipated, for more reasons that one.

“Is Mommy okay?” Ava asks, persistent as ever.

“She’s fine, honey. Just the flu. Remember when you had it in Kindergarten? You got to stay home while Jack went to school. Mommy and I took turns staying home with you? You got to eat popsicles in bed and watch TV during the day?”

Ava nods, not fully convinced as she tries to poke her head further into their bedroom. “I guess.”

“That’s what Mommy has, honey. Grown-ups get sick too. So Daddy is going to drive you to school. Aunt Penelope is going to take you to ice skating lessons this afternoon.”

Ava squeals with delight at the mention of Garcia, clapping her tiny hands together, only to have the expression melt off her face seconds later. Then she frowns. “But Daddy,” she whispers slowly, her resemblance to Emily and similar mannerisms uncanny, as if profiling him even at the tender age of six. “You don’t know the Good Morning song.”

Aaron checks his watch and pinches the bridge of his nose as he peers into the hallway. Jack’s bedroom door is still firmly closed, indicating his son is most likely still sound asleep. Waking him is the next battle, one of his least favorite tasks as of late. “What song, Ava?” He sighs, not missing the fleeting touch of amusement that crosses Emily’s face from across the room, the softest of laughs. Even in her current state, pale and tired, clearly more than under the weather, Aaron thinks she’s stunning.

“Mommy and I always sing the Good Morning song on the way to school.” Ava folds her arms across her chest, tapping her foot against the floor. “If you don’t know the words -” Her dark eyes double in size, widening impossibly as she stubs her toe with disappointment. “How can you drive me to school?”

“Honey -”

“Mommy knows all the words.”

“Ava - “

“Daddy.” She challenges, sticking her lower lip out in a whiny pout. Aaron knows what’s ahead. Even though Ava has him completely wrapped around her tiny finger, their daughter absolutely adores her mother, never missing an opportunity to steal a few quiet moments together. He often finds Ava curled in Emily’s lap, listening to a story, or playing dress up with some of Emily’s old clothes. Aaron has caught a few misplaced tubes of lipstick hidden in her dress-up box, ones Emily thought she lost long ago. He’s seen the pictures she draws, the way Ava always draws Emily next to her in each one. It tugs on every single one of his heartstrings, every single time.

“Mommy will teach me,” he assures her, crouching down to her level, bringing her to lean on his knee. “Daddy will do his best to know all the words before I take you to school.” He ruffles Ava’s hair as she beams, seemingly appeased by his effort. “Can you be my special helper this morning and wake Jack for me?”

Her face brightens instantly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face at the thought of what she’s being asked to do - something that, most of the time, she’s actively told not to do. “Okay!”

Aaron grimaces slightly as Ava skips off down the hall. There’s a finite window of time until he’s left to deal with Jack’s morning moodiness, exacerbated by his sister’s surprise wakeup call. But it’s worth the few extra minutes he’ll get to spend with his wife. Emily is now fully awake, looking even more miserable than she had moments before.

“You’re on your own for the good morning song,” she rasps sarcastically. Her voice is hoarse, even as she tries to smile. “Couldn’t sing it for you if I tried.”

“I think I’m going to take her for donuts. Those strawberry frosted ones she loves?” He slips back in bed beside Emily, pulling her into his arms once again. “Distraction at its finest.”

“The ones I love,” Emily reminds him, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Good luck.”

“Right. Hopefully she’ll forget all about it.” Then he remembers just who he’s talking about - a miniature version of the woman he somehow got lucky enough to call his wife, instantly realizing how wrong he is. He’s a goner; he won’t hear the end of this for days.

“I doubt it. But you can give it a try.” Emily snuggles into his chest, savoring their final few minutes of peace.

…

Winter sun streams through the windows, casting the bedroom in a mix of shadows and blinding light.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed - an hour could easily be three, maybe five. Sleep has consumed her, on and off all morning. Yet she’s uncomfortable, alternating between throwing the covers off and disappearing into them, unable to seek enough warmth as she reaches for one more blanket. Everything still hurts, and topped off by a congestion that settles deep in her lungs, rattles her chest with every cough. She almost feels worse now than she did earlier, if that’s even possible.

The house is quiet, so she hears the subtle rumbling of the garage opening, the soft creak of the door leading into the house. Emily smiles to herself - she’d recognize his footsteps anywhere as he makes his way through the living room. He’s undoubtedly picking up wayward shoes and toys along the way, most likely grumbling about the clutter. He’d never admit it (even if she knows it to be true) but it’s one of his favorite tasks. The mess is a reminder of what they’ve built over time, that sometimes things work out just as they were meant to. Even if it means their house will never be spotless.

She pries one eye open as he shoulders through the bedroom door, slipping his suit jacket off to drape over a chair. “You could have stayed at work.” Emily isn’t surprised at all. She knows him sell enough by now.

“I know.” And while Aaron is fully aware of that, there was never a chance he wasn’t going to come home to tend to her. He stayed at the BAU long enough to get things squared away, arranging plans for the kids, and delegating tasks as needed before making a hasty exit. And now, only a few hours later, he’s back. He checks her forehead, refreshes the glass of water on the nightstand and tosses some tissues into the trash. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Emily shifts to make room beside her. “Worse than before, if that’s possible.” She sighs a little when he wraps her into his embrace. Her head falls against his chest on its own accord. “Ava and Jack?”

“Garcia is taking Ava to ice skating. She’s taking her out for ice cream afterward.” He gets a hand in her hair, rocks her back and forth a little bit until she relaxes fully against him. Almost.

“What about dinner?” Emily mumbles, stifling a cough into her fist. It rattles within her chest, reverberating through her ribs. “She needs real dinner, Aaron.”

“I think she’ll live without vegetables for one night, Emily.”

She’s too tired to argue. “Jack?”

“Dave offered to take him to soccer,” Aaron says, patting her back through the last of the coughing fit and grappling for the water glass on the table. “It’s all taken care of.” His hands are soothing, gentle and strong against the sore, stiff muscles. “You sound terrible.”

Emily pointedly ignores him. “What about you?”

“I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. Tomorrow too,” he adds with a wink, taking her hands in his own when she starts to object. “I’m making it my mission to get you better.” He shows her the package of popsicles he’d stopped for on the way home, tosses the bag away to the floor. “And I got some of these. Just for you.”

The soft laughter that comes from her is accompanied by yet another hacking cough. It’s the little things he does that are the most thoughtful - a pit stop to the grocery store in the middle of a work day is just one example. “Sounds like you have quite the job ahead of you.” But she’s eyeing the popsicles - it’s the first thing that’s sounded appealing all morning.

“You’re not an easy patient,” Aaron chides as he hands her a cherry flavored one, taking a lemon flavored for himself. “One of the worst I’ve ever dealt with, actually.” He flicks her nose lovingly.

“Is that so?” The cool chill of the frozen ice against her lips and throat is a temporary relief, a moment of reprieve. She doesn’t even notice when a little piece of it breaks off to leave a tiny red stain on the sheets. “You’re no picnic yourself, you know.”

It’s his turn to laugh, because she’s right. He’s just as stubborn, the art of rest and healing lost on them both. “I feel called out.”

“It’s because I’m right,” she quips. And she is.

Emily sleeps fitfully in his arms, only waking up once as the sun sets over the trees in the distance. When her eyes drift open, he has the television remote in one hand, the other anchoring her across his chest. “What time is it?” She mumbles, blinking furiously as her eyes adjust to the dim light.

“Close to five.” He kisses her, rocks her a little to wake her up. “You’ve been sleeping for hours.” Aaron sounds almost pleased that she finally got some solid rest. “I’m going to make you some soup. And don’t tell me I don’t have to.” He untangles himself from her, somehow without disturbing her comfort within their bed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

His fingers brush across her cheek; she’s not as hot to the touch this time. Emily leans into his hand, curling her fingers around his wrist.

“Thank you for coming home.” She hardly sounds any better, certainly doesn’t feel it either. But having him there somehow makes it slightly more bearable, an unexpected silver lining to all of this. And the reverence in his eyes, the same one she sees every time he looks at her, confirms the fact that he’d do it without question. Another example of the unconditional love he’d promised years before when they exchanged vows in Dave’s backyard.

“There’s nowhere else I should be, Sweetheart.”

Four days later, Aaron wakes up with the same aching muscles and raw throat, barely able to keep his eyes open as a new week awaits them. Emily is only more than happy to return his favor.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss fic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotch x prentiss #domestic hotchniss #happy hotchners #pointless plotless fluff

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