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asordinaryppl · 2 months ago

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A3! Performance Event - Winter Troupe's Tenth Play: Nomadic Bartender - Epilogue: And Yet, The Journey Continues

Izumi: It’s been a while since I soaked in this atmosphere~!

Mika: << We have been expecting you! >>

Tangerine: Well water to the Kingdom of Zahra!

Citron: Tangerine, it’s welfare!

Guy: Waffle?

Homare: I believe it’s welcome.

Tasuku: What kinda three-way disaster is this?

Mika: << Guy-sama, I heard your play was a great success. Everyone, myself included, is looking forward to your performance here. >>

Mika: <>

Mika: <>

Tsumugi: I can’t understand what he’s saying, but I can tell Mika-kun is very happy.

Homare: A stark difference to the disappointment he expressed in the letter.

Azuma: He must be really glad.

Guy: << Mika, let’s pick up this conversation later— >>

Mika: !!

Mika: << M-My apologies. Everyone, you are invited to the royal palace’s dinner banquet tonight. >>

Mika: <>

Guy: There seems to be a dinner banquet tonight.

Homare: A dinner banquet at the royal palace, hm. I’m looking forward to it.

Citron: I’m so happy to get to see everyone after such a long time~

Zahra’s King: << Citronia, I heard that you played a large part in the creation of this theater festival. >>

Zahra’s King: <>

Citron: <>

Zahra’s King: << Guy, the long journey must have been tough. >>

Guy: << Not at all. It is an honor to perform here in Zahra. >>

Tangerine: MANKAI Company’s name is well-known throughout the Kingdom. Everyone is happy that you’re performing here.

Guy: We will do our best to meet everyone’s expectations.

Homare: But I’m sure you are overjoyed. For your second main lead role, you had a heartwarming reunion with your father and now you get to perform in Zahra as well…

Homare: This will be an unforgettable performance for you, Guy-san. Oh, the feels… *sob*

Tsumugi: Homare-san’s already had a bit too much to drink, huh…

Azuma: I remember him being quite happy with Zahra’s alcohol. He might’ve gone a bit overboard.

Tasuku: I think it’s time you toned it down a little.

Hisoka: … I changed his cup to water.

Izumi: Woah…!

Citron: Guy, you invited your father this time, didn’t you?

Guy: Yes. It seems he has already arrived here in Zahra.

Guy: I wanted to go pick him up, but he said he couldn’t let me do that because I have the upcoming performance to focus on.

Guy: So, I have decided I will show him around Zahra after the performance is over.

Citron: That’s a good idea! You should tow him around town!

Guy: Parade him around town, you mean.

Tasuku: That is not how you use that sentence.

Izumi: Still, the serious way he refuses to let you pick him up is just like you.

Guy: That reminds me, the other day…

[Flashback starts]

Guy: It’s been decided the Winter Troupe will hold a performance in Zahra.

Tooru: In Zahra? You’re having overworld performances, that’s amazing.

Guy: You mean other world performances?

Tooru: Yes, you’re right. Sorry, sorry.

Hisoka: Overseas performances…

Guy: I’d like to invite you, if you want to come.

Tooru: ——

Tooru: I would really like to see you perform, but…

Tooru: From what you’ve told me, living in Zahra with your mother must have been difficult.

Tooru: Part of it is my fault, so I wonder if it’s okay for me to go there…

Guy: Of course, I have bad memories there, but it’s also the precious place where I got to meet Citronia and make many childhood memories.

Guy: I want to show it to you, Dad.

Tooru: I see… Those words do bring me a bit of relief.

Tooru: I’ve always wanted to go to Zahra, you know. It’s part of your darts, after all.

Guy: I think you mean sheets.

Hisoka: Roots…

Hisoka: You two are way too similar…

Tooru: Oh? You think so?

Guy: This is somewhat embarrassing to hear, but it makes me happy.

[Flashback ends]

Tasuku: This was a good story till halfway through…

Tsumugi: I suppose their tendency to make the same mistakes is what makes them so similar.

Hisoka: I think it’s genetic…

Izumi: Genetic!? Is such a thing possible!?

Guy: But simply being able to talk to him like this makes me happy.

Azuma: Thanks to being able to meet again, you’re now able to find new common grounds.

Homare: How truly joyous…! *sob*

Hisoka: … Alice’s switch turned on again.

Tasuku: We need to sober him up a little more.

Guy: …

Hisoka: … Citron said you’d be here.

Guy: Were you looking for me?

Hisoka: … Everyone’s drunk and noisy. I can’t sleep.

Guy: You’ve come to the right place, then.

Hisoka: … It’s really pretty.

Guy: Yes. That’s exactly why I like it.

Guy: Sitting here like this makes me remember the days I spent here in Zahra.

Guy: It was not exactly smooth sailing, and there are things that are painful to even think about.

Guy: But, those are the things that make up my life. Those are the things that make me who I am, I believe.

Guy: I suppose this is how this journey called life will continue from today onwards as well.

Hisoka: Yeah…

Tsumugi: It’s almost time for our real final performance.

Homare: Is this not our grandest stage yet? A final performance, in Zahra of all places.

Tasuku: You can just feel the audience’s excitement.

Hisoka: Citron and the others wouldn’t stop talking about how excited they were.

Azuma: After we’re all finished, you’ll mix up some delicious cocktails for us as usual, yes?

Guy: Leave it to me.

Guy: Now, let’s be off. On our life’s new journey.

previous episode | masterpost

#a3!#translation #a3! translation #citron #tsumugi tsukioka #tasuku takato #hisoka mikage #homare arisugawa #azuma yukishiro #guy nishiki #mika #tangerine

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years ago

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The ABC's of Pope Heyward

TW: Mentions of smut. Language.

SUMMARY: a NSFW alphabet for Pope Hewyard.

WORD COUNT: 2500

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

ooh can we get a pope heyward nsfw alphabet?

The ABC’s of Pope Heyward

Anatomy.

Pope adored every inch of your body and how it responded to every touch and beneath each kiss. He basked in learning your quirks, kinks, and hidden pleasures you had been too shy or reserved to address. He had a way of being able to pull such things from you with what he had studied and learned of your body reacting to his ambitions. Every flex of his hips. Every trace of his tongue. And even the dirty words, seldom in vulgarity but intense once spoken, would be consuming.

Breasts.

He collected and navigated your breasts until they were well appreciated. Not one more favored than the other, he supplied both the same amount of devotion as you allowed him the warmth of their joint cavern once joined together that he could set his cock between. But he insisted you would not make him come this way. Not when he didn't want you to worry about the mess you would make him leave behind.

Cum.

He set out to make you come first and hard. But he was addicted to your taste. The way he knew only he had learned of its delicious tang made in excess from him had made him a glutton to consume. And just as he had done this for you, you were eager to allow him to paint you however he pleased. Even if he was reserved with this, not wanting to leave you sticky, your pleas and whimpers were always met with his defeat as you were his release proudly. In quick rendezvous, it would be on your ass as he thrusted from behind, not wanting to finish inside quite yet. In the lengthy sessions, it would be anywhere from your tongue to your stomach, and his favorite; watching it drip from between your legs.

Dominant.

Despite his rather acquiescence behaviours, Pope was a dominant when alone. As lust and desire built to an eruption, he became a victim to his need for you. Pinning your hands flat, but he preferred to do so with his own touch as he wanted to feel your pulse within his grasp to validate your rush, but also your comfort.

Expression.

You favored his facial expressions throughout the entire exchange. Everything from his wondrous eyes that widened from that initial arousal to the build to a climax that left him nearly delirious from what you could pull from him, you kept every detail ingrained within your mind. The crow's feet caused by screwed eyes, the agape part of his mouth that quickly closed to a clench as he growled your name while deepening himself inside of you, and the final scoff of disbelief to how you always fell so soft, perfect, deep, and warm, had always validated his release.

Fingers.

He was articulate and meticulous with his fingers. He was skilled solely for your pleasure as he knew the perfect depth and curve to that g-spot set hidden within your sex. It was a fixation for you throughout the day as they performed otherwise innocuous tasks that you couldn't help but find as subtle foreplay. Assisting his father as those fingers were strained to lift would remind you of how they conformed to your body. The way he dressed would only return you to how he would shed you from your own clothes. Even the way he drove, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, would lead your thoughts to remember how that grip felt around your hip or in your hair as he guided you per your initial request.

Gag and Guzzle.

After initial denial to how he didn't want you to gag or cry, you would convince him with seductions and his weakening stubbornness that this was what you wanted. And even if he attempted to remain with your comfort in mind, he couldn't deny how sinfully angelic you were wrapped around his cock. The depth you took him would cause you to gag rather violently, as he would validate your well being with a soft correction to your hair or cheek, only to have you take him deeper. Many instances in which you drove him to an edge to which he could not pull himself back from, leading you to guzzle him in a single swallow, smiling with pride at how you'd won him over.

Hygiene.

Following every exchange would come the cautious aftercare of your well being in his hands. Although the orgasm was the selfish ambition, this had been what he longed for the most. That moment of sensuality as he was able to witness the evidence left behind of what you had endured for him. If your skin was scratched or bruised, a kiss would be left over its battle scar. If you were more tender than numb, he would massage you into ease. But he favored the closeness of these moments, whether it be a shower, a bath, or a collection of you in his arms as you stood before the sink, to be a part of any care was an ambition greater than any orgasm.

Intimacy.

Candles. Music. An ambiance of safety would be established every chance he had. Not to mention the way he would craft each motion to be sensual until eventually becoming lost in you. He favored this above all else. A climax was fleeting, but the intimacy would remain. It was why he could not have one night stands or meaningless sex. Pope was a romantic. The kind where flowers and dinner dates would be needed prior to any undressing. And you were the lucky girl who was able to learn both the sendual and sexual side of Pope Heyward.

Jackhammering.

It was frequently corrected in any interaction with him, but the ruthless pounding made itself known in every encounter. Those poundings of necessity and greed that left him whimpering for you would be altered to outlast by the hand you brought to his chest or kiss pressed softly to his mouth to keep from expiring too quickly. Of course, it would return at those final moments that spilled you both over on ecstasy.

Kinks.

He rarely told you no for a reason, the reason was more than just wanting to please you. This was because he had kinks of his own. Bondage having been one you learned quickly, you also discovered how he was a switch, able to be whatever you wanted, all while quelling his own desires simply by pleasing you.

Lace.

He adored you in, and out, of everything. But when the skin he saw as flawless would be wrapped in any form of lace, you would bring him to his knees proverbially and otherwise. But you always left him torn between wanting to keep you concealed beneath the articles of clothing or tearing it to shreds where you stood. Al for the contradiction it allowed him in thinking of you. Innocent in lace but a sinful vixen beneath. For this, he would find ways to keep the best of both, exposing your breasts as he focused on either breast, and pulling your panties to the side before actually removing them. Up until that last minute in which he needed skin-to-skin contact as he plowed into you.

Medical Kink.

He didn't like to role play as he wanted to simply exist as the two of you. But he did bask in one fantasy that you were quick to allow. And that was playing nurse or patient to his medical curiosities. You would allow him free reign of your body to be assessed and fondled for "professional" purposes that always ended with one or both of you crying out in ecstasy. The only stipulation he held had been that of calling him doctor as you would scream it as he made you come in repetition.

Nipples.

It was a toss-up between your clit and your nipples to what he devoted the majority of his time in foreplay within. But it would seem the latter would always reign in precedence. Perhaps it was because it teased you further and only acted as a taunt that would take longer to reach a release, whereas your sensitive bundle of nerves would be immediate if edged and returned to, as he was often capable of. But for this, he was focused. Biting. Sucking. Running the head of his dick with precum left in a trail. All to your allowance as you basked in how he used them with such various purposing.

Oral.

Receiving and reciprocation were equally to par as he believed he should offer just as well as he had been given. This meant that if you were to even bring pleasure to him on your knees for even a fraction of a moment, he would commit to return the favor, but do so twice as long. Not to compete, but as a means of thanks. But every stripe made of his tongue, twisting in a silent beckoning to your release, would act more erotic than any toy or thought without him. Not that you were in need of one as he kept you high in satisfaction.

Praise.

A kink to be quelled or not, he was repetitive in his need to validate you. As you would tear up when taking him beyond the reflex of your throat acting as a warning to what you could withstand, he would explain how proud he was to have you please him in such a way. Whenever you requested something more erotic, such as a strike to either rear cheek, he would utter how he marveled to how well you'd taken each swat. But nothing was more gratuitous than that of when he pistons between your shaking thighs. He spoke of how deep, hard, and fast you would take him, all doing so well and without limitation, the praise warming your fetish while he strengthened your natural lubrication in the process.

Questions.

Following each variation of position, he would always inquire of your well-being as this always came first. No matter what you requested of him, as dominant or submissive as the switch he was for you, you would always find him needing to validate your safety and comfort above all else. Even between the most sinful of thrusts where his release was imminent, he would focus on your first and foremost to ask if you remained alright. It meant for you to silence him by the clench of your inner walls or even a deep French kiss, sometimes needing to be direct enough by submitting a palm wrapped over his lips until all that came from his lips had been the sound of your name or simply guttural groans as a reaction to your dominance.

Rhythm.

His kiss. His hips. His touch. His fingers. Everything was lengthy in pace. He did not rush even his most desperate of movements as he had basked in every sensation with care and pride. Careful to keep you as the priority but also prideful to how fast he could, when prompted. But it was the smooth glide of each effortless stroke made from his hips that sent your eyes back into that roll whether he bottomed out or teased just beyond the tip, every motion was as steady as a wave cresting the sand of any beach, chaos exchanged for peace.

Spooning.

Following every exchange, you would expect this hold. That validation necessary to know he hadn't pushed your body too far beyond its limitations. As he could have kept you in any position, throughout the night and in continuation, he knew you wore quickly. Due to his efforts being so valiant and selflessly ambitious. Foreplay just as intense as that final orgasm as your tremors faded into his arms as you often fell asleep wrapped in each other in this way.

Terminology.

A repertoire enviable for any bibliophile, Pope was one to speak intelligently in place of doing so in vulgar need. He would refrain from being crass and instead tell you how you were beautiful and driving him crazy. His adjectives would be creative as he thrusted into you, reminding you in continuous praise how you were perfect for him and made for him as he found himself lost inside you once again.

Undercarriage.

The most sensitive portion of his body had been your favorite. Teasing and threatening pleasure and a release only to edge it away was a favorite activity as you observed the break of his patience as the line made of your tongue over his heavy balls would bring him into a maddening need to have you over him in a straddle your before him with your ass level with his hips.

Variety.

Fearful you would be bored with missionary or simple bondage, Pope was well versed in a variety of angles and methods of arousal. Books and research taken on the subjects, he was brilliant in the terminology of sexualized lingo, but even more broad in the kinks and fetishes he would offer to teach you in innocuous moments that seems to lead to more. Deeper orgasms and longer bouts of ecstasy offered as consolation for your trust.

Wet.

He lived to make you wet as no amount would be enough. Oral pleasure and his fingers were spent in altering devotion for this to exist as truth, willing to do whatever was necessary until you dropped for him. For only that would be enough for him.

Xenial.

Hospitality and friendship needed prior to any romance and definitely before lust or sex, Pope was the both to a strict degree. Raised to do so, this bled over into the chivalrous nature he held as he was as a lover. You came first. And often.

Yearning.

He would make himself suffer until you made it known you wanted his touch. All because he didn't want you to feel guilty to say no to him. Little did he know how you craved him around the clock. And when he was desperate, you learned such things in the way he became overly affectionate. An excuse to touch any part of your skin, and the climb from subtle to desperate coming as his traces manifested into action as be needed you to instigate most interactions. To which you didn't kind as you loved how it made his eyes illuminate at the thought.

Zonal.

Finally, when he was in his zone to bring you pleasure. The only means of breaking such concentration had been that of a wince of pain as he was otherwise devoted to his tasks. Deep thrusts sending you to call out his name. Claw marks left on his skin from such a descent to your sex. All while he left you trembling in the surprise of what everyday submission became once lust infected it behind closed doors.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire

#pope x reader #popeheyward #pope heyward smut #pope heyward #pope heyward fanfiction #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obxsmut #outer banks #obx fanfiction

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kafus · 2 years ago

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i wrote about my feelings over kanzaki's departure in a journal entry back when fukakai sou happened, i'm pasting the parts relevant to him now here since kaikou's mv just released. i still feel very very strongly about everything i wrote here and my feelings have not changed other than the pain settling a little bit. i'm excited for what comes next for both of them independent from each other even though it still stings

the stuff i wrote in february is long so i'm putting it below a cut. the "..." dividers are me cutting out unrelated concert stuff

kanzaki iori is the man who wrote all of the songs i have talked about at length in this journal entry. he is the man who wrote the songs that have held my hand over the past 2 years of my life, which have been some of the hardest years of my life. his words, his lyrics, have guided me through reliving my terrible childhood and guided me to slowly but surely becoming an adult despite the pain, despite the fear. to say he has had a deep impact on my life would be an understatement. he is present in all of kaf's old music - kaf has said in interviews that she is bad at expressing her emotions, but kanzaki's lyrics give her a way to express them. when she bends her voice in such a way that it makes me cry, it's kanzaki's words that she is screaming. as well as any of her own, it is his sorrow that she is expressing. i don't know kanzaki in real life, and i don't know what he struggles with, but he has said that his music is a way for him to vent his own emotions, and i do, from far away, relate to being an adult who cannot completely move on from how painful childhood was, but has to.

for a while now, it was kind of easy to tell he was in a bit of a slump. weeks ago, i realized that kaf's music was changing and probably not going back to how it used to be. the past year, during the "tsubame era" as i like to call it, kaf has not done very much music with kanzaki despite that being almost entirely what she used to sing. she has branched out, which is good! but kanzaki's trilogies had wrapped up and it seemed like he didn't know where to go next. at first, this realization really hurt me, as i held onto kanzaki and kaf's music as a duo for comfort, and this is actually what spurred me to reread the lyrics to kyoukankaku and come to some acceptance about it. that is to say, i kind of knew this was coming and i was partially emotionally prepared as a result, but barely. not being completely caught offguard eased me into accepting that it was happening, but it was still very, very difficult. i am still struggling with this somewhat as i write. it's one of the reasons i started writing this journal in the first place.

...

i took to twitter to send a message of support to kanzaki and eagerly read the note he put out about why he was leaving, with the help of DeepL and the rest of the kamitsubaki english fandom, since my japanese is not near good enough to read something of this complexity and length. it nearly made me cry again. i can only hope that kanzaki is able to rejuvenate his artistic passion and finds peace with his work as he moves down his own path. i am deeply appreciative that he was given the time and space to say goodbye to kaf during a concert and perform a couple of songs with her, that they turned his goodbye into art, because kanzaki is deeply important to everything that kaf was as a work of art, and him leaving will have massive effects on the future of kaf. he has touched so many lives. he deserves to be acknowledged and celebrated and remembered, and he deserves to be happy wherever he goes next.

...

i can't quite say that i'm "over" it yet, even though i kind of knew this was coming, and even though i experienced a sense of closure and moving forward with kyoukankaku and everything that came after. it's not that linear, it's definitely more complicated. but, i can say that it's not all sad: kanzaki and kaf will continue to make music that i love and hold close to my heart as i move into a proper adulthood and grow up, just like they taught me to do.

#kanzaki iori #kaf #kamitsubaki studio #kamitsubaki #kiki was here #kiki.txt

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adayin-the-life · 1 year ago

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Goodbye 2023

Dear 2023,

I know it's a month early, but honestly? I'll probably forget if I don't write to you right now. I've become quite forgetful (that honestly makes me sound like an old person - lol!).

What to say about you.

2023. You were an absolute rollercoaster of emotions. You pushed my boundaries in every way possible and have shown me so many beautiful things that I find it hard to sum you up so briefly and with so little words. Luckily, that's only a restriction for this paragraph, because we both know I'm going more in depth about certain events (predictability, eh? What a beautiful thing).

You started of rough, and I've come to accept that. Turns out, 2022 showed me the way to my dream internship, but failed to mention that wasn't the place I belonged in. It was a harsh truth to come to terms with, but sometimes that's just life. It did pave the way for what you were going to show me next: my (hopefully) last year of studying, and my new internship. This place already feels so much more like where I'm supposed to be, and has already started so much better. Fifteen special needs kids with vibrant personalities and aspirations and hope. There is so much hope. I hope you hand this beautiful gift you have given me to 2024, and tell them to handle it with care.

So, college wise, it hadn't been my year. But on so many levels it truly has.

One of those levels being music. My god, 2023, what have you been such a musical year. You took me all over the country (and beyond!) to see my favourite artists perform, watching them from up close or far away. I cannot express how grateful I am for that. I have spent so many days and nights just feeling absolutely free in this world of music that has surrounded me and is swallowing me whole.

And right when I was feeling the financial weight of the amazing summer you guided me towards, you made sure there was a place for me to earn money. A place that sort of became my second home in certain ways, but mostly because I now sleep there three nights a week. An all-boys boarding school, filled with rowdy teens going through puberty yet still being kids at heart. I'd never thought I would be able to stand my ground between all those boys, yet I really feel like part of the family at this school. And hey, let's be honest, the pay is very nice as well.

And I cannot thank you enough for my friends and family. Maintaining healthy relationships with friends is quite hard when you struggle with your own mental health, you showed me that. But you also showed me that hard work and love could truly level the bumps in that road. I've never felt so loved, so seen, so proud to be part of a community.

2023. If I have to describe you in one word, it would be "growth". You've thrown me in every situation to watch me grow and be the person I am today. You've challenged me, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

Dear 2023, it was an absolute blastt. I'll miss you dearly.

Dear 2024, are you ready?

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years ago

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This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.”

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf.

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels.

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons.

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be.

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

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

+ Childhood

#father of mine bonus content #father of mine #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #batman x daughter #batman x daughter!reader #bruce wayne's daughter #batman's daughter #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd reader insert #red hood reader insert #clark kent x platonic!reader #superman x platonic!reader

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rocorambles · 3 years ago

Text

Ruined Innocence

Pairing: Fallen Angel!Daichi x Angel!Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Manipulation, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Tentacles-ish, Forced Bondage, Corruption Kink, Dacryphilia

Summary: Not everyone is what they appear to be and you learn that the hard way.

A/N: This is for @seijorhi 's Deal with the Devil Collab! Masterlist can be found here.

You don’t love the way older angels endearingly pinch your cheeks and fondly ruffle the top of your head, sending you off on your way as they go about their chores. But you love the freedom to explore that comes with your new wings and you flit around heaven, adventuring out to the corners of the beautiful realm, eyes sparkling and mouth open wide in wonder as you see visions and scenes you wouldn’t even have been able to imagine back when you were a human.

Most angels congregate with each other, floating and meandering together as they perform their heavenly duties, content with harmony and unity. But maybe because your newly purified soul is still finding its way, you feel antsy, a very human adventurous streak still driving you as you sniff out remote and quiet corners, eager to see what’s around every corner.

There’s not a hint of wariness or sense of danger as you trek around, squealing as you continue testing your wings. Maybe it’s naivety, but who can blame you? You’re in heaven. Why would you ever think anything or anyone would harm you here?

Little do you know the archangels whisper to each other, sentries standing guard at every known opening between realms as the threat of warfare and espionage increases between heaven and hell after a devastating betrayal by one of God’s own most trusted archangels.

Sawamura Daichi.

It’s a name and a face that God has striked from heaven’s history, wiping the minds of anyone outside his inner circle clear of to maintain peace among the realm. And it works. Maybe too well.

A handsome brunette amusedly smiles at the lack of fear and recognition in your face as you cheerfully greet him, not a care in the world as you perk up and fly over to him, curious about the strange angel you’ve never met before.

Daichi had only meant to sneak in and out, hopefully spy and return back to hell with any secret information he could get out of his old fellow archangels. But like an attuned predator, his attention had snapped at the pretty little fawn he had seen playing in the outskirts of heaven, so vulnerable, so far from the rest of your feathery flock. And his mouth had salivated, something dark and yearning inside of him as he imagined how delicious corrupting your soft and sweet soul would be.

There’s no lack of powerful, beautiful, sensual female entities in hell willing to warm his bed. Daichi knows from firsthand experience, rarely spending a night alone. Even eternity is too short not to indulge in the sins of the flesh. But a part of him misses the docile submissive natures of angels, the thrill of power he feels knowing how easily his more angelic partners would listen and obey to his every whim and fancy. Playing with your food is all fun and games, but Daichi’s always found the actual act of devouring to be the best part of any meal. And you look absolutely mouth watering.

It doesn’t concern you that you’ve never seen this handsome angel before. Heaven is vast and as a novice angel, you’re sure there’s plenty of feathery companions you haven’t met yet. You’re more pleasantly surprised by the fact that there even is another angel in your secluded nook of the realm. And you’re quick to get comfortable with Daichi (although you blush when he so quickly tells you to call him by his first name).

He’s kind and funny. You can tell he’s actually listening to your every word and not just politely nodding like most of the other older angels you’ve met so far. He has a certain vibrancy to him that you can’t pinpoint, something so much more raw and vivid than what you’re used to from the more austere and demure palette of the rest of heaven.

But you startle when Daichi suddenly reaches out and slowly trails his fingers along the soft velvety plush of your wings, eliciting a startled gasp from you and a strange stirring feeling inside of you.

“They’re so pure and white.”

You try to laugh off the way your heart is pounding, the way your body wants to instinctively lean in closer to his warm touch as he continues languidly stroking your wings.

“Don’t be silly, Daichi. I’m sure your wings are just as pure and white, just like everyone else in this realm.”

You’re confused by his silent smile as he continues lacing his fingers between your downy feathers, but you don’t think to question it, not when it feels so right to just melt in the soothing feeling.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but you startle awake when someone nudges you, face heating in embarrassment when you realize you’ve fallen asleep quite literally in Daichi’s arms. But you shyly smile when he waves off your profuse apologies, playfully whispering that you can make it up to him by keeping your meeting with him a secret so he doesn’t get in trouble for slacking off on work to hang out with you.

Your lips are sealed and in return for your slightly naughty deal, your heart warms and your eyes sparkle when he somehow finds you almost every day. You’re tempted to make a game of it, wondering if you made more of an effort to hide if he’d still find you. But somehow deep inside you know he would, that it wouldn’t deter him at all. And that thought alone brings a smile to yourself.

Is this what having a soulmate feels like? Do angels even have soulmates?

You know marriage is still a thing in this realm and you can feel yourself falling more and more head over heels for Daichi, letting yourself dream and think of what life would be like married to him, by his side for all of eternity. It would be a wondrous thing. A life full of adventures, laughter, kindness, and warmth. A life where you know you could always depend on him and trust him.

So when he kisses you one day, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you in close, you don’t resist. Instead you sigh in bliss as you feel your lips meld against each other. He’s so gentle, so careful as he deepens your connection, coaxing you into following his lead as he maneuvers the two of you on the wispy cloud cocoon beneath your feet.

You feel so loved, so taken care of as he murmurs sweet praises in your ear about how beautiful you are, how soft you are, how sweet you taste. But when you find yourself horizontal beneath him, scandalously molded to his body, hesitation and apprehension have you reluctantly separating your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

His hand cups your cheek, brown eyes staring down at you in concern and you feel more at ease as you nuzzle against his palm, gently pecking the center of it, ignorant of the way brown eyes darken at the action.

He’s going to fucking ruin you.

“Can we- Can we slow down a bit? I love you, but we shouldn’t go any further until God blesses our relationship and we’re married. Right?”

It’s adorable how you know what’s right by heavenly standards, what you should and shouldn’t be doing. Yet there’s still a questioning lilt in your voice as you look at him for guidance, ready to take his lead and listen to whatever he says. You really are precious, aren’t you?

“We’ll be together forever. So what’s the harm in indulging ourselves now if we know that we’ll be bound for eternity anyway? Consider it a little sneak peek. Surely God will be forgiving if we go straight to him after this and ask him to bless our union.”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

He internally smirks at how your eyes light up when he expresses his desire to be with you. To his defense, it’s not a lie. He truly does want you with him forever, although he doubts it’s in the way you’re thinking. He’s no mind reader, but he can imagine the scenes of soft radiant glowing days and peaceful strolls hand in hand that race through your mind when you think of love. Unfortunately for you, the reality you’re being sucked into is much darker and much more stationary. (He sincerely hopes you appreciate the costs and efforts he’s gone through to spruce up his bedroom and bed as much as possible for your long-term stay considering it’s the only place he intends for you to see for at least a few centuries.)

This time you welcome him when he swoops down to capture your lips once more, your arms gently wrapping around the back of his neck as you pull him down even closer to you. You bare your neck, easily following his silent commands as he trails kisses down from the corner of your lips to the side of your neck, gasping and arching into him when his tongue swipes a hot wet line at the junction of your shoulder.

You’re nervous as he coaxes you out of your delicate clothing and his cock twitches in interest at how you try to instinctively shield your body from his eyes, your arms crossing your chest, thighs clenching together. So different from the shameless females down below and he enjoys how it feels like he’s unwrapping an exclusive present as he eases your body, comfortingly kissing you as he guides your hands above your head and nudges your legs apart until he’s in between them.

You moan, writhing underneath him in a way that makes him groan as he sucks one of your nipples, rolling the other between his fingers. And he can’t resist how right it feels to grind and rut his clothed cock against your bare core, chuckling at how you whine and get flustered as he whispers to you about how wet you are, how much of a mess you’re making of his clothing.

You’re so sensitive, so reactive. He wonders if you could cum just like this, nipples toyed with and humping like wild beasts. You certainly look like you’re almost there and a mean smile splays across his face when he wonders what God would think if he saw his baby angel now, a lewd blissful expression blatant on your face, wanton moans filling the air. But time is limited especially when he’s not on his own turf and as much as he’d like to ruin you over and over again right here, right now, he knows he needs to deal the final blow.

He’s quick to shed his own clothing, firmly wrapping your spread legs around him as he finally sinks his cock inch by inch inside of you, throwing his own head back in pleasure as your tight wet walls wrap around him, eagerly sucking him in and clenching around him. It’s like you were made for him, made for this. And his eyes ravenously watch as you mindlessly blabber on and on about feeling full, feeling good.

He doesn’t usually like noisy bed mates, but you might be the one exception and he revels in your wails and broken cries as he begins to move his hips back and forth, observing how his fat cock obscenely stretches your pretty folds as he thrusts in and out. It’s impressive how you’re still hanging by a single fraying strand of consciousness when even seasoned succubi have succumbed into mindless pleasure-addicted messes from his cock. And he gifts the slipping clarity of your mind that recognizes him and calls his name over and over again with skillful circles around your clit, relentless until you’re thrashing and convulsing, practically screaming as you fall over the edge, pussy milking him and begging for his essence.

Who is he to deny you what your body wants? What your body needs? What he himself wants and needs?

So he finally lets himself go, sealing the deal with his own release, eyes twinkling in crazed amusement as his own wings finally flair out, revealing themselves to you for the first time as his body lances with pleasure. A sound halfway between a laugh and a groan escapes him as fear has you tightening around him and if he thought you looked beautiful before, you’re absolutely stunning now, shock and disbelief slicing across your perfect angelic face when you fully grasp the importance of his pitch black wings that shadow the both of you.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. I thought you loved me.”

There’s no point in pretending to be gentle now and he forcefully pins your body down, slamming his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, biting on your lower lip and lapping at the blood that drips from your now marred face. Delicious. So fucking exquisite.

It’s tempting to continue and as he pulls away to regard you, he can feel arousal swirling inside of him at the sight of glistening tears streaming down your face. But he’s curious about your reaction, eager to hear what you have to say about this utter betrayal.

“A fallen angel…I slept with a fallen angel. How am I ever going to face God now?”

You’re not even looking at him anywhere, eyes glazed over as you mumble to yourself, mind still trying to process everything. And as pretty as you are with agony and sickening realization settling into your features, he scowls at the mention of God, irritation swelling inside of him at how fast you are to think of Him over Daichi, the fallen angel literally still inside of you.

He’s swift in his punishment, reminding you exactly where you are and who you’re with right now as he sharply juts his hips in a way that forces a surprised shriek from you as his cock rubs against your still sensitive walls.

“God isn’t your problem anymore, love. Look at your wings.”

Every part of you still in denial screams at you not to listen, to pretend none of this has happened, is happening. You want to believe God can make this right, that he’ll surely forgive you. But as if you’re in one of those inevitable horror films you used to watch as a human, your head slowly turns to the side, body going rigid when you see the expanse of ebony feathers where heavenly white used to be.

Now this reaction is much more satisfying and Daichi inhales your fear, a cold smile on his face as he watches you flail, wings wildly flapping as you try to somehow shake off the color, praying that it’s all a lie, that it’s not entirely irreversible. But he pins your wrists above your head when you attempt to painfully pluck out your own offensive feathers, peppering humiliatingly affectionate kisses all over your face to placate you.

“Please stop. Isn’t this enough? You got what you wanted. Tricked the silly angel. Made me an exile, a monster. There’s no place for me in heaven anymore. So just leave me alone. Please.”

You shudder at the dark laugh that seems to echo in your ears with his face right besides yours, cringing when you feel his wings droop down to rest against your own in an action far too intimate for what the two of you are.

“It’s not enough, darling. It’ll never be enough. But you’re right about one thing. You’re no longer welcomed in heaven, so let me bring you to your new home.”

You barely have time to understand the meaning of his words before you’re being whisked away, strong arms holding you tightly to a broad chest, the air around you growing darker, heavier, warmer. And then suddenly everything is still and you gasp as you’re thrown onto a silky plush surface, scrambling to sit up only to freeze in terror as you take in the grand and imposing bedroom you’re in, cold realization of exactly whose bed you’re currently on and what realm you’re in sinking in.

“No no no no no...At least let me go to Earth!”

You make to lunge off the bed, but an eerily familiar body forces you back down, once comforting brown eyes now only making anxiety churn alarmingly inside of you.

“I know it’s hard to believe me after all the lies, but I wasn’t lying about one thing. I do intend to be with you forever, so get comfortable, angel.”

You recoil at the mocking sneer associated with the pet name, the ironic use of the word disintegrating any fight left in you when the true hopelessness of your situation makes itself known. And Daichi watches in satisfaction at how you don’t even twitch as black shadows coil around your wrist and ankles, pulling you into a spread-eagled position, leaving your beautiful naked figure on full display for him.

But as despondent as you are mentally and emotionally, your body is already well on its way to adjusting and molding to his desires and he hungrily eyes the way it betrays you, arching and silently begging for more as additional shadow tendrils snake their way on and around every inch of you, some tendrils beginning to make their way in your gaping mouth, your still cum-filled hole, and oh...maybe he should have warned you that he planned on training all your holes, but he does so love the way your eyes blow wide open when a curios tendril wiggles its way into your puckered hole.

“Consider this your new full-time job, angel. Can’t have you living here rent-free after all. Now be good while I’m away and try not to be so loud. Wouldn’t want anyone else to hear you and decide they want a taste of a new fallen angel. I guarantee you no one else down here in hell is going to be as patient and kind as I am. Welcome to your new forever home.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, not that you’d be able to utter anything remotely intelligible around your screams and moans and the tendrils fucking your mouth. And as he makes his way to another meeting with Satan, he proudly flaunts his pitch black wings, a thoughtful smile on his face as he thinks of all the plans he has for you.

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere daichi #daichi smut #daichi x reader #haikyuu x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #deal with the devil collab

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years ago

Text

WC: 1141

Rated: T

Tags: drunk Laszlo, fluffy, Laszlo is a flirt when he wants to be, discussions of sexual things/theory but no smut, mentions of prostitution, Freud

🍷

A loud thump from the foyer jolted you awake, the book you had been reading nearly fell from your lap during the scare. You rub the sleep from your tired eyes. Laszlo was out for John's bachelor party and you had tried to wait up for his return; clearly you failed to stay awake.

Glancing at the clock on the mantel you see it is almost 2 in the morning. The fireplace was mere embers by now. The only light was a small electric lamp that Laszlo had invested in for you to use while reading. Well no wonder I drifted off… you think.

A series of thumps, bumps, and then a soft grunt made you look over the back of your chair. "Laz? Is that you?" you called into the dimness.

Laszlo peaked his head around the corner at your question, looking completely fine despite the noises he was making. "Ah, my dear you are awake!"

"I'm afraid I fell asleep waiting for you. How was John and the others? Is he getting cold feet?" you joke.

"Cold feet is an indication of poor blood circulation, a condition of which I am sure John does not suffer. His frequent visits to brothels in the past suggests his circulation is adequate."

You aren't sure how to respond to his statement about John and his previous… proclivities. Nevertheless, he continues.

"I do wonder if there is something else troubling him, though. He and Sara have had…" he trails off as if to think of the word he needs. Laszlo blinks. You wait for him to finish his thought. Instead, he offers "well something odd anyway," with a flick of his wrist.

Laszlo still stands in the doorway, his good hand gripping the frame. He hasn't moved since you caught him. "Why don't you join me in the parlor rather than stand by the front door?"

"Ah. You see I would, however I am at a disadvantage I must confess." He hiccups and tries to cover it with a small cough.

You observe him curiously, his behavior strange. "Which would be?"

"I'm afraid I am stuck."

It is then you can make out the slight dishevelment of his hair, a strand having fallen out of place. The slight crumple to his white buttoned shirt. The way his accent has become heavier than is usual, his words are a little slurred. The way his cheeks are tinged pink under that neatly trimmed beard. And of course, the way his coat tail seems to be attached to some unseen object behind the corner.

Your jaw drops at the incredulity of your deduction. "Laszlo, are you drunk?" While he did partake in drink, it was never to this outcome nor extent.

He opens his mouth to respond yet all that leaves his lips is a sort of breathy mumble. Your peal of laughter lights up the room, a hand covers your lips to muffle the sound. "Oh love, what has gotten into you tonight?"

"Several glasses of champagne and some lingonberry schnapps," he answers very matter of fact.

Shaking your head at his antics you make your way over to assist in freeing his jacket. After a minute of finagling you are able to unhook it from the chip in the front table's edge. "If that is the case then I think it's off to bed with you, I don't doubt you will feel ill in the morning after this adventure."

You wrap your arm around his waist to help guide him up the stairs, not trusting him to climb it in this state. His left hand grasps the railing. The weaker arm hugs lightly around your back. Laszlo nearly trips over his own foot as he takes a step.

You tighten your hold on your lover. "My, Laz, how on earth did you make it home if you can barely walk?"

"The body… and the mind, are both affected by drink." His head tilts towards you as you slowly climb. "I am to find myself with the advantage of a more capable mind than most. My body, however, is... another matter." How he manages to hold a coherent conversation in this state is beyond you.

Just as you feared he would become self conscious over his arm he spoke again. "But yours my dear is exquisite. You dress in the the most flattering garments that leave me with thoughts of you and I often see that I am distracted." His weaker hand twitches along the side of your evening robe, just along the outside of your hip.

Laszlo's statement catches you off guard as you begin to walk the long hall to your shared bedchamber. You huff, heat filing your cheeks. Leave it to Laszlo to flirt with you while intoxicated.

"There is no need to be agitated. It is natural for a man to desire the touch of his lover. Freud himself argues that we all have an innate need to fulfill sexual gratification. I am glad to share that physically with you, I am quite satisfied by our performance."

"Lazlo!" you whisper loudly, echoing through the empty hall. He just stops and looks over at you with an expression that touts 'what did I say that was wrong?' You would admit that in the throes of passion with him you lost all sense of good social morals, but outside of that you found it more difficult to do so. "You cannot go around speaking about such things outside the bedroom," you try to explain, "it's improper…"

"Since when have you considered propriety? It is just sex my dear. According to Psychopathia Sexualis there are many that prefer to complete the act outside of the bedchamber. Perhaps that is something we should explore." He begins to shuffle his feet towards the bedroom once more. "And I do not recall you complaining ever about propriety while I am under you," Laszlo finishes with a smug grin.

Your eyes roll so hard they should've bounced out of their sockets. Even so, you can't help the little smile that graces your features at his attempts to be coy. You stand corrected - leave it to Laszlo to not only flirt with you while intoxicated, but to do it in the most academic manner possible. "The only under you'll be doing soon is being under the weather if we don't get you to bed to sleep this off."

"I would agree with you."

You helped him dress for bed, your usual nightly ritual, and pulled the covers up to his chin before joining him on the other side. He is snoring before you even have a chance to settle. Chuckling, you think to yourself that this will be a long night. But it is no worry to you, as you plan to tease him about it in the morning.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @loliissmut

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo my love #laszlo kreizler #the alienist angel of darkness #the alienist #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle

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dothwrites · 4 years ago

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15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes.

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers.

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color.

“Cas.”

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice.

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave.

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here.

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?”

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy.

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story.

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words.

That’s not who I am.

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets.

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...”

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking.

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.”

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon.

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.”

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what.

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?”

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems.

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed.

He does make one stop, however.

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.”

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders.

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.”

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...”

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his.

“So what happened?”

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack.

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.”

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved.

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses.

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem.

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle?

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...”

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does.

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out.

There’s work to be done.

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?”

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human.

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.”

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back.

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?”

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.”

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.”

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.”

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.”

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing.

---

Bobby is wrong.

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him.

There’s still time.

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt.

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow.

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--”

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him.

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon.

It’s always too soon.

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?”

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer.

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.”

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him.

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology.

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care.

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier.

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere.

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before.

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around.

Dean Winchester is there.

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world.

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move.

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.”

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.”

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm.

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.”

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.”

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them.

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--”

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?”

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.”

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.”

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his.

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more.

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.”

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them.

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him.

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?”

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.”

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing.

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest.

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed.

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure.

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s.

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.”

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say.

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?”

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition.

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought.

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails.

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him.

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place.

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles.

“Dean,” he says.

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo.

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.”

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to.

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?”

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.”

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair.

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him.

You are valued. You are loved.

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies.

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling.

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years.

There is so much work to do.

But they have time. They have all the time they need.

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

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oscopelabs · 3 years ago

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Isn’t Everything Autobiographical?: Ethan Hawke In Nine Films And A Novel by Marya Gates

When asked during his first ever on-camera interview if he’d like to continue acting, a young Ethan Hawke replied, “I don’t know if it’s going to be there, but I’d like to do it.” He then gives a guileless shrug of relief as the interview ends, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. The simultaneous fusion of his nervous energy and poised body language will be familiar to those who’ve seen later interviews with the actor. The practicality and wisdom he exudes at such a young age would prove to be a through-line of his nearly 40-year career. In an interview many decades later, he told Ideas Tap that many children get into acting because they’re seeking attention, but those who find their calling in the craft discover that a “desire to communicate and to share and to be a part of something bigger than yourself takes over, a certain craftsmanship—and that will bring you a lot of pleasure.”

Through Hawke’s dedication to his craft, we’ve also seen his maturation as a person unfold on screen. Though none of his roles are traditionally what we think of when we think of autobiography, many of Hawke’s roles, as well as his work as a writer, suggest a sort of fictional autobiographical lineage. While these highlights in his career are not strictly autofiction, one can trace Hawke’s Künstlerromanesque trajectory from his childhood ambitions to his life now as a man dedicated to art, not greatness.

Hawke’s first two films, Joe Dante’s sci-fi fantasy Explorers with River Phoenix and Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society with Robin Williams, set the tone for a diverse filmography filled with popcorn fare and indie cinema in equal measure, but they also served as touchstones in his development as person drawn to self-expression through art. In an interview with Rolling Stone’s David Fear, Hawke spoke about the impact of these two films on him as an actor. When River Phoenix, his friend and co-star in Explorers, had his life cut short by a drug overdose, it hit Hawke personally. He saw from the inside what Hollywood was capable of doing to young people with talent. Hawke never attempted to break out, to become a star. He did the work he loved and kept the wild Hollywood lifestyle mostly at arm’s length.

Like any good film of this genre, Dead Poets Society is not just a film about characters coming of age, but a film that guides the viewer as well, if they are open to its message. Hawke’s performance as repressed schoolboy Todd in the film is mostly internal, all reactions and penetrating glances, rather than grandiose movements or speeches. Through his nervy body language and searching gaze, you can feel both how closed off to the world Todd is, and yet how willing he is to let change in. Hawke has said working on this film taught him that art has a real power, that it can affect people deeply. This ethos permeates many of the characters Hawke has inhabited in his career.

In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) tells the boys that we read and write poetry because the human race is full of passion. He insists, “poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.” Hawke gave a 2020 TEDTalk entitled Give Yourself Permission To Be Creative, in which he explored what it means to be creative, pushing viewers to ask themselves if they think human creativity matters. In response to his own question, he said “Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of the sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life and ‘has anyone ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse, something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can’t even see straight, you know, you’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art is not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.”

Throughout many of his roles post-Dead Poets Society, Hawke explores the nature of creativity through his embodiment of writers and musicians. Often these characters are searching for a greater purpose through art, while ultimately finding that human connection is the key. Without that human connection, their art is nothing.

We see the first germ of this attraction to portray creative people on screen with his performance as Troy Dyer in Reality Bites. As Troy Dyer, a philosophy-spouting college dropout turned grunge-band frontman in Reality Bites, Hawke was posited as a Gen-X hero. His inability to keep a job and his musician lifestyle were held in stark contrast to Ben Stiller’s yuppie TV exec Michael Grates. However in true slacker spirit, he isn’t actually committed to the art of music, often missing rehearsals, as Lelaina points out. Troy even uses his music at one point to humiliate Lelaina, dedicating a rendition of “Add It Up” by Violent Femmes to her. The lyrics add insult to injury as earlier that day he snuck out of her room after the two had sex for the first time. Troy’s lack of commitment to his music matches his inability to commit to those relationships in his life that mean the most to him.

Reality Bites is also where he first positioned himself as one of the great orators of modern cinema.” Take this early monologue, in which he outlines his beliefs to Winona Ryder’s would-be documentarian Lelaina Pierce: “There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.”

Hawke brings the same intense gaze to this performance as he did to Dead Poets Society, as if his eyes could swallow the world whole. But where Todd’s body language was walled-off, Troy’s is loud and boisterous. He’s quick to see the faults of those around him, but also the good things the world has to offer. It’s a pretty honest depiction of how self-centered your early-20s tend to be, where riding your own melt seems like the best option. As the film progresses, Troy lets others in, saying to Lelaina, “This is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You, me and five bucks.”

Like the character, Hawke was in his early twenties and as he would continue to philosophize through other characters, they would age along with him and so would their takes on the world. If you only engage with anyone at one phase in their life, you do a disservice to the arc of human existence. We have the ability to grow and change as we learn who we are and become less self-centered. In Hawke’s career, there’s no better example of this than his multi-film turn as Jesse in the Before Trilogy. While the creation of Jesse and Celine are credited to writer-director Richard Linklater and his writing partner Kim Krizan, much of what made it to the screen even as early as the first film were filtered through the life experiences of Hawke and his co-star Julie Delpy.

In a Q&A with Jess Walter promoting his most recent novel A Bright Ray of Darkness, Hawke said that Jesse from the Before Trilogy is like an alt-universe version of himself, and through them we can see the self-awareness and curiosity present in the early ET interview grow into the the kind of man Keating from Dead Poets Society urged his students to become.

In Before Sunrise, Hawke’s Jesse is roughly the same age as Troy in Reality Bites, and as such is still in a narcissistic phase of his life. After spending several romantic hours with Celine in Vienna, the two share their thoughts about relationships. Celine says she wants to be her own person, but that she also desperately wants to love and be loved. Jesse shares this monologue, “Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly, like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because. . . I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself, I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something. That I had excelled in some way than that I’d just been in a nice, caring relationship.”

The film ends without the audience knowing if Jesse and Celine ever see each other again. That initial shock is unfortunately now not quite as impactful if you are aware of the sequels. But I think it is an astute look at two people who meet when they are still discovering who they are. Still growing. Jesse, at least, is definitely not ready for any kind of commitment. Then of course, we find out in Before Sunset that he’s fumbled his way into marriage and fatherhood, and while he’s excelling at the latter, he’s failing at the former.

As in Reality Bites, Hawke explores the dynamics of band life again in Before Sunset, when Jesse recalls to Celine how he was in a band, but they were too obsessed with getting a deal to truly enjoy the process of making music. He says to her, “You know, it's all we talked about, it was all we thought about, getting bigger shows, and everything was just...focused on the future, all the time. And now, the band doesn't even exist anymore, right? And looking back at the... at the shows we did play, even rehearsing... You know, it was just so much fun! Now I'd be able to enjoy every minute of it.”

The filming of Before Sunset happened to coincide with the dissolution of Hawke’s first marriage. And while these films are not autobiographical, everyone involved have stated that they’ve added personal elements to their characters. They even poke fun at it in the opening scene when a journalist asks how autobiographical Jesse’s novel is. True to form, he responds with a monologue, “Well, I mean, isn’t everything autobiographical? I mean, we all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know. Have you ever seen that little one page note to reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel, right? You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of all the moments of our lives, and that, anybody who sits down to write is gonna use the clay of their own life, that you can’t avoid that.”

While Before Sunset was shot in 2003, released in 2004 and this monologue refers to the fictional book within the trilogy entitled This Time, Hawke would take this same approach more than a decade later with his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness.

In the novel, Hawke crafts a quasi-autobiographical story, using his experience in theater to work through the perspective he now has on his failed marriage to Uma Thurman. Much like Jesse in Before Sunset, Hawke is reluctant to call the book autobiographical, but the parallels to his own divorce are evident. And as Jesse paraphrased Wolfe, isn’t everything we do autobiographical? In the book, movie star William Harding has blown up his seemingly picture-perfect marriage with a pop star by having an affair while filming on location in South Africa. The book, structured in scenes and acts like a play, follows the aftermath as he navigates his impending divorce, his relationship with his small children, and his performance as Hotspur in a production of Henry IV on Broadway.

Throughout much of the novel, William looks back at the mistakes he made that led to the breakup of his marriage. He’s now in his 30s and has the clarity to see how selfish he was in his 20s. Hawke, however, was in his forties while writing the book. Through the layers of hindsight, you can feel how Hawke has processed not just the painful emotional growth spurt of his 20s, but also the way he can now mine the wisdom that comes from true reflection. Still, as steeped as the novel is in self-reflection, it does not claim to have all the answers. In fact, it offers William, as well as the readers, more questions to contemplate than it does answers.

The wisdom to know that you will never quite understand everything is broached by Hawke early in the third film in the Before Trilogy, 2013’s Before Midnight. At this point in their love story, Jesse’s marriage has ended and he and Celine are parents to twin girls. Jesse has released two more books: That Time, which recounts the events of the previous film, and Temporary Cast Members of a Long-Running But Little Seen Production of a Play Called Fleeting. Before Midnight breaks the bewitching spell of the first two films by adding more cast members and showing the friction that comes with an attempt to grow old with someone. When discussing his three books, a young man says the title of his third is too long, Jesse says it wasn’t as well loved, and an older professor friend says it’s his best book because it’s more ambitious. It seems Linklater and company already knew how the departure of this third film might be regarded by fans. But it is this very departure that shows their commitment to honestly showing the passage of time and our relationship to it.

About halfway through the film Jesse and Celine depart the Greek villa where they have been spending the summer, and we finally get a one-on-one conversation like we’re used to with these films. In one exchange, I feel they summarize the point of the entire trilogy, and possibly Hawke’s entire ethos:

Jesse: Every year, I just seem to get a little bit more humbled and more overwhelmed about all the things I’m never going to know or understand.

Celine: That’s what I keep telling you. You know nothing!

Jesse: I know, I know! I'm coming around!

[Celine and Jesse laugh.]

Celine: But not knowing is not so bad. I mean, the point is to be looking, searching. To stay hungry, right?

Throughout the series, Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke explore what they call the “transient nature of everything.” Jesse says his books are less about time and more about perception. It’s the rare person who can assess themselves or the world around them acutely in the present. For most of us, it takes time and self-reflection to come to any sort of understanding about our own nature. Before Midnight asks us to look back at the first two films with honesty, to remove the romantic lens with which they first appeared to us. It asks us to reevaluate what romance even truly is.

Hawke explores this same concept again in the 2018 romantic comedy Juliet, Naked. In this adaptation of the 2009 Nick Hornby novel, Hawke plays a washed-up singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. He had a big hit album, Juliet, in the early ‘90s and then disappeared into obscurity. Rose Bryne plays a woman named Annie whose longtime boyfriend Duncan is obsessed with the singer and the album, stuck on the way the bummer songs about a bad breakup make him feel. As the film begins, Annie reveals that she thinks she’s wasted 15 years of her life with this schmuck. This being a rom-com, we know that Hawke and Byrne’s characters will eventually meet-cute. What’s so revelatory about the film is its raw depiction of how hard it is for many to reassess who they really are later in life.

Duncan is stuck as the self-obsessed, self-pitying person he likely was when Annie first met him, but she reveals he was so unlike anyone else in her remote town that she looked the other way for far too long. Now it’s almost too late. By chance, she connects with Crowe and finds a different kind of man.

See, when Crowe wrote Juliet, he also was a navel-gazing twentysomething whose emotional development had not yet reached the point of being able to see both sides in a romantic entanglement. He worked through his heartbreak through art, and though it spoke to other people, he didn’t think about the woman or her feelings on the subject. In a way, Crowe’s music sounds a bit like what Reality Bites’s Troy Dyer may have written, if he ever had the drive to actually work at his music. Eventually, it’s revealed that Crowe walked away from it all when Julie, the woman who broke his heart, confronted him with their child—something he was well aware of, but from which he had been running away. Faced with the harsh reality of his actions and the ramifications they had on the world beyond his own feelings, he ran even farther away from responsibility. In telling the story to Annie, he says, “I couldn’t play any of those songs anymore, you know? After that, I just... I couldn’t play these insipid, self-pitying songs about Julie breaking my heart. You know, they were a joke. And before I know it, a couple of decades have gone by and some doctor hands me... hands me Jackson. I hold him, you know, and I look at him. And I know that this boy. . . is my last chance.”

When we first meet Crowe, he’s now dedicated his life to raising his youngest son, having at this point messed up with four previous children. The many facets of parenthood is something that shows up in Hawke’s later body of work many times, in projects as wholly different as Brooklyn’s Finest, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Maggie’s Plan, First Reformed, and even his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness. In each of these projects, decisions made by Hawke’s characters have a big impact on their children’s lives. These films explore the financial pressures of parenthood, the quirks of blended families, the impact of absent fathers, and even the tragedy of a father’s wishes acquiesced without question. Hawke’s take on parenthood is that of flawed men always striving to overcome the worst of themselves for the betterment of the next generation, often with mixed results.

Where Juliet, Naked showed a potential arc of redemption for a father gone astray, First Reformed paints a bleaker portrait. Hawke plays Pastor Toller, a man of the cloth struggling with his own faith who attempts to counsel an environmental activist whose impending fatherhood has driven him to suicidal despair. Toller himself is struggling under the weight of fatherhood, believing he sent his own son to die a needless death in a morally bankrupt war. Sharing the story, he says “My father taught at VMI. I encouraged my son to enlist. It was the family tradition. Like his father, his grandfather. Patriotic tradition. My wife was very opposed. But he enlisted against her wishes. . . . Six months later he was killed in Iraq. There was no moral justification for this conflict. My wife could not live with me after that. Who could blame her? I left the military. Reverend Jeffers at Abundant Life Church heard about my situation. They offered me a position at First Reformed. And here I am.” How do we carry the weight of actions that affect lives that are not even our own?

If Peter Weir set the father figure template in Dead Poets Society, and Paul Schrader explored the consequences of direct parental influence on their children’s lives, director Richard Linklater subverts the idea of a mentor-guide in Boyhood, showing both parents are as lost as the kid himself. When young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) asks his dad (Hawke) what’s the point of everything, his reply is “I sure as shit don’t know. Nobody does. We’re all just winging it.” As the film ends, Mason sits atop a mountain with a new friend he’s made in the dorms discussing time. She says that everyone is always talking about seize the moment—carpe diem!—but she thinks it’s the other way around. That the moments seize us. In Reality Bites, Troy gets annoyed at Lelaina’s constant need to “memorex” everything with her camcorder, yet Boyhood is a film about capturing a life over a 12-year period. The Before Trilogy checks in on Jesse and Celine every nine years. Hawke’s entire career. in fact, has captured his growth from an awkward teen to a prolific artist and devoted father, a master of his craft and philosopher at heart.

#ethan hawke #boyhood #before trilogy #before midnight #before sunset #before sunrise #reality bites #first reformed #dead poets society #a bright ray of darkness #film writing #film essay #musings #oscilloscope laboratories

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eirikaanemo · 3 years ago

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Venti falls in love with an Inazuman rebel. The rebel has no vision, but what they do have is a belief that everyone has an inherent right to live freely. How does Venti know about this rebel in the first place? I honestly have no idea...

Visionless Visionary

Venti x GN!Reader

1.8k Words

Warning: Minor character death mentioned, prayer (if that bothers you)

Disclaimer: I knew next to nothing about Baal when I wrote this, so it may not be an accurate representation of her character.

Inazuma is a mess. That is just a fact now. Baal has suddenly become violent and a danger to her people. So many had done nothing but hold a vision she had bestowed upon them in the first place. And because of that, she struck your cousin down. You can still remember the thump of his lifeless body hitting the ground and the steady tap, tap, tap of Baal’s shoes as she walked away.

She seemed completely unaffected by her actions. You were anything but. The scene played over and over in your nightmares for weeks, and continues to haunt you. So when the rebellion reached out to you for support you were happy to assist. You found out he had just joined their ranks and that’s why he had been targeted.

However, you don’t have a vision so there’s only so much you can do. Of course they always welcome financial support and you gave it to the best of your ability. But you knew there had to be more you could do. So you spoke to some people and it was agreed that you would go to Mondstadt and position Barbatos for his support for your cause.

He hadn’t been seen in centuries, but he was the god of freedom, right? If anyone could help them, it would be him. So with the rebellion’s blessing you took your savings and made the long journey to Mondstadt.

Finding lodging was fairly easy. The people of Mondstadt were more than willing to help you. Especially once they found out what you were there to do. ‘Such a great and admirable cause,’ they said. ‘May Barbatos bless you!’ And all you could do was hope he did.

You prayed every morning and every night for help for your people. The heavens seemed quiet, but you didn’t let that dissuade you. Surely your sheer persistence would make a difference, you reasoned. And so you kept on.

One night, rather early on, you ran into a bard not long after your evening prayer. He had been not too far from the statue and you were captivated by the beauty of the song he played. It was ancient Inazuman and for just a moment you were able to forget and be caught up in the memories of better days.

When the song ended you were disappointed and tried not to pout. Judging from the laugh the bard let out when he saw you, it must have still shown on your face. “Did you like the song?” He asks. “I know I didn’t play for long. Would you like to hear another?”

“I would love to,” you admit. He smiles and simply starts on another song, this one also of Inazuma origin. From there he transitions into a more Mondstadtian style, singing The Ballad of Freedom. You know it well, as it’s a favorite of many of the rebels. As the last note fades he turns back to you.

“What brings you here, I wonder. Has it to do with your country being torn asunder?” He inquires.

“Yes,” you reply. “I’ve come to ask Lord Barbatos for his assistance in our cause. We fight for freedom from Baal, who has become nothing but a tyrant. As for me personally, well, she killed my cousin right in front of me. Her only reasons being the vision she bestowed upon him herself not many years ago and his belief that what she was doing was wrong. No one should have to suffer that.”

“Indeed, it seems you have a need. Your cause is just and swords you thrust. But the archons don’t just help everyone, so prove to him you’re worthy of some.”

“But how do I do that?” You question the cryptic bard.

“You’ll see in time, dear friend of mine!” He winks and you find your face warming. “Though I have a question if you don’t mind. Is the assistance you’re seeking a vision like mine?” He taps the glowing turquoise vision sitting on his belt by his hip.

“No,” you shake your head. “After what happened to my cousin, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with a vision. For me they’ve been nothing but trouble.” He nods in understanding.

“I see how that would be. I must take my leave for now, we’ll see each other later anyhow.” And he’s off into the night.

He’s right that this is far from the last time you see him. And he’s right that you start noticing the tests that Barbatos has set before you. More and more people seek your help in one thing or another, especially since the one they call “honorary knight” left to Liyue. There’s much to do, but you’re happy to help them.

Eventually you stop helping them because it’s a test and start helping them because you want to; because it’s the right thing to do. You help Lisa organize the library. You help Barbara clean the cathedral. You help Amber keep watch. You help Venti with his performances from time to time. You stand in for Diluc’s barkeep while he recovers from an illness.

Days and days have passed and your relationship with Venti grows and grows. You notice more and more things about him that you rather like. His laugh. His eyes. His hands. His music. His sense of humor. His optimism.

Really, everything about him is amazing. You try to deny it at first. But you know deep down that you’re falling in love. And you’re seeing some hints that he might be too. Lots of them, because he’s started flirting with you almost constantly.

However, as your relationship grows, your hope dwindles. It’s been weeks! You’ve helped so many people and have prayed so many times. And yet you have not received an answer. Not even an acknowledgement that he has heard.

When you express your concern and discouragement to Venti, he is very concerned. “I’m just not sure how much longer I can stay,” you explain. “While I would hate to return empty handed, I can’t stay here forever.”

“Try just one more time, for me?” he asked you, looking a little guilty despite not having reason to be. It’s not like he was keeping Barbatos from speaking with you. As if he could sense your hesitance he sweetened the deal. “If you do, I’ll give you a kiss!” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and flashed you a mischievous smile and you felt a warm blush bloom on your face.

“Alright,” you grumble good-naturedly. “I’ll try one more time.” His resulting cheer and more cheery smile were nearly enough to have made you do it by themselves.

That night you approached his statue, feeling unreasonably nervous compared to the nights before. “Lord Barbatos,” you prayed. “I seek thy assistance for my people’s cause. We seek the freedom thou dost represent. Someday may we all be free to live our lives reasonably, but as we please. This is my vision, my hope. Please, if it be thy will, let thy winds be not still. Guide us to better days, for this is what I pray.”

You stay there for a long moment, waiting. Then, the wind picks up and you hear a voice from it. It seems vaguely familiar but you can’t quite figure out why.

“Your diligence and passion for your cause has secured my blessing,” the winds whispered. “My winds will be at your back and support your cause. However, if you accept a vision despite your fears, you will be able to do far more. The wind will whisper secrets to your ears. All plans spoken will be carried to your ears.

“You need not fight with it. Trust in me, that I will not strike you down for accepting this gift. In your time here in my home I have found you to be a friend to us so I will be a friend to you.”

You feel tears come to your eyes. “I accept,” you whisper. This will be incredibly valuable.There’s no way you could turn it down. And this is the kind of god you can trust and accept a vision from. He is as kind, generous, and benevolent as his people.

After a moment of silence, the winds calm and a gleaming turquoise vision lies before you, dangling from a necklace like a pendant. It’s smaller than some others you’ve seen and is hidden easily when you slide it over your head and under your shirt. That will be invaluable when you return to Inazuma. It would be most suspicious for you to return with one after everything that’s happened.

You take another moment to catch your breath and wipe the tears from your eyes. Then you take a particularly deep breath to steady yourself and make your way back to Venti. “How did it go?” He asks, and you smile in response.

“It went very well,” you said, pulling the pendant out to show him your new vision. “Now we match! Now… I believe I was promised a kiss?”

The smile on his face at your teasing words could have lit up a room, if you were in one. He took your hands in his and tugged you closer gently before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It was a pleasant kiss, chaste but lingering and sweet.

He giggled at the face you made when he pulled away. You joined it, adding your laughter to his. Between the blessing and his kiss you felt like you were on top of the world. Then you remembered something that brought you down from your high.

“Venti, you know this means I have to leave now, right?” You inquire.

His face fell to a serious and thoughtful expression before it softened and he sent you a small smile. “Yeah, I know. You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” you respond softly. “I love you too.”

He nods. “Then I’ll wait for you. So don’t take too long, okay?”

“Of course, I’ll do what I can,” you reply.

Your parting is sad, but hopeful as he waves you goodbye until you’re so far away that he can’t see you. He sings nearly nothing but sappy love songs for the next week. He misses you, but knows you’ll be back. His winds won’t let anything happen to you after all.

When you return to Inazuma you find that all the rebels with anemo visions had their power boosted, the ships sailed swifter with the wind behind them, and the information the wind brought you gave you many victories. The struggle was still difficult, but the help you had obtained made a serious difference and soon enough you were headed back to Mondstadt.

You are headed home. After all, home is where the heart is.

tag list: @clouds-rambles

#eirika writes #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader

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ahtsumu · 4 years ago

Text

again and again and again ; ushijima wakatoshi

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

synopsis: every august 13th, a void opens in your chest. the universe is one sick bastard.

tag(s): soulmate!au, very angsty, equally fluffy, reincarnation!au, prince!ushijima, rebel!ushijima. android!ushijima, dad!ushijima, pro-volleyball player!ushijima ; warning(s): lots of death n dying, suggestive themes, light profanity ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday ushi!!! inspired by cloud atlas and the raven cycle but you don’t have to have seen either to understand this fic. tbh it’s just a bunch of different au’s tied together by the strings of fate lol. a thousand thank you’s to @dorkyama for beta-ing!

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

It’s another August 13th and Ushijima Wakatoshi might die today.

Glumly, you push away the plate of breakfast in front of you, cross your arms over the new space, and rest your forehead down as if in front of a grave.

“Please,” you beg with eyes shut. “Let Ushijima Wakatoshi live today.”

(You’ve whispered this phrase infinite times–– so often that it has a home in your mouth like a cavity.)

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON, 2012

When you first meet Ushijima–– the first first time–– it’s evening and you’re lost in a meadow somewhere in Washington. Where exactly doesn’t quite matter and, even if it did, you wouldn’t be able to remember. At least, not at this moment. Because you see something most peculiar.

Under the half-lit sky, in the glade of overgrown sweet vernal grass and marigolds and daisies, a figure stands paler than the moon overhead.

The body belongs to a young man dressed in a sweater and slacks. His dark hair parts on the side, stopping right above a pair of firm dark eyes. Thin lips press in a perfunctory line, sharp nose radiates an aura of authority.

And yet, he looks lost.

“Hello?” you call out. The boy doesn’t respond, only continues to hover in the middle of the clearing with the same confounded expression on his face. So you ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest and inch closer until you’re just feet away, shivering. It’s a strangely cold day for July, you think.

“Can you tell me your name?” you ask. Seconds pass in silence as he stares past–– no, through–– you. With your thudding heartbeat and shallow breaths still the only sounds in the meadow, you realise that you may have to try something else.

Gently, you touch the pads of your fingers to his shoulder. A fresh wave of ice floods through your veins, raising goosebumps all over your skin. More curiously, though, your fingers fall through said shoulders. It feels like plunging your hand into a bucket of ice.

Eyes wide, you lunge backwards. A ghost?

No, ghosts aren’t real.

(If that’s the case, then what is he?)

At your touch, the boy’s head jerks up. Life floods his gaze. Blinking, he says, “Ushijima.” His voice is low and smooth, but quiet. Firm. He looks around the meadow as if seeing it for the first time.

“Is that all?”

Ushijima’s focus returns to you, this time with the addition of furrowed brows. His eyes are fixed on you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s reading your soul.

“That’s all there is.”

A million questions race through your mind and before you can decide which to ask first, his incorporeal figure vanishes from the meadow.

And you’re alone again.

Oddly enough, the way back to your aunt’s house comes naturally to you. Once inside the ancient wooden manor, you realise that the feeling that guided you back was the same that had led you to the meadow in the first place.

Then, you wonder, had you truly been lost?

Aunt Risa’s an eccentric woman in her thirties, always yabbering on about Mercury in retrograde and events that are yet to happen. Grandma had been the same. Clairvoyance, or what everyone claims is “clairvoyance”, supposedly runs in your family. You wouldn’t know, though, because apparently it skipped your mother. Coincidentally (or not), she’s extremely proud of her normality. And she’s also extremely proud that you, supposedly, are normal, too.

It’s safe to say that you don’t see your mother’s family often.

Still, she sent you here from New York to “connect with your roots”. And even though you know that’s a cover for “raise hell somewhere else for one summer”, you let yourself consider that it means getting acquainted with the mystic mumbo-jumbo you’ve ignored all these years. After all, nothing normal can explain what just happened in the field… right?

Good thing Aunt Risa isn’t normal.

“That’s Glendower’s Meadow you were just in,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. “Lies atop a very powerful ley line.”

Ley lines, you learn, connect places around the world through electromagnetic forces. They are also able to transcend time, gravity, space… all forces that cannot be seen.

Aunt Risa adds that they do more than just connect places. “Soulmates countries apart can step on any point in the same line to see each other. It’s been said that the power ley lines emit is so strong that even soulmates worlds and years apart can meet in these little pockets of energy. Guess it tides you over til you’re destined to meet.”

Somehow, everything she says makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Soulmates? Magic? None of this is real, is it?

“Now,” she continues, “it’s odd that you can use ley lines, though. Remember how you couldn’t tell a black jackal from a swan the last time you read tea leaves?”

You frown. At seven years old, you hadn’t exactly been trying.

“I guess there is something supernatural about you! You can’t deny how magical it is to have a love that transcends lifetimes…”

You don’t hear the rest of what she has to say. “Lifetimes?”

“Yup. Soulmates are the only people in this universe who go through reincarnation. The Universe is a hopeless romantic, letting her children fall in love again and again and again.”

And this explanation satisfies you because you’re sixteen, a little naive, and the Universe has never failed you before.

(She will.)

July passes in a honeyed haze: you spend every day with a content curve to your lips, thinking about a boy with eyes and hair dark as night.

Aunt Risa doesn’t have the heart to tell you that she’s seen his future in this life. And when you step out the creaky wooden door for the last time, ready to go back to the bustling jungle that is New York, she calls out to you with an expression you don’t yet recognise. “Don’t you worry, hun. You’ll see that Ushijima boy again.”

But not like this.

You’re about to get out of bed and dress for the first day of school when an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler runs his driver’s black SUV off the road. Ushijima Wakatoshi dies on August 13th in his timezone.

As it happens, you feel a strange sense of loss settle in. It’s like you’d been driving on the highway and just missed the last turn home.

(You’ll learn in the next life that you, in fact, do not have the gift of foresight. But you do have the curse of memory.)

PARIS, FRANCE, 1749

The year is 1749 and sunlight pours through the windows of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s second-floor bedroom.

In this life–– your second life–– you are a brilliant composer. The Universe, as you’ve guessed, follows no rules, no directions. Doesn’t even spare a glance at a linear timeline. Or perhaps, it’s time that isn’t linear. Either way, you try not to think about things out of your control. Life is good now.

At the sound of your fingers waltzing across ivory and ebony, Ushijima slowly sits up in the king-sized, soft linen sheets falling to reveal his chiselled torso.

“Good morning,” he rasps, a content smile tugging at his lips. “You look enchanting as always.”

The melody stops. Between the lid and music rack, your eyes meet–– his gentle, yours mirthful. “You flatter me,” you deny with a cheeky grin. Still, you rise (wearing his robes, Ushijima notes) from your seat and stroll over to your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I live another year just for you.” Ushijima really means that–– in fact, he believes with his whole heart that he was made for you and you him. There’s no other way to explain how your bodies mould so perfectly together, how you understand each other without even speaking, how time feels like it doesn’t exist whenever you’re around. Your meeting at Duke La Trémoille’s ball could only have been the work of Fate’s nimble fingers.

(It was. A ley line runs underneath the Duke’s family château.)

You hum, thankful that this time you have the privilege to love him as he lives. Your last life was spent agonising over the only memory you had of him. “And what does this day have in store for the man of the hour?” The words that leave your lips morph into bubbling laughter as he moves aside on the bed and pulls you into his embrace. Still giggling, you kiss his bare chest, relishing in how secure his arms feel around your waist.

“Mother is hosting a ball tonight in my honour,” he says. That you are not invited to, he doesn’t add. He doesn’t have to, though, because you know that she doesn’t approve of you. Not being French is the main reason why, but there’s also the fact that you’re a musician. A talented, accomplished, royally recognised musician, sure, but that doesn’t change how at the end of the day, all you have to your name is inked paper.

And Ushijima Wakatoshi is first in line for the throne of France.

“Ah.”

It’s hardly fair for you to feel slighted–– you knew what you were getting into the second the Crown Prince, notorious for his aloof nature, invited you to Versailles to perform for him and his friends.

(In his defense, Duke Tendou had forced his hand by threatening to throw a fit in front of the Queen, but only after he’d seen the painfully restrained wonder in the prince’s eyes.)

Still, you yearn for something more.

Ushijima feels your body stiffen in his arms and knows the moment has soured. “You can never be Queen of France,” he murmurs into your neck. Shivers crawl down your spine the same time tears prick at your eyes. “And I can never give you a throne.” It’s not the throne you yearn for.

“I know.” You curse whoever the lucky girl will be. And you curse Ushijima for reminding you that she will definitely not be you.

“I can only promise you my heart.” He presses his lips to the side of your neck. “My undying devotion.” A kiss to your exposed shoulder. “And my soul in every life we meet.” His hand slides under your chin and turns your head towards his. Soft lips move against yours while the pads of his fingers wipe away the tears that had spilled over your cheeks.

“Toshi, I must say that the literature tutor your mother hired is doing a marvellous job,” you murmur once you pull apart.

A short breath of amusement leaves his nose. “He’s only polishing a gem that already exists,” Ushijima counters.

You smile slyly, another witty remark ready to launch from your mouth, when three sharp knocks at the door cause both of you to freeze.

“My friends, the Devil approaches.” Tendou’s faint voice travels through the opulent front door.

Sighing, you slide off the bed and tug your day dress on. Without being asked, Ushijima ties the laces in the back together. “Tell your mother I said hello, won’t you?” you tease, kissing him deeply on the balcony.

“I’d prefer not to think about my mother with your lips pressed to mine, darling,” he replies.

You giggle softly, and with one leg dangling off the balustrade, say, “And careful not to wear yourself out dancing, Toshi. Expect a visit from me later.”

His sonorous laughter rings through the air as you jump and land deftly on the freshly cut grass below, running the whole way back to your humble apartment in the eleventh arrondissement.

Regrets of not sneaking into the ball will burn into your brain after Tendou arrives at your door later that evening with a faraway stare on his face.

Towards the end of the ball, Ushijima Wakatoshi is led away from the dance floor and into the gardens by his scheming younger brother Goshiki.

He doesn’t return. The beloved Crown Prince of France dies on his twenty-first birthday with a dagger in his chest and poison in his veins.

With two lives under your belt, you reach the cruel understanding that in every life you live, August 13th is the day that Ushijima Wakatoshi dies again and again and again.

In a sense, memory is foresight.

NEO SEOUL, 2144

Tomorrow, the Union Revolutionary Group exposes the government for their crimes against your people.

But tonight, your head rests against his chest–– a habit you picked up sometime after Germany, 1943, even though you are presently in Neo Seoul, 2144. To be honest, you’re not sure if it’s even 2144. Neo Seoul’s calendar isn’t like the one you went through your first few lives with and you’re certain one year here is equivalent to two back on the Earth you knew… or something like that. Either way, every August 13th passes under your nose without detection. Every day passes uneasily, because although you never truly know when anyone dies in any life, you really don’t know when he will in this one.

But hearing Ushijima’s heart beat firmly manages to take the edge off yours. Every pulse is a murmured confirmation that everything is still okay.

You jerk back when he stirs from sleep. Disorientated, Ushijima blinks at your dimly lit figure before registering that it’s you. A confused expression crosses his features. What had you just been doing?

“Is everything alright?” His voice is raspy with drowsiness but he sits upright against the headboard anyway.

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.” Nothing ever slips past him–– at least, not when it comes to you. Still, you bite your lip and contemplate if it’s worth mentioning. Three years of working alongside the renegade Commander (and hundreds more from other lifetimes) have taught you that words of comfort do not belong in Ushijima’s vocabulary. But it’s the night before you, the only known freed Fabricant working with the Union, are going to expose the Unanimity’s enslavement of Fabricants to all inhabitants of Neo Seoul. And…

“I’m scared, Wakatoshi.”

He thinks you’re talking about tomorrow. His eyes dart to the holographic digits floating throughout his room. 12:02 AM. You’re talking about today, then. He’s not wrong–– you are afraid of today. But you’re also afraid every day.

Ushijima pauses, wondering what to say. He’s never felt fear the same way others do. Others might only see a myriad of ways they can fail or die but he simply sees a chance to prove himself. A chance to emerge victorious. “If you let yourself be scared,” he says, “then you lose without fighting. Fear is a wasted emotion. Even at your last breath, you should never be afraid.”

As you mull his words over in your head, a section of your hair falls in front of your face. Ushijima’s fingers twitch. Would it be too much to––

“Then what should I feel instead?” He stills.

The question hangs in the air, thickening until the spacious room feels suffocating. Normal people–– people you knew a couple of lifetimes ago–– would probably say something like “love” or “hope” or even “don’t”. You think Ushijima might, too.

But when Ushijima speaks, he says, “Feel right now.”

A shift in the moonbeam pouring through your surrounding glass walls casts a muted glow over your features, breaking through the darkness of the room. Ushijima’s olive eyes flash and fall to your shining lips.

His Adam’s apple bobs. Anticipation bubbles in your stomach.

You think that you might die tomorrow. He might die any day. What are you waiting for?

Feeling a fiery rush of blood surge through your veins, you close the distance between your bodies until the tips of your noses touch. Gently, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, feeling his pulse speed up under your fingers. He instantly reaches out, grips your waist firmly. Hot, uneven breaths fan across your face.

“What––”

“I know it’s forbidden between Fabricants and pure-bloods,” you breathe out, “but––”

Ushijima nudges his lips against yours. They move stiffly, unsurely, but it’s sincere. It’s his first kiss and it’s your… you’ve lost count by now. It doesn’t really matter, though. Past, future, or present, every one of his touches feels new.

Both of you might die tomorrow. But tonight, you both are so very alive.

And when his heart pounds, unmuffled, bare against yours, you are reminded to live now.

Twenty-one hours later, a laser beam whizzes past your ear.

“Go faster!” you shout over the wind, tightening your arms around Ushijima’s waist. “We have to get to the broadcast station now.”

“I’m trying,” he grits out, pressing his foot harder against the hoverbike’s pedal. You speed up, but only a little. “Fuck. Remember what I taught you about the laser pistols?”

“Always aim a little higher than you want to.” From the mirrors on the side, you see the corners of his lips quirk up. You reach for the gun in his belt.

Not a single police officer remains on your tail when you step foot into the broadcast station.

“We don’t have much time, miracle girl,” Tendou, a fellow Union soldier, says once you arrive. He punches the elevator button. Instantly, the chute opens. “Cameras have picked up on at least five Unanimity squads headed our way from the city.”

The sinking feeling that today out of all days might be August 13th suddenly weighs on your stomach. A shaky breath leaves your mouth.

Ushijima stops you before you can step in. Cupping your face with his large hands, the brunet gazes deeply into your eyes. “I believe in you,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” His fingers brush against your cheekbones. You let your eyelids close, relishing in this stolen moment between two new lovers.

Ushijima presses his lips against yours, kissing you as if he’s trying to carve a message into your bones. He whispers his conviction one last time before stepping back and allowing Tendou to push you lightly into the elevator. The thought that Ushijima’s words allude to more than just faith nudges your brain as the two men grow smaller in your sight.

Halfway through your revelations, the Unanimity cuts through the metal doors of the station. Behind the glass panels encasing the radio room, you watch the shootout begin. Every bone in your body screams for you to join your comrades, but you remember what your orders are. No matter what happens, do not stop the broadcast. If the truth doesn’t come out now, the Union will have sacrificed everything in vain.

You will your voice to steady when Unanimity soldiers take out the Union soldiers hiding behind Tendou’s barricade.

You will your hands to unclench when Ushijima deftly slides over his squad’s barricade and tosses a plasma grenade towards a cluster of enemy soldiers, then picks off the survivors with his Union rifle.

You will your breath to endure when the brunet is blown back by a grenade tossed by another squadron. Ushijima’s cranium collides with the floor. His body stills; blood red as cherry wine pools around his head like a cruel halo. Swallowing, you push forth. You’re a soldier.

But you can’t help the way your throat dries or hands shake or lungs tighten when you see his head turn ever-so-slightly in your direction.

He smiles in his last breath.

(The Archivist asks if you loved Ushijima before you are taken away. You tell him you always have, do, will.

The Unanimity guillotine doesn’t scare you like you think it should. Knowing what and who waits ahead, it feels more like a kiss to your neck.)

QAASUURI, 3003

As you step out of the metal carriage, the ground beneath you begins to vibrate. This, as you’ve learned, can only mean that you are standing atop another ley line.

Olive eyes stare at you impassively when you look up. A dazzling array of awards and medals is pinned to his chest over a white military uniform. Compared to all the other soldiers around him, you gather that the deep purple cape over his shoulders means he’s someone important. Possibly your betrothed? You briefly recall another lifetime in which he’d been the crown prince of somewhere, and you, by a spectacular stroke of misfortune, had only been a composer then. Fighting back a smug grin, you muse that this time, you are a princess.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, Captain of the Qaasuuri Royal Guard, at your service,” he says with a low bow. “King Washijou appointed me to ensure your safety during your courtship with the prince, your highness. These are trying times, especially with the war against Ibis.” Your heart falls. So it’s one of those lives.

Mustering the warmest smile you can, you curtsy and say, “Thank you, Ushijima. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

You do.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But nothing about him feels artificial. He is as real as he was in Berlin. Atlantis. Cairo. Camelot. Hanoi. Olympus. Tallahassee. He feels as human, too.

You get to relearn the way his cheeks flare up when you call him Toshi and not Ushijima for his first time (force of habit)... and every subsequent time (at your pleasure).

You get to relearn his wry humour, how every-so-often his stony demeanour breaks after one of your quick jabs, usually in response to his agonisingly blunt remarks. (“You should have brought a coat, princess,” he notes with disapproval when you shiver in the chilly spring air. You promise him that you look better with hypothermia than in any Qaasuuri coat. An amused breath blows out from his nose. And though he doesn’t say a word more on the subject, his white jacket over your shoulders speaks more than enough.)

You get to relearn how his hands feel on your skin. The first lesson is your mistake: missing a step down the spiralling staircase on your way to dinner. Automatically, his hand grips your arm to pull you back. He uses a little more force than necessary, though, and tugs you into his firm chest. Neither of you can look at each other for the rest of the evening. The second is his mistake: reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you read in the palace library, somehow knowing it’s one of your pet peeves. Both of you freeze when his fingers accidentally brush against your cheek. Ushijima thinks he’s never felt skin softer than yours–– you think it’s been too long since he last touched you.

The third is neither a mistake nor just one of your doings. It happens on a cool autumn evening as the two of you walk through the palace gardens with your hands dangling haphazardly at your sides, knocking against each other again and again as if begging for an opening. Finally, you acquiesce. You slip your hand into Ushijima’s cold palms. And though nothing shows on his stony face, his heart whirrs like an overheating engine for the rest of your walk. He doesn’t let go until the iron palace comes back into view.

“We should stop,” he pants between fervent kisses, “before this gets out of hand.” You nip at his neck. “You’re betrothed to the prince––” you suck on the skin between his collarbones and throat, drawing a low groan from his lips “––and I can never give you a throne.”

You pull back, knees on either side of his waist, and stare down into his eyes. “I don’t want a throne.” Ushijima watches you with rapt attention. Sometimes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he remembers. Slowly, you repeat his words from lifetimes ago. “I only want your heart.” An unreadable expression crosses his face. “Your devotion.” It’s not recognition. “And your soul.”

It’s conviction.

By now you’ve seen many breathtaking things: entire cities built from ice, the end of the ocean, a Venusian sunrise. None compare to Ushijima Wakatoshi with his pupils blown wide, hair tousled, lips flushed. Red with love.

None compare when he promises, “You have that and more.”

A pause.

“Show me.”

With an effortless flip, Ushijima’s muscled body hovers over yours, olive eyes flashing wildly in your dim chambers.

Amid fast breaths and guttural moans, amid steely olive eyes and parted lips, amid the subatomic space between your bodies, you feel it cloak your skin like armour.

Love.

(The Ibis storm the Qaasuuri castle one month before the wedding. Ushijima fights the invaders valiantly, superhuman modifications undoubtedly being of help. But there’s just too many of them. The last thing he tells you is to run. The world burns when you look over your shoulder, only to see a Ibisian sword drive through his heart.

The Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But they still bleed the same.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2018

The oldest you ever witness him live to is thirty-two years old.

It’s the morning of August 13th and you walk into the kitchen to the sight of Ushijima Wakatoshi lifting your daughter up into the sky, spinning her little body around in circles, the pancakes on the stove slowly bronzing to a mouthwatering shade of gold.

“Mommy!” she giggles when she sees you. Leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, you watch your husband set your daughter back down on the ground with a soft smile on his face.

“Sleep well?” you ask, ruffling her hair. She nods happily and bounces back to the stove. Her latest obsession has been cooking in the kitchen, though you’re not sure when exactly she moved on from “potion-making” in the backyard.

“Morning,” Ushijima murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you tease, leaning into his chest. As the words leave your mouth, the sunny morning haze cools into desaturated blue. But it’s been thirty-two years, you reason with a hard swallow. Maybe the cycle has broken. Your eyes dart to your daughter’s little figure on the stepping stool, her small hands gripping the spatula flipping a bronzed pancake over to its pale side. How would she…

You steel yourself, though a small fissure can’t help but open in your heart from the force.

