#but something i know i want is specks of green in his eyes at almost all times | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starrystevie · 1 year ago

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rating: mature; 18+ only | cross posted on ao3 here

"truth or dare?"

steve's looking at eddie expectantly while he waits for his answer, his eyes wide and cheeks pushed up from the grin pulling at his lips. he's shirtless from past dares and eddie's trying hard to not look at the hair covering his chest, to not look at the way his scars have faded into a pretty dusty pink, to not look at the flexed muscles in his arm from where it's slung over the back of the couch and he's definitely not looking at the way the movement pulls his pec up.

they aren't high enough for this, not drunk enough for it either, but he feels intoxicated. maybe that's just what being around steve harrington at 2am does to him. it makes him stupid.

"...truth?"

steve's grin grows wide enough to challenge even the cheshire cat and eddie knows that truth was the wrong choice. see? stupid.

the hand on the back of the couch tightens and eddie can feel the way it pulls the cushion under his back, the fabric creasing against his shoulder blade. steve's leaning in a tiny bit closer, same wild grin on his face, and eddie feels himself stop breathing. he tries to remain calm, tries to keep an even expression on his face, but when steve harrington is in his presence, it's harder than it seems.

"okay... truth," steve's close enough that eddie can see the specks of green in his eyes and he tries to focus on that instead of how he can almost feel breaths that aren't his own on his lips.

"what's your biggest turn on?"

whatever breath eddie attempts to suck in gets stuck in his throat and turns into a cough forcing steve to pull away cackling. he isn't in eddie's face anymore but he can still feel him, can still sense the barely there exhale on his face, can still only see steve green behind his eyelids.

"what the fuck, dude?!" is all he can get out. his palms are sweaty so he rubs them furiously over his jeans, scowling at his fingers when they get stuck in the small rips.

steve is laughing at the other end of the couch but his arm is still settled over the back of it, creating the most delicious tension on his chest. he looks broad like this, broader than eddie's really ever seen him. and with his hand across the couch and his legs opened just slightly and his bare chest on display and his bright white teeth glinting in the dim moonlight he looks-

he's hot.

he looks like the old steve, all cock-sure and suave, like he knows he can get absolutely whatever he wants. it does eddie's head in. is he what steve wants? is he why steve looks like he could jump on anything and everything that came his way? is he why steve thought he could ask him about his turn ons as easy as if he was asking about the weather?

"i don't have-"

"oh bullshit," steve says with a flick of his free hand. "everyone has one, man. what gets you all hot and bothered?"

eddie tilts his head up with a scoff. "why do you want to know?"

"consider it your average every day bonding." he says it like it's obvious, like all guys do when they sit around and play sleepover games like they're kids again is talk about what they like in bed.

but eddie's drunk on steve in 2am moonlight and can't help himself for giving him everything.

"i like dirty talk."

he'd always give steve everything.

steve's grin shifts into something borderline feral that has eddie vibrating under his skin. he moves his hips and settles back into the arm of the couch, leveling eddie with his gaze. his eyes are heavy when they look at him and eddie feels glued to the spot.

"oh yeah?" steve's inflection sounds exactly like what eddie craves for and he's afraid that he's shown all his cards already if steve was able to pick up on it that fast. "like what?"

he rolls his eyes if only so that he can take them away from watching steve's muscles contorting as he shifts on the couch. it's not hard to get eddie in the mood, that's the embarrassing thing. his limited experience before he learned about alternate dimensions and things living under hawkins didn't exactly help his case. he didn't exactly have guys throwing themselves at him as a social pariah covered in still healing scars, either.

so steve looking at him with those eyes and that grin and without a shirt for god's sake? not helpful.

"i don't know, i just-" his mind supplies images that gets his cock stirring. a certain king of hawkins under him or on top of him or right behind him whispering things in his ear that he had never really thought about before.

"-i just like hearing the effect i have on them, i guess."

and then without warning steve is moving. he's up on his hands and knees and is leaning into eddie's personal space again, his face close enough to eddie's that he can see that damn green in his eyes again.

there's still a bit of space between then but not nearly enough that eddie isn't effected by it. steve's pinkie is brushing his thigh and his cock that was already interested just thinking about the sounds steve could make is stirring even more awake under his gaze.

"you like hearing you're doing good?" steve questions. eddie sighs. "you like all the moans and stuff?"

all eddie can do is nod, afraid that if he speaks that he'll do something embarrassing like say he wants to pull whatever sound out of steve that he'd let him. suddenly, steve's pulling away minutely to get his mouth close to eddie's ear, breath coming out in puffs against his skin.