She isn’t your first child and she won’t be your last. Time, you’ve learned, likes to play games, likes to set you on the same storyline again and again just to see if another ending will show itself. There will be more tomorrows and more yesterdays. There always is.

But that doesn’t make todays hurt any less.

Ushijima tilts his head to the side, olive eyes peering into yours. “Is everything okay?” He never misses (or missed) anything–– not when the two of you were heisting in Switzerland or revelling in Alexandria like Dionysians, not when you were crammed in the same codebreaking room during World War I or sailed across the Atlantic to your doom in 1912. Not now.

But you’re tired of carrying each bygone lifetime into the next. Willing yourself to forget the fact that you’ve seen him die again and again on August 13th, you put everything into the lie that slips your teeth: “More than okay.”

You choose to cherish the present.

“Order up!” your daughter exclaims, proudly presenting the plate of pancakes to you and Ushijima. “I even made one shaped like a heart for Dad for his birthday!”

With a grin, you come closer to inspect the heart-shaped pancake. “Excellent work, sous chef!” you compliment, tapping her nose lightly. It’s sharp like her father’s. She, however, inherited your eyes. You turn around to face your husband. “What does Head Chef Ushijima think?”

Smiling softly, he takes the plate from her hands and, without a second look, says, “It’s perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Breakfast passes in a blur of laughter and honey.

(You think you have gone through another August 13th unscathed when night falls and all of your friends exit through the cherry wood doors of one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants. On the car ride home, however, your white SUV swerves to avoid a deer in the road and flips once, twice, three times.

You wake up neither a mother nor a wife.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

A subtle sigh of relief exits your lungs when Ushijima Wakatoshi enters through the front door at 12:01 AM, red Team Japan suitcase in hand. He’s back from the airport. More importantly, he’s alive.

“Did I make it?” he asks with an upturned corner of his mouth. His olive eyes are half-closed from the exhausting transatlantic flight and his muscles are still a bit sore from how vigorously he played the game against Argentina (Oikawa’s team, for god’s sake)... but he’s here.

And he can’t be any happier.

You know that he’s talking about the time, probably hoping to joke that coming home to you is the best birthday present he can imagine. In that regard, he technically hasn’t made it.

And yet, you leap into his arms and press kisses all over his face as you repeat “yes” again

and again

and again.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagines #ushijima fluff #ushijima angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! scenarios #hq!! scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #hq!! imagines

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pillowfort-social · 4 years ago

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Hi Pillowfolks! It’s time for a Pillowfort Community Update. It has been quite a while since we’ve done one of these. If this is your first time here: The Community Update is where we let you know what Staff have been doing behind the scenes, happenings within the community, and a preview of what’s in store for the platform.

Community Stats:

As of May 11 2021, Pillowfort currently has over 118,000 registered users and 8,600 Communities.

Welcome New Users!

Welcome to Pillowfort. We are so glad you are part of our community. If you haven’t yet, check out the Pillowfort101 Getting Started Guide.

Public Release Update

It's so good to be back. We missed you so much. Please check out the 4/29 Site Update for a complete list of Security Revisions & Improvements.

Despite opening free public registrations in January, our team has decided not to re-open unlimited free registrations again for now. Instead, we will be introducing an automated rolling waitlist in the upcoming months. What this means is we will allow a certain number of new registrations per day and anyone who signs up for this waitlist will receive a free Pillowfort registration key when space is available. The ability to join via paid keys & user invitations will also still be available. This is simply a third option for people wanting to join that allows our site to grow in a more controlled manner. By switching to an automated rolling waitlist we can allow the Pillowfort community to stay fresh and active while also ensuring our team can keep pace with the demands of maintaining & providing for our growing user base. Our developers also want to focus on optimizing our site during the remainder of the year. Further details are available in the Developer Update below. Finally, we want to take the time to rebuild trust with the Pillowfort Community that our platform is reliable. First impressions are important and we’re aware we let a lot of users down. Nonetheless, we are encouraged by the enthusiasm we’ve seen for the site’s return, and we appreciate everyone who still believes in us.

Developer Update

After a successful re-launch of our platform at the end of April, our team held a meeting to discuss our current developer pipeline and what we would like to complete by the end of the year.

In the interest of continuing to create a positive experience for both current and prospective users, we are going to continue to focus on the site’s long-term success by refining our existing features and making structural improvements to the site that will improve performance. Going forward, this means more of the updates pushed to the site will go towards the platform’s structural integrity and these changes might not be visible to front-end users, but we will be doing a lot of work behind the scenes to set the site up for long-term success. The good news is that when this work is finished, it will allow us to begin the initial preparations of exploring the possibility of a mobile application to be released in 2022.

The exploration of a possible mobile application does not replace our priority into making Pillowfort more mobile browser friendly. We're not going to compromise out content policy for an app store.

In addition, we do still have some exciting things coming up for users to enjoy, such as the site-wide UI redesign which is nearing completion! Our goal is to have it live on Pillowfort sometime during this summer. The other features scheduled to be developed & released in the next few months include: improved blocking options, two-factor account authorization, multiple account linking, post queue & drafts, and organizational improvements to Communities.

Bug Bounty Update

We are still offering a Bug Bounty. If you find a bug on the site, particularly one that could pose a threat to the security or functionality of the site, contact Staff through our Contact form or directly at [email protected]. If you are unsure if we received your report, send us a DM to the Staff account here, or DM one of our social media channels to check on the status.

Note: We sometimes do not receive all notifications from users on other social media. DMing the Staff account on Pillowfort to check on the status is the preferred method.

The first individual to notify us of a certain issue will be eligible for monetary compensation, depending on the severity of the issue found and the information provided.

We will be updating our Terms of Service within the next few days to add more formal details about our Bug Bounty program

Help Us Keep the Lights On!

At Pillowfort, we do not receive any funding from venture capital or other outside investors because we are committed to keeping our user experience a priority, and not being beholden to outside interests. Pillowfort has been entirely user funded since the beginning. Because users are no longer required to pay for a registration link, we are largely dependent on donations to help us pay the bills. If you would like to support us, you can make a one-time or recurring monthly payment to Pillowfort to help keep the lights on here. Any money donated to us now will be applied as a credit to your account when we release paid features & benefits in the future.

Interact with Pillowfort Staff, ask questions, plus learn about upcoming features and more on social media.

Pillowfort: Staff

Facebook: Pillowfortsocial

Twitter: @pillowfort_soc

Tumblr: pillowfort-social

Instagram: pillowfort.social

Coming Soon

Here is a look at the new features scheduled to be released sometime in 2021. The following list is not in any particular order.

Improved Blocking Options

Complete Site-Wide UI Redesign

Queue & Drafts

2 Factor Authentication

Linked Account Management

A Special Thanks

Thank you for your support the last several months. We express our gratitude every chance we get because this platform wouldn’t exist without your help. Pillowfort does not seek corporate investments, so it is entirely due to the generous financial support of our users that we were able to hire a consultant and keep paying our developers & fees while the site has been down. No amount of words written here can convey how wonderful of a feeling it is to return to working on developing a safe space for our entire community to share & create the content they want to create.

We’re going to do everything we can to rebuild trust with our community in the upcoming months with more transparency, more focus on improving Pillowfort’s current features, and improved communication with our user base. Stay tuned.

Best, Pillowfort Staff

#pillowfort #pillowfort updates #pfcommunityupdate #pillowfort community update #pillowfort.social #pillowfort.soc

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 3 years ago

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Jung Kook: “I think we’d better not ever stop”

We asked Jung Kook to draw anything he wanted for the photoshoot. The photos featured in this article are snapshots while Jung Kook was at work. Even when the photoshoot was finished, he left the studio only when he completed his drawing.

“Butter” has been at the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart for six weeks straight. (This interview took place on July 12) Jung Kook: I was never attached to rankings, but as good as it is and as happy as I am since we’ve kept setting records since “Dynamite,” it also feels like a burden.

Is it because you’ve been successful beyond anything you could’ve imagined? Jung Kook: Sort of. A huge number of people have given me recognition, so I’ve been going along thinking I have to work harder, but we did even better with “Butter” than with “Dynamite,” so I think I ended up feeling weighed down. That’s what I’m like. BTS is an amazing team, but maybe my problem is that I’m not able to keep up with BTS.

You were the one to set the mood for “Butter” by singing the intro to the song. Didn’t that make you feel good? You were definitely as amazing as the team itself. (laughs) Jung Kook: “Butter” just feels so good. It’s different from our usual style, so it felt different while recording. The song’s great, too. I love that, but it’s separate from that feeling of pressure. I mean, I hope BTS does even better, honestly. Lately I’ve been thinking that that pressure means I need to do better. After “Dynamite” became number one on the Billboard Hot 100, it’s not like we’re being forced to try harder; it’s just my personal ambition. I think I can do better.

Why do you think “Dynamite” wasn’t as satisfying? Jung Kook: Because I couldn’t express everything I wanted the way I wanted to. When I listen to the remixes, I think about how I could’ve sung it differently. Like, “Aw, man! If only I could do it again!” (laughs) I got some things from singing “Dynamite,” like, I’m not quite there yet. So I try to practice singing at least an hour every day, no matter what. Any singer who’s been at number one on Billboard for six weeks had better be really good at singing. That’s what I think.

Something about the way you sang in English probably made you hear your own singing in a new light. Your tone is different from when you sing in Korean. Jung Kook: Sometimes you have to bear down a little on your words to talk in Korean. Plus I’m from Busan, so I speak in a little bit of a low voice. I don’t have that when I use English, though, so it’s like there’s pros and cons. It’s easy to use your head voice when you sing in English as well, but it can be uncomfortable, while in Korean, if you try to sing higher using your head voice, it can sound a bit nasally sometimes. But at the same time, it can be hard to break old habits when I sing in English since I’ve always been singing in Korean.

“Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance” are all English songs and you were in charge of the introduction for all three. It seems like you put some thought into how to create different impressions for each song. Jung Kook: “Butter’s” really bouncy, as you know. It’s a little deep, it’s got a driving beat, it’s rhythmical. And before I record, I listen to a recording with guide vocals, and then when I go to record, I have to keep all these characteristics in mind and mix them together with my own style properly in this subtle way. I think it’s seriously an intuition. (laughs) I had a hard time when we were recording, obviously, and when I first did it, my voice didn’t sound right, so I had to keep looking for the right voice. I think the most important thing is to really nail the voice you want to use first, and so is figuring out how to make it your own. In “Permission to Dance,” for instance, I sang it more the way I wanted than the style the guide vocals had.

How do you come to that kind of conclusion? Jung Kook: Everyone’s voice has to sound different, so it can be overpowering if I copy the guide too much when I sing. So sometimes I follow what I’m thinking of exclusively. I was thinking about how I should sing the first part of “Permission to Dance,” and when I went to record it, even Pdogg, the producer, told me, “It’ll work best if you go with your own voice, your own style.”

What effect does listening to so many other artists’ songs and analyzing them have on you? Jung Kook: The more I listen to music, the more my vocals change. It really changes a lot when we get a song and listen to it and practice it. I guess you could say my vocal cords are always readying themselves for improvement when I practice. (laughs) And improving while I record, and just improving any time I sing. But there’s also times when it suddenly doesn’t sound right when I try it the way I want, so I just give it a try, or I quickly look up other vocalists and listen to their songs or ask some of the older artists. Doing that helps me find a certain voice I’m looking for.

You sang uncannily similar to SUGA when you briefly sang his part in “Life Goes On” over V LIVE, even though your voices are different. You’re quick at picking up on the characteristics of others’ vocals. Jung Kook: I used to rely on that a lot. Like, I can hear [the characteristics in their voices] at least. (laughs) Now, though, it’s like, Oh, [I] guess I shouldn’t do it that way. You can safely assume I’ve heard a countless number of other singers’ songs. Then I would think a lot about how I want to sing, thinking how those other singers would sing, before making my own voice. I carry over those people’s voices and vocal patterns and think about how it would sound if they sang in this room, then I think about how it would sound in my own voice, and then sometimes I can make my voice sound similar if I try to.

It seems like it was important for you to find your own style for the performances as well. Not only were the three English songs different from your earlier work, but there were also a lot of parts in “Butter” that you could only perform through gestures and facial expressions. Jung Kook: Before “Butter,” I just worked really hard, and had fun doing it, in whatever way I wanted but starting with “Butter” I think I managed to do things in a more thought-out way. I was more attentive to my facial expressions and movements and thought through what I should do in each situation in each performance to do it in my own style. And it was kind of a fun process. I don’t feel any pressure about that; I just thought I can create that kind of image if I just try to be a little cool and not cringey (laugh) for people from now on.

What image do you want people to have of you, as an artist? One that says, This is who I am as an artist right now. Jung Kook: I don’t think I’m at the level where I need to worry about that yet. I have a general idea about what kind of singer I want to be and what I want to be really good at, but I don’t think I’ve ever imagined defining myself as a certain type of singer yet. Because it’s an ongoing process, when I can prove myself, then, bam!—I give proof and become a truly influential person, only then can I go around saying, This is the kind of singer I am. For now, I don’t have anything, I guess you could say, “substantial” to show off. I think, Even if I’m part of BTS and tour stadiums, does that automatically make me better than other artists? And then, by thinking so, I center myself again.

Couldn’t you be a little softer on yourself? Jung Kook: No. I have to think about the future many times throughout the day. For example, sometimes I spend a whole day doing whatever, but whenever I do, I regret it severely. So I promise myself that I’ll get this and that done. That’s how I live, because if I don’t think that way, I won’t jump into action to get anything done. It’s like the title of our song, “Life Goes On”: the treadmill just keeps on going, and we’re on it, so I always think, I’d better not ever stop. I can express myself better if I think while I talk, and I can organize my thoughts while reflecting back on what I said. I try to think about everything in that way. I think I need to improve, whether it’s at singing or my hobbies—more than now, better than now.

Are you doing particularly well with any of your hobbies these days? It seems like you got a little better at painting, judging by your vlog. Jung Kook: I think I’m getting better overall, little by little. My vocals are where I’ve definitely improved lately. And bowling! (laughs) I learn how to paint by watching videos on YouTube. I think I’m good at picking up skills by emulating others. I’m actually not good at learning things. (laughs) I just like to do what I like to do and I naturally learn from the people around me, I guess. And I think the things I really want to learn are still the same: singing, English, exercise.

Learning from other people and wanting to do better is a form of recognizing who you can compare yourself against. Are you at all influenced by the other members? You’ve talked a lot about how much you’ve been influenced by the six older members. Jung Kook: I think I started paying attention to people other than myself after I moved to Seoul and met the other members. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, but I do notice them now. It’s like I really started to see myself for who I am from that point on.

That makes me think of when you talked about seeing the sights in Seoul for the first time on tvN’s You Quiz on the Block, the way you got to know the feelings the outside world can give. Jung Kook: The first time I saw the streets of Seoul, they were enormous. I was really worried, since I’d just come to Seoul, and I got to know myself because of the change of environment. I think it was the very first time for me to think for myself, and it became the starting point for me to get to know myself.

When you took some candy you liked from the BTS pop-up store, j-hope said you were still the same from when you first met when you were 13 years old. Do you think you haven’t changed at all compared to back then? Jung Kook: In some way I must be better or different on the outside, but I’m sure there’s still things about me that are the same as when I was 13. I learned how to be considerate towards the other members and how to understand them because I fought with them occasionally, but nobody’s going to stop me if I take candy. I take it like I always did. Like when Hobi and I fought over a single banana. (laughs)

But what’s changed about you, then? Being a member of BTS must have had an effect on your view of the world. You sought understanding from your vegetarian viewers when you were eating meat in a salad on V LIVE before. Jung Kook: I thought to ask because I know that many people abroad, and in Korea, too, are vegetarians. It’s one of the things you learn when you tour around many different countries. Obviously I don’t know about every single country’s culture or personal identities or choices, so even though I have a long way to go, I think it’s important to respect them based on what I do know.

I think you must know that you’ve had an influence on a lot of people. Partway into your V LIVE, you talked about how you couldn’t find any of the kombucha you drank before anymore because it was all sold out and you thanked your fans for giving a little help to small business owners. Jung Kook: Restaurants aren’t doing well and there’s a lot of closed-up shops in the markets now, as you know. So if I’ve had an effect on even one person, it’s been worthwhile. And sometimes the people I’ve had an influence on go on to make donations, too. There could always be someone who takes advantage of the things I say or do, but I’m confident a lot of people will use them for good.

This influence is something you’ve crafted with your fandom, ARMY. I imagine you’ve been influenced not only by the other members but also by ARMY since you were young. Jung Kook: There’s a lot going on inside a concert venue: the lighting, the stage, the floor, the stage design, the video projected on the screen. Plus there’s the music, the dancing, and us. Even if they’re all in balance, ARMY has to be there to complete the scene. When it comes to our concerts, ARMY are the ones who bought the tickets and they’re the main characters. I think everything we focus on comes back down to ARMY. We share in each other’s feelings and they’re the source of our strength, and I think they have synergy with us. It’s not enough to just say ARMY and us like each other, or that we love each other. There’s definitely more to it than that. It’s, well—I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. (laughs)

I think you need ARMY to be there at the concert for you to fully realize the concert you’re aiming for. Jung Kook: Yes, exactly! Even if everything’s set up and we’re in front of the camera, if ARMY’s not there, it’s a completely different concert. Even when ARMY’s there and there’s a live camera broadcasting it, I’m like, There’s a camera? Sure. Obviously I care about it when I have to say hello to ARMY sitting on the other side, in front of their screens. Other than that, I get all my energy from all the ARMY sitting right in front of me. That’s how much they mean to me. It’s completely different.

The concept for BTS 2021 MUSTER SOWOOJOO was similar to being in concert with an audience. It must’ve made you think of ARMY even more. Jung Kook: I’m seriously good as long as I can perform. I can put on more and more concerts in the space of a year if we’re touring. I felt it more profoundly this time since we couldn’t perform with an audience. Wow, I really took things for granted all this time. I should’ve done more.

You must be disappointed. It’s your time to shine as a vocalist and as a performer. Jung Kook: (sighs) I, well, I really need to hurry up and make a mixtape, first of all. (laughs)

How’s your mixtape going? Jung Kook: I was working on it just before I came. But it’s hard! (laughs) I could just make it about myself, and then it would be like, I started as a trainee when I was 13, I worked hard, and found success. But anyone could do that. So I keep thinking I want to make up my own original, complex story and write the songs from there. Billie Eilish’s debut album left a big mark on me when it came out, in that respect. And it’d be nice to have a cohesive flow to the tracklist, but even if it’s all jumbled up, that’s fine, too, as long the good songs keep on coming. That’s sort of what I’m thinking. So these days, rather than focusing on the album’s story as a whole, I’m just going to write whatever it is I want to say in each song. If I get that feeling right after listening to a track, I’ll try and make it. And I’m going to try to make it a little bit light-hearted.

It can’t be easy for you to concentrate on it if you’re making it here and there between all your other work. Jung Kook: It’s fine if it takes a really long time—it’s just hard to work on it in pieces. I mean, if I stay up late working away at it, it’s hard to get through the next day. (laughs) I stayed up all night again last night and slept between appointments today, but I’m still going to keep working like this today and then go work on my mixtape again anyway. I’ll do my best to release it as soon as possible. I want to write and record a lot of material.

s there anything about yourself, other than your work or concerts, that you want to show to ARMY as an individual? Jung Kook: I want to show them, that, umm … Just my real self, Jeon Jung Gook. That I’m fairly easy-going, very honest, and nothing special.

What kind of person do you think you are now? Jung Kook: I’m, I’m a, lazy … person. (laughs).

You’re being very hard on yourself. (laughs) How could you be lazy if you’re a part of BTS? Jung Kook: No, I really am lazy. (laughs) If I were alone I’d probably miss a lot of my appointments. (laughs) But I have to avoid making any mistakes when we function as a group. I’m really lazy, and—oh, I overthink things sometimes. I think more than people might expect, and I do things my way. Plus, even though I don’t care what other people think of me, I kind of still do. (laughs) I have no idea. I’m sort of goofy—? But I’m also trying to live a full life—I’m that kind of person. (laughs).

Thank you for the interview. Oh, by the way, I liked your “Butter” fan cam. Your moves were really agile. Jung Kook: Really? Do you think I’ve gotten better? (laughs).

#bangtan #jungkook #m:weverse magazine #210726

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haikyuu-appreciation-club · 4 years ago

Note

hi taylee! can i please emergency request some haikyuu!! characters comforting an s/o who has had a really bad week and just needs a really long hug and to cry? maybe with yachi, kita, kuroo, and yamaguchi?

if you’re uncomfy writing any of those characters i also love asahi, tsukki, daichi, and iwaizumi as a backup! <3

thank you.

- Yachi, Kita, Kuroo, & Yamaguchi Comforting Their S/O After a Bad Week -

warnings: a few cuss words???

genre: comfort & fluff

a/n: excuse how shitty these are, i haven’t written hcs in a vv long time sooo i’m rusty :( i hope they bring you comfort none the less <3 also i apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes

- Yachi -

yachi could tell that this past week had been rough on your part

the struggles you had been going through recently were clearly written on your face, yet she was nervous to approach you about it

she was scared she would do something to make your situation worse or say the wrong thing and end up hurting you more then you already were

however, when you arrived at her house with tears crawling down your cheeks she knew that her fear was inferior to what you were going through

as soon as you stepped foot through the door she gently gripped your hand and pulled you to her bedroom, the familiar scent of her perfume filling your senses as you down on her soft sheets

she immidently sat beside you, bed dipping to accommodate for her small figure as she wrapped her arms around your neck in an embrace

taking this as an invitation to indulge in her presence, your own limbs immidently found their way to her waist, burying your face into the crook of her neck and letting your tears flow freely

as you sobbed, she whispered soft words of comfort, thin fingers gently making their way through your hair in attempts to calm you down

soon enough your breaths slowed to a steady paced, tears long since dried and now staining your cheeks as yachi placed a soft kiss to your forehead

“i’m here if you wanna tell me about whatever’s bothering you. Oh, but if you don’t that’s okay too! i just wanna make sure you’re comfortable-”

a soft laugh escaped your body as you pressed a kiss to her lips to put a halt to her rambling

“i appreciate it, but i don’t think i want to talk about anything just yet.”

she nodded in understanding, shooting you a smile before grabbing your hand and gently tugging at it

you quirked an eyebrow at her antics before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and following her footsteps towards the bathroom

as soon as the two of you reached the doorway, she walked in front of you and dug through her bottom drawer, eventually pulling out a tube of overnight face masks and an applicator before eagerly shaking them in front of your face

a grin found its way to your face as you playfully rolled your eye and walked further into the restroom

yachi giggled in delight and patted the bathroom counter, insinuating for you to have a seat

once you did she unscrewed the lid of the face mask and let some of the product fall onto the applicator before tilting your head to the side and placing gentle strokes upon your cheekbones

she repeated the same the movement all across your face as she rambled on about a show she had been watching earlier and how the main character reminded her a lot of you

you smiled as the words flowed past her lips, meeting your ears like a sweet melody that you’d never get tired of hearing

the two of you soon switched places allowing you to return the favor and apply her face mask, listening to her laugh as she claimed how cool it felt upon her soft skin

after the two of you had finished, you took some silly pictures in the bathroom mirror before walking back towards the living room

you strolled over to the couch to pick out a movie as yachi sifted through her pantry for some snacks

the rest of the night was spent snuggled up by your girlfriend, laughing at the movies in front of you as the both of you stuffed your face with snacks

being in her company felt like a breath of fresh air after being buried by everything you’d been going through and in that moment, you couldn’t be more greatful for the girl sleeping soundly beside you

- Kita -

kita had noticed your disheartened state right away but he didn’t exactly make it a point to bring it up to you or ask about it

he figured that you would come to him with whatever was burdening you on your own time so he opted to giving you some space

but when you came walking through his front door on the brink of tears he knew that you needed him in that moment

he rushed over to your broken figure as you collapsed into his embrace, immediately letting your fingers find their way to grip his shirt as kita’s hands lightly tugged your head against his chest

you sobbed for what felt like hours, allowing yourself to let go of all the pent up emotions you’d previously held as kita soothingly rubbed a warm hand up and down your back

once you’d your wails had reduced to nothing but sniffles, kita pulled you away from his grasp and used his thumb to wipe off the remaining tears that clung to your cheek before cupping your face in his hands

“do you want to talk about it?”

you shook your head, too exhausted to replay the events that had been piling up this past week to your boyfriend

kita nodded in understanding before pushing himself off the floor and reaching a hand out to help you up

you gently gripped his hand in return allowing him to pull you up and guide you towards the kitchen

it was neat and tidy, just like the rest of kita’s home but the one thing that stood out was the small pile of dishes that sat next to the counter

it may have seemed strage to other’s but kita always saved one chore in the house for the two of you to do together when you visited

it was one of the ways he enjoyed bonding with you and reminded him that he’d be able to do these things with you for the rest of your lives

he lead you over to the sink before placing a soft kiss to your cheek and turning on the warm water from the faucet

you smiled over at his as he handed you a dish and the two of you began to wash the remaining silverware that had been left

it was comfortablely quiet at first, the sound of water running and sponges scrubbing were the only noise that filled the atmosphere

but soon enough silence turned to small chit chat which turned to laughing and giggling as you dried the dishes together

although your week had been absolute hell, being able to spend time with the one you love definitely made up for it

- Kuroo -

kuroo had always had a knack for reading people so when everything began going downhill for you, he noticed quite quickly

he knew this week had been giving you hell, watching as you strung yourself very thin as you tried your best to juggle the numerous bumps in your road

it hurt him to watch you become so overwhelmed, especially as you sat on his couch, scrolling through your phone with a quivering lip in attempts to not cry in front of your boyfriend

he sighed as he sat himself down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and tugging you into his chest

“Quit doing that.”

“Q-Quit doing what?”

he looked down at you with a soft smile adoring his features before placing a kiss to the top of your head

“Acting like you can’t let yourself cry in front of me”

at that, one blink was enough to allow the tears you had been holding back to run freely down your cheeks

kuroo held your head in his hands as he rocked you gently back and forth

his body was warm, and the way you swayed in his embrace reduced your hiccups and cries to nothing but soft whimpers

the two of you sat for a moment in each other’s arms before you heard a chuckle escape kuroo’s lips

he untangled your arms from his torso and cupped you cheeks in his hands before squishing them together and beginning his main method of cheering you up

“You are, my fire..”

“Testuro-”

“The one, desire..”

“Testuro i swear if don’t stop sing-”

“Believe when i say, i want it that way.”

he stood up abruptly and extended a hand out to you before skipping over to the chorus

you laughed as he dramatically serenaded you, providing an entire performance to see you smile

at the end of the day, you knew your boyfriend would forever be by your side, even if he was a huge dork

- Yamaguchi -

yamaguchi had his suspicions about your decline in mood

you tried not to openly express how the hardships of this past week had affected you but he could see through the front you put up

it broke his heart that you were going through a tough time but he didn’t exactly know what to do to make you feel better

you hadn’t reached out to him or given any obvious hints that you were struggling so he didn’t want to jump to conclusions or make you feel as though he was being overbearing

but on your walk home from school one day, as tears were threatening to spill from your eyes, yamaguchi pulled you to the side and wrapped his arms tightly around you, deciding he couldn’t let you go through things on your own any longer

“y/n, is everything okay?”

you shake your head as tears start to spill from your eyes, timidly returning his embrace as you clutch into his sweater

he felt his own share of tears pooling at the brim of his eyes as he traced random shapes into the small of your back, pressing an occasional kiss to your shoulder

once you had calmed down, yamaguchi intertwined his fingers with yours and dragged you down the path opposite from the direction you normally headed home

“tadashi, where are we going?”

“you’ll see.”

after a bit of walking, and yamaguchi humming one of your favorite songs along the way, the two of you reached a nearby convenience store

you looked at yamaguchi in confusion earning a chuckle and a wide grin from your boyfriend as he pushed open the door, holding it open for you as you walked inside

the two of you walked to the snack isle where yamaguchi began to pick up some of your favorites snacks earning a soft smile from you

“babe, what are you doing?”

“um, well i figured we could get some snacks and then watch that show you’ve been wanting to see? only if you’re up for it though.”

you began to tear up once more at his considerate actions before pulling him towards you and catching his lips in a loving kiss

you knew in that moment that as long as you had yamaguchi by your side, he’d be able to show you light in even the darkest of times

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