"oh fuck," steve huffs out, voice pitched high and dainty. feminine. "oh, oh eddie, it's so good."

eddie grips his hands onto his knees like they're the only thing keeping here on planet earth as steve moans in his ear. his cock is starting to grow, whatever blood that was left in his head heading south fast and it's leaving him dizzy. from up close, he's sure steve can see what he's doing if he was to look down. he's wearing sweatpants that don't exactly hide anything, after all.

the sounds steve are making are all light and pretty like he's going off of his own experience and eddie has the fleeting thought that it's what girls sound like under him. that some girl has been pressing up close to steve's chest and had her pretty pink lips up close to his ear as he fucked her into the mattress. but oh, if eddie had the courage he'd tell him. tell him that he doesn't want to hear some girl, some stranger.

he wants to hear steve.

"you gonna take care of that?" steve's voice is back to somewhat normal, a bit raspy and deep, and it floods through eddie's veins like molten lava. he doesn't remember closing his eyes but he peels them open and turns his head to look at steve. he follows his gaze and sees that they're both looking at how turned on eddie is. he doesn't have enough blood left in his cheeks to blush but he would if he could.

"steve, that's wei-"

a hand wrapping over his knee stops him mid sentence. "not weird. do it. i want you to."

eddie gulps even though his throat feels drier than it's ever been. steve's fingers tighten and he jerks his chin up to urge him on and fuck, he knew he'd always give steve whatever he wanted.

"can you just," eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth as he drops his hand to his waistband, fingers teasing under the fabric. "sound like you, please?"

the silence feels palpable. he can feel every place that his clothes are touching him, every place that steve is touching him, every place his breath has fallen on him that evening. he has half a mind to take it back and tell him he was joking, to pretend like he's some girl again and eddie could get off on that, too. he could at least try, especially if it was steve.

but then- "eddie, fuck."

steve's mouth is close to his ear again, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear as he groans into it. his voice is pitched deep but it's definitely undeniably steve. he shifts onto his knees so he can drape his arm behind eddie once more. not touching, but there and as eddie's hand slips under the fabric to grip at his cock, they both let out a sigh.

"yeah, there you go. gonna touch yourself for me, hmm?"

"shit," eddie groans out as his hand trails over his weeping cock. he brings his thumb up to gather a bit of the precome that's dribbled out of the top and rubs it between his fingers before gliding them down his length. steve's panting these little sounds into his ear that mirror eddie's own moans. when he sighs, steve sighs, when he whines, steve whines.

it's like he's touching himself to get steve off, too, and isn't that something to think about? them laying side by side with each other's dicks in their hands, stroking just how the other likes to get them off. he'd watch steve's face, speed up when his eyes open and slow down when he's close. he'd buck his hips into steve's steady grip, swallow the moans he pulls out of him so they echo through his body. it'd be heaven on a mattress or hardwood floor or ratty couch in a ratty trailer.

"got me all hard in my jeans, eddie." steve breathes out and eddie can't see is he's lying or not but it sounds true and eddie briefly wonders if steve should go into porn with those acting skills. "the way you look with your hand in your pants, jesus, it's a sin. all flushed and hot and, god-"

if steve keeps it up, eddie is going to be done way faster than he wants to be. his hand speeds up when steve lets out a particularly loud moan in his ear and then there's a brush of denim against his arm and wow, steve was in fact not lying. his hips keep jumping up to get pressure against eddie's forearm and the long line of steve's cock is teasing him.

"steve," he whines out, "are you..."

"of course i am," he laughs against eddie's ear before sneaking a tiny kiss to his temple. "you're so fucking hot, dude. been wanting to do this for too long. too long, oh my god."

his hand that was on eddie thigh moves up to unbutton his pants and slides under his own waistband and eddie takes a moment to slow his strokes as he looks up at steve. he looks like a greek god in grungy trailer lighting, chest shimmering with sweat and puffing with heavy breaths. he's grinning down at eddie and he feels like he could float away.

"think i'm hot, stevie?" he says on a shuddering breath as he hits a spot on his cock that he immediately goes to find again. steve smirks before his eyes roll back as he gets a hand on his own dick.

"so hot, so fucking-"

he's cut off by a moan and eddie sends up a silent thank you to the universe that they have the trailer to themselves for the next few days because eddie needs to pull more of those out of him. he needs steve on his back and on his cock and in his mouth and on his fingers and every which way he'll let him have him if it means he gets to hear more of that.

"gonna get my mouth on you soon enough, gotta know what you taste like. gonna get you down my fucking throat..."

steve's brought his mouth back down to eddie's ear and is grunting like he's running the race of a lifetime while he tells eddie what he wants to do him. says truths of his own outside of the now forgotten game, secrets laced with some of the most romantic things eddie's ever been told. tells him how pretty he is, how good he is, how he's imagining eddie's fingers on his cock and on his skin and how he's close, close, close.

knowing he's effecting steve this much, knowing he has this hold on him that he thought was one sided, knowing that he's racing through steve's veins like he's racing through eddie's, it's too much.

"i'm... fuck- i'm gonna," eddie's hand speeds up and the hand on the back of the couch comes up to tangle in his hair. there's a pressure pulling him back until he's looking at the ceiling for a second until all he can see is steve and the flecks of green he's come to love.

"it's okay, i've got you, come on. let me just-"

their first kiss is shared on a ratty couch in a ratty trailer with their hands in their pants and come covering their fingers. eddie's mouth is open enough that he's moaning into steve's and the hand on the back of his head is twitching while he comes. they pull apart enough that eddie can hear what they sound like as they work through their orgasms together, can hear what steve sounds like as he works himself down.

he's going to get that on a record someday, he tells himself. it'll go platinum.

and just as quick as it started, it's over. only this time steve's snuggling up next to him and using his clean hand to stroke over the exposed skin on eddie's stomach instead of returning to the opposite end of the couch. their chests are heaving as they try and regain their composure and it feels like bliss until steve laughs.

it's like an ice bucket being poured over him and he wishes he didn't love hearing steve so much because he's afraid that the laugh will haunt his memories for ages to come. steve must feel him freeze up because the hand on his stomach circles around his waist and pulls him even closer so he can nuzzle his face into eddie's chest. it starts to settle the nerves that had wound themselves around his insides.

"i don't know if you could tell," he starts, voice muffled against eddie's flannel. "but i've been wanting to do that, this, for ages."

eddie snorts. "you've wanted to make me jizz in my pants for ages? really? low standards even for you."

steve snorts out a laugh in return. "no, you idiot. i've wanted to be able to do this for ages."

he tilts his head up and places a featherlight kiss to eddie's lips. it's soft, it's sweet, it's the opposite of everything that happened not two minutes prior. eddie feels a smile tugging at his mouth and pulls back to see steve smiling, too.

"does this mean..."

there's no words, no definition that eddie can put to the events of the night that don't sound silly or juvenile. but then he sees steve settle back down, pressing a kiss to right over his heart before laying his head down where it was.

"... that we're doing that again? absolutely. just maybe in a bed next time."

and maybe they don't need a label. maybe all they need is laying on a couch with come cooling in their pants and echoes of what just happened bouncing off the trailer walls. maybe all they need is a promise of later sealed with a kiss and their heartbeats in synch.

and maybe, just maybe, they'll play truth or dare again.

#defintely did not beta read or whatever so ignore any and all typos pls #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steddie smut

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revelboo · 1 month ago

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I just want to say I absolutely love your writing, especially the Starscream pet ones. They're so cute and comforting! Please, keep up the amazing work!!

Thank you! At some point, I’ll gather up all the disjointed bits into a more coherent fic. A lot of the Soundwave x Reader and the non-Lost Light Megatron x Reader goes with the Starscream snippets. They’re just not necessarily in the right order since I’m using Tumblr to quickly jot down scenarios as they occur to me.

Everything is Alright Pt 12

Starscream x Reader- stars

• Outside. Fresh air smelling faintly of pine and green things. And, most importantly, outside. Keeping a palm pressed against the warm metal flesh of Starscream’s neck, you tip your head back fighting a grin. The moon’s just a sharp sickle, but there are so many stars overhead. Little specks of beauty amid the darkness. After staring at the four gray walls of Starscream’s quarters for who knew how many weeks, the stars are even better. Before, you’d never bothered to really look. Now you can’t tear your eyes away.

• “Stop squirming. You’re going to fall,” Starscream snaps as you just breathe and enjoy it. Because this field trip will end with you right back in Starscream’s quarters as something you’re not sure of. A friend, a pet, a captive? All three? Who knew. But right now? You’re free. Sorta.

• “Likelihood of falling: sixty-two percent,” Soundwave adds from where he’s trailing behind Starscream, having invited himself along from what you can tell. When you adjust your grip so you can lean back and glower at the other mech, he just stares impassively right back. “Seventy-four percent.”

• Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out, you know his worry isn’t exactly misplaced. When you’d pled to not be carried cupped in Starscream’s palms, you’d underestimated how hard it would be to keep your balance on a moving surface. Every time he stops you almost pitch face first off his shoulder. While you’re almost certain he’ll catch you before you hit the ground, you’d rather not find out the hard way.

• Primus, but you can’t be still? Denta grinding, Starscream slows to a stop, hand lifting in case you almost slide off. Again. The overlook is far enough out they won’t be spotted by humans or Autobots, a secluded place he’d discovered completely by accident and a place he visits while on patrol. Where he can just be without the war looming or being on guard. Normally. Venting as Soundwave looks around, he toys idly with the idea of trying to shove the other mech off the cliff.

• Your little hand is warm and soft on the protoarmor of his neck distracting him as you slowly stand up on his shoulder. He watches you, your face tipped up toward the night sky, skin limned in ruddy light from his optics. “Where I lived in town, there were streetlights,” you say, soft voice drifting over him. “I couldn’t really see the stars.”

• There’s a wistfulness in your words, that stings. Makes him wonder if under all those smiles you give so freely, you resent him for keeping you. If the tables were turned, he’d idle away his time in plans of escape and revenge. “Yes, well,” he murmurs, aware of Soundwave nearby listening. Looking for weakness he can exploit, no doubt. “Good behavior should be rewarded.”

• Ah, there it is. Those gruff words make your smile falter. He hasn’t brought you here because it was a nice thing to do, but because he’s reinforcing good behavior. It shouldn’t still hurt, but it does. Because maybe you were thinking of him as a friend. That just maybe he thought a bit more of you than just a pet. Or a bargaining chip. And there goes your heart, racing even as it cracks just a bit. How were you so stupid? Of course you’re not friends. How could you be?

• Venting softly, Starscream almost misses the soft sound of your breathing change. You’re still staring at the stars, but you’re leaking now, moisture streaming silently from your eyes. Lost, he glances at Soundwave, because this is new. And he doesn’t like it at all.

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#transformers #starscream x reader #idw starscream

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softshuji · 3 months ago

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𝟖:𝟑𝟎𝐏𝐌 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎

Title: August Rain

Summary: Mikey tends not to celebrate his birthday, and on the one day he allows himself to, he gets more than he bargained for. Happy birthday to my prince! Reblogs appreciated as always.

cw: fem!reader, all of Bonten make an appearance, Sanzu being insane, mentions of marriage and divorce, explicit violence and bad language, use of guns, both suggestive and explicit mentions of sex, some painful angst because Mikey is a sad boy :(

Mikey lets the others take him on his birthday. He knows they enjoy it, whatever remains of this ragtag group of men, the Haitani’s and Sanzu, Kakucho driving, and him in the passenger seat. There’s been a lot of fuss, he knows. Venues decided and paid for, Ran preparing the evening for the few of them, smiles all around because they want him to feel like for one day, maybe everything else matters less.

It's a cold August all things considered, the kind that has them taking out coats rather than jackets, hoods and collars pulled up to their ears.

They chatter, and Ran elbows Rindou in the ribs, to which he hisses and Sanzu laughs, genuinely this time, the fine striped waistcoat bulging from where the gun presses against the linen inside. Mikey’s lips twitch, the frame of white hair falling against the window and the evening’s first rain trickling towards the mattified black metal of Kakucho’s expensive car.

‘Can you keep it down? I need to concentrate,’ he says and shifts into gear, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbow and a lean on the seat as he reverses out and into the open city.

But they bicker, incessantly, and Mikey, maybe this time, isn’t perturbed by the sound of their voices permeating the wind whistling through the open windows, Ran’s baritone voice that’s deep underneath the music.

He chances a glance back, as if he’s watching the trees disappear and whiz past the sunroof, the orange flare of evening sun bleeding through the green and Rindou catches his eyes, softens, just a bit, and smiles before turning to his Brother.

And Mikey almost feels something as the moment passes quietly.

He thinks of all of them as they drive, coming out on a day off to enjoy the day, a request he never asked for, but appreciates anyway. Rindou and his Brother, Sanzu too, whose Wife is expecting their first child, the others and their lives marred by the weight of their loyalty to him. It should be easy, to not care for them in some way, when he knows what they’ve done, both of their own volition, and for him, all the blood that has led them here, bones and lives added to the pile underneath his feet. Koko, whose Wife is sick and still needs him, juggling the responsibilities of Fatherhood alongside it all, Rindou and the messy and complicated divorce with the Woman he still loves despite what she’s done to him and Kakucho, still grieving for a love that never really ended.

‘Boss?’

Mikey twitches, his cheek leaning against his open palm, a quick pull from his reverie as they turn onto the highway. ‘Hm, yeah?’

Kakucho spares a glance, his eyes flashing as they flit to the side, one hand braced on the wheel. ‘You okay?’

He deliberates, and turns to the window, where the shadow of the trees has the buttery sunlight falling over the ivory of his skin, and behind it, a greying cloud encroaching over the trees. The window is open from the top and the evenings first few specks of rain fall on his forehead, an icy chill that calms the flush of his cheeks in the warm interior of the car. ‘I’m fine Kakucho,’ he says and it is clipped, as it usually is. But they never mind, and Kaku only nods as he turns to the road again and presses a foot down on the gas further, the looming neon lights of a bar spilling over the horizon’s edge, a sharp line against the slash of darkening clouds.

It had been Ran’s idea in the end. Hushed whispers that had passed from person to person, Sanzu eventually coaxing the idea forward a few days back. There’d been an uncomfortable silence, and Mikey had watched them in turn, a hopefulness they were so quick to repress because they expected him to say no, to push, to resist.

I don’t see why not, it’s only a few hours.

And maybe the Haitani’s had smiled at each other from across the mahogany table and Takeomi had lit a cigarette and said he’d meet them there on the day and the air had felt a little lighter, a little clearer when they left the room and Mikey was alone with his thoughts for company again.

There has been anxiety on his part, and he ponders this when he exits the car as they pull up on the side and he pulls his coat collar up to cover a part of his neck and face, the old habits coming to bite at him with every gentle lash of the quickening rain. It’s been…months since he’s last stepped out and it surprises him that the world hardly changes during these bouts of self imposed isolation. The people still walk aimlessly, eyes glued to smartphones, conversations held over earpieces, toddlers wailing in parks, mothers shushing them and fishing for pacifiers in handbags. He wonders if the world should be different just because he is no longer the man from twelve years ago when he’d left you to venture out alone, a conversation had in a park that honestly could be any one when he thinks about it.

‘You still up for this Boss?’ Sanzu says, coming up behind him now, his own coat collar pulled to cover his neck from the rain, the flash of pink hair stark against the black wool, a light touch against the .22mm handgun tucked against his waist for good measure.

Mikey feels a sting then, the five of them looking over at him, poised on the doors of the car, all concern, as if he has not asked them to commit unspeakable acts of violence in his name. He wonders if it haunts them as it does him, if the guilt shreds whatever hearts are left when they’re alone standing over the sinks at night, washing blood that refuses to leave without marking the indents on their fingernails.

There is a twinge of pain when Ran smiles placatingly, a gentle coax and a tilt of his head to the side and it burns that they still give a shit this many years later, when he knows what he deserves and he knows it’s not this.

Part of him wishes he was more like them. Sanzu and his Wife expecting a child, Ran and his Girlfriend that he seems happy with- his steps light and sure-footed, perhaps safe in the knowledge that he can protect her, that he is not as bad as Mikey is himself. The worst really, all the dark and suffocating things crammed into his body twitching with the need for peace.

‘Yeah, let’s go.’ And they nod, a quick check of their pockets and suits, rings glinting under the quickly fading sunlight, a waxing crescent moon that kisses the tiles of the bar’s roof, faded translucent white that hides behind the now grey sky.

Kakucho resists putting a gentle hand on Mikey’s back as he’s ushered towards the entrance, an instinct he never really lost after… all that happened. Maybe it’s in his blood to care so deeply, even after everything, or maybe he wonders if Mikey deserves a gentle hand even now, all that he’s seen and hates himself for seeing. If only it were easy to completely shred that part of him that still cares. About anything. Maybe he reminds him a little too much- of a man with white hair he once knew.

Mikey glances down at the pavement, flecks of rain slapped against the concrete and it’s then that he feels the full force of a person barrelling into him, a knock against his lungs that has the air drawn out in a quick breath, hands extended to brace himself as the fall comes.

There is a shout, and the click of guns with the safety pulled, a harsh and guttural, “get on the ground!’, a “Mikey!” that he hears as the sound fades, a ringing in his ears that thrums in time with his racing heart, flushed skin that flares a deeper red as his vision swims.

“Mikey! Boss, are you okay?” Kakucho has a hand on his shoulder and he feels its warmth through the coat. He braces a hand to his side, a squeeze of his eyes that has his breath coming slowly now, slow and calculated lungfuls of hair that have the foamy blackness of his vision clearing, the twist of Kaku’s concerned expression now coming into focus. He wheezes, coughs, the pain thrumming in his chest with every sharp and spiky breath, slow inhales that ache in beating sinew of his lungs.

Sanzu is shouting, a hand held tightly on his gun, the cold and hard steel of his gaze now narrowed on a crouching figure on the floor, hands above their head and shaking, wracking swings of their shoulders with every word rushed out in panicked breaths.

‘I’m fine, what happened?’ Mikey says, his breaths coming easier now, a hand splayed on his chest, puffed cheeks and hair clinging to his neck.

He wonders if he should have seen it, felt it, reflexes coming to life, or maybe he’s dulled enough not to withdraw from pain when he thinks he deserves it. Or maybe he’s getting tacky, all the time he spends so long cooped up by himself, dark rooms where there is never danger outside of the violent claws of his own thoughts sinking into his flesh.

‘Shut up, enough crying,’ Sanzu says and presses the gun to their temple, a minor click of metal and the crunch of gravel under his feet, him looming over them in his pinstripe suit, the unmissable cold frost of his voice that has them shaking involuntarily.

‘Please, please it was an accident, I didn’t mean it!’ And they narrow towards the floor, hands held high above their head, hair swinging and dampening in the now steadier rain.

‘I don’t give a shit-’

‘Sanzu-’ This from Ran who stands opposite from Rindou, a gun also drawn from the younger Haitani, a calculating gaze on the shivering figure kneeling at his feet, wordless assent and a narrow pinch of his brows when he catches the stockinged legs now muddied with dirt, a torn skirt that’s now patchy with mud splatter in his periphery.

Kakucho stiffens suddenly, a hand still on Mikey’s shoulder as the descent of his realisation makes a steady crawl along his spine. ‘It’s a girl,’ he says, and his throat aches somehow, the harsh lump now dragging along his chest when he sees the books and papers now decorating the drainage, water clogged and sodden with rain.

Sanzu casts a glance at him, a long and hard stare that he shakes off with some apprehension, the slight thrum in his bones that has the hairs on his nape rising on end. ‘That doesn’t matter to me.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake Sanzu-’ Ran again, two hands out as if to calm a child, his head turning this way and that for the police he knows instinctively is coming, sirens that only ever seem to be a moment away.

‘Shut the fuck up Haitani- she could have hurt Mikey.’

‘Yes but she didn’t, it was probably an accident. Put your fucking guns away.’

Sanzu sneers. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’ And the gun digs further into her temple, a drag of his gaze to his leader for assent for a bullet that can spill the red mush of brains over the sidewalk.

‘She hardly looks like she’s a threat Sanzu,’ Kakucho says from beside Mikey, a worried zip of his eyes to the girl sobbing against the tarmac. He hates it again, the sound of pain that seems to follow him, these situations he can never leave, and a heart that still cares and tries even now. Somewhere, a child cries and he looks up and over the waist-high gate to the woman with a pram now whispering into her phone, a cut of her narrowed eyes towards them, hushed and guttural and suspicious, pushing the pram with one hand and holding the receiver to ear with the other.

Mikey watches, the angry slap of his heart against his ribs now cooling with the brisk evening chill, the dull shadowy ink of his gaze now moving between the four of them.

Sanzu bares his teeth, a wolf entrapping the doe in the cage. ‘Did you miss the part where she knocked into Mikey? I don’t care if she’s a girl, no one touches the Boss.’ And he pulls the safety, a click of metal and sliding silver as it presses against her skin.

Ran hisses, stepping forward in confidence and Rindou stiffens at it all- his Brother moving between Sanzu and the Girl, breezing into danger, his hand now wrapped around the barrel of the gun to tug it up and away.

He draws back his hand, a jerk against the silver, his knuckles splashed with cold rain running along his wrist and swallowed by the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Don’t make a scene Sanzu, people are starting to look. You’re being reckless.’ And he holds his eyes, purple flecks of light flashing under the clouds, and Sanzu frowning, a twitch that has a vein pulsing in his temple as he holds firmly on the grip, knuckles white with the strain.

Kakucho moves from behind Mikey, his hand slipping from his shoulder blades, both palms coming up as if placating an animal, his coat collar skewed from the lashings of rain slapping against the pale ivory of his neck. ‘Look, both of you calm down, I’m sure it was an accident. And instead of going for each other’s throats, let the Boss decide what he wants to do.’

Sanzu holds the elder Haitani’s gaze, Rindou hovering near his Brother’s shoulder with a piercing unflinching frown, before he breaks and turns to Mikey with a faint kiss of his teeth and a scoff as he slowly lowers the gun from her head.

Kakucho turns back to Mikey, his head bent lower, voice a subdued whisper flecked with a concern that he can’t help, because he is just a man, and he has seen too much blood for one lifetime. And he thinks maybe after this long he shouldn’t care anymore, that the scars on his knuckles have faded to a muted silvery pink, or that the black ink on his chest has permanently made a home in his heart where the hope of anything better has long been locked and sealed, but he does. Care that is. Even if he shouldn’t. Even if it haunts him.

‘Boss?’ he says, a pinch of his forehead creased apprehension. ‘What do you want to do about this? We can leave her or…get rid of her, it’s your call.’

Mikey raises his eyes, the understanding whirling in the dark velvet of them before lowering them again, to where you look over your shoulder at him, lips parted in fear and shaking with the cold and mud splatter clinging to your skin.

Something moves in his chest.

A beat of his heart that’s a fraction of a second too fast, a tap of it against his ribs.

And an image flashes across his mind then, quick and slipping through his fingers like sand. Hair that he touched with a reverence that was godly, clear pretty eyes swollen with tears, lips reddened and smeared with saliva from his own, dripping down a trembling chin that he cups with his two bruised hands. And he had kissed you then, again and again and it had felt like a kind of freedom, a small respite before he abandoned you in this park, under the trees where the blossoms were still shifting to pink, and the cicadas hummed during the evening. And it had been a nice day really, he had made it so. A memory you could hold that hurt a little less despite what he’d done, that you could learn to heal from and forgive yourself for- because you were always like that, so quick to shoulder his shares of the blame.

Your mouth moves, lips parting, closing, trembling with the rain splashed across your cheeks, tear tracks that gather on your chin to disappear into the same worn red scarf that’s frayed and repaired and frayed and repaired and patched in all the places he knows you’ve mended.

‘M…..Manjiro?’ you say, a breathless whisper that slips across the wet tarmac, your eyebrows shooting up, confusion spilling across the blush dusted across your cheeks.

Sanzu stiffens and the gun digs into your skull from the back again, a sharp lance of pain that sprints across your scalp and spine. ‘How do you know his name?’ he growls, a wolf circling prey, teeth bared to tear through your skin.

You whimper audibly, your hands reaching higher in surrender, chipped nail polish now flecked with rain, the mud caked under your nails and across your palms streaked with a crisscross of red grazes.

Kakucho takes a step forward and Rindou lowers his gun a fraction, takes a step back with an uncertainty that zips between him and Ran, who still holds tight to the muzzle of Sanzu’s now raised revolver, knuckles chill with the cold, the lapels of his coat now blown open with the lashes of icy wind.

‘Boss?’ Kakucho says, his eyes flecked with concern, the jet black sweep of hair now shining crystalline with the rain speckled across it. ‘You know her?’

Your gaze flits, a deer caught in headlights, between the five of them, each measuring you with an inflection of concern and curiosity, the usual pinch of Rindou’s eyebrows now tightened in anxiety.

Mikey knows your face.

He could know it in his sleep, in dreams where the image of you is pressed to his pillows, pressed to the swirling liquid at the bottom of his glass, pressed to his tongue when he fucks a cheap whore with you on his mind, your body underneath his hands and so responsive to all the small and minute touches. Only to kill them later because they could never be you, and they could never be his and he doesn’t care for using others anymore when he could never undo his wrongs- could never wash away the curve of your lips smiling against his, or the tight and snug fit of you pressed against his sheets, the mattress of his old place now indented from the memory of you, your hair caught in the woven fibres of his pillows and he’d hated it that much he’d torched it all and watched the flames eat the image of you alive.

His tongue clings to the roof of his mouth, the taste of his saliva thick and cloying and heavy over his teeth.

‘Y…..Y/N?’ he says, his whisper caught on the whip of the wind lashing at his cheeks. It’s tough, this many years later to say your name when he’s spent years burying it at the bottom of a bottle, underneath the copious pills Sanzu has offered to him, the taste of you swimming in his mouth, and washed and washed and washed down again and again and again.

You shift, and lean on your caked palms, your knees drawn up to your chin, stockings torn at the knees and thighs, soft skin splattered with rain.

‘Mikey,’ you say again, the feeling of it foreign on your tongue, tripping over it now after twelve years of resigning yourself to never seeing him again, of telling yourself it was for the best that he’d left you to nurse your heart alone.

‘Y/N,’ he says, the sound of it a sharp gasp, the dark velvet night of his eyes now taking you in, the entirety of you burned into his gaze and it aches in his chest, pulses in his temple, a hot white kind of pain that zips across his skull.

Kakucho takes his cue and moves between the two of you, extending a hand and hoisting you up before fishing a handkerchief from the lapel of his waistcoat. He shakes his head, a short and abrupt glance at Sanzu who only scoffs at him in return, arms now folded over his chest with incredulity.

‘I’m sorry, about this I mean.’ And he wraps your hand around the small fabric before shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, a comforting squeeze that accompanies the hard set of his mouth into a shaky smile.

‘It….it’s okay, I understand.’ You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, wrists and hands entirely gulfed by his sleeves. ‘I’m sorry I caused this.’

‘Do you really know him?’

‘He’s my….he’s someone I knew once.’

He nods, draws you slightly closer against a particularly strong gust of a gale before turning his gaze back to the others, particularly to Mikey who stands frozen and rooted, conflict whirling in the ink of his eyes.

Ran moves, foxlike and agile and bends to whisper. ‘Boss, if you want a minute alone, I can take the others. Kaku will stay with you for safety…and to make sure she doesn’t try anything.’ This last part hushed, and more for Sanzu who glares at you with a narrow pinch of his brow, pink hair now clinging to the wet collar of his black coat.

Mikey glances up once to the clear shine of Ran’s earnest eyes, the usual smirk and lilt of his playful charm now buried under the concerned and protective tug of his eyebrows before nodding once, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s warring with himself.

And Ran smiles, genuinely, before patting Kakucho reassuringly on the back. ‘Alright let’s go, we’ll wait inside.’

‘I’m not leaving the Boss,’ Sanzu says, and taps his gun against his arm, the silver catching the fading daylight.

‘You heard what he said, we can go. Kaku will be here anyway.’

Ran, for all of it, the blood he has seen, knows the importance of this moment right here, the only flicker of anything left in the man who once held the world so tightly, the only thing maybe that he can provide that make him a little better, a little happier, a little anything other than what he is.

Sanzu scoffs and looks to Mikey again, who only flicks his eyes up once in recognition, before letting them fall on your mud splattered shoes where he’s resigned to let his gaze stay, burning holes into the tarmac under your feet because he just can’t look, can’t let himself see you in all the ways he’s wanted to for years. The clear clarity of your eyes where the sun soaks, the pinch of your eyebrows and forehead that he’d kissed because you’d liked it and you’d felt safe and warm and his.

‘Come on, let’s go, we’ll wait for the Boss inside.’ Ran puts a protective arm around Rindou, shooting a glare at Sanzu who turns hesitantly, casting a glance back at Mikey, his steps faltering, tripping towards the neon lights of the glitzy bar.

Then, Kakucho, as if sensing the tension. ‘I’ll be in the car, I’ll keep the window rolled for privacy but call if you need me,’ he says, a reassuring pat on Mikey’s back, his chest lurching with an ache when the the fading light bounces from Mikey’s platinum hair just right, in a way someone else’s used to once upon a time.

You shift on your feet, a shy glance up and away again, settling your eyes on his shoes where the rain has splashed across the black leather.

‘So…’ you start, a cough into your hand and he fights a strangled sound of uncomfortability, of hesitation and a shyness he thought was long dead.

‘It’s good to see you Manjiro.’

It hurts to hear you say his name, his real name, the taste of it in your mouth that feels so new and old and familiar and not, and he likes how it sounds. He always has.

‘You…too…Y/N.’

There’s a silence again, him biting hard on his tongue, you moving from foot to foot and you hate it, that it became this, that everything you had is washed down the drainage, ruined and tainted and buried with the years when once, you had been something. Maybe nothing more than partners, but something.

Your eyes flick up. ‘I’m sorry I hit you, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t see you there,’ you say. ‘Oh, I’m not saying it’s because you’re- y’know, I just mean-’

‘It’s fine, I wasn’t hurt.’ Clipped and aching in his chest, chewing the words up and squeezing his fingers into his palm, red crescents indented into the pale ivory of his skin. ‘Are you…well? You look well.’ This time, he does look up, at your face blooming with health, a happiness he had never seen on you back then, the worry lines now faded to muted smile lines and it burns him that he hadn’t put them there, that he’d been the reason for it all.

Your eyes shine, a flicker of excitement spilling across them, a small smile curling at the edge of your wet lips and he has an urge to kiss you, press you against the car and hike your skirt up, to paint you with him again like he did, leaving a mark that blooms across your skin with his teeth.

‘I am well Manjiro, I’m doing pretty good,’ you say, an embarrassed grin that you’re quick to hide behind your wet sleeve, the rain now petering to a soft and unsteady trickle that whets your lashes. ‘And you?’

You fight the temptation to mention that he seems to have lost weight since you last saw him, a hollowness to his skin, thin and dripping shadows under his eyes that accent the shine of his lustrous platinum hair, dark circles that line his ivory pallid cheeks. He hasn’t been eating, you think. Meals left unattended and thrown, drinks chosen to accompany the cold and lonely nights.

He stiffens. ‘I’m doing fine. I don’t have much time to get out anymore, that's all.’ His nerves tighten with tension, your knowing gaze that melts with a curiosity and pity that he hates, that he loves, that he wants and never believes he wants because you always somehow knew, were always somehow so forthcoming even when he wishes you weren’t, even when he knew he deserved less.

‘I see. I missed you y’know,’ you say, your eyes softening, mouth puckering to a soft pout. ‘I see you changed your hair too, it looks good on you Manjiro, it really suits you.’ And he wishes it hurt less like this, in the same park he had left you in, wishes that you had kicked and screamed at him when you met again, a rage that he deserved and would have let himself feel, all the anger and heartbreak he would have willingly endured for you because it could never atone for the sins he’d accumulated in time.

Something kicks in his chest. ‘It was for my Brother, after he passed.’

The rain slaps against the bonnet of the car, clouds greying like oatmeal, a sludge of cement across the sky.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, forgive me I didn’t mean to upset you or anything.’

‘It’s fine Y/N, you don’t need to apologise for everything…I thought you’d be angry.’

‘Huh? I don’t understand what you mean by that.’

He does look up then, at the tree overhead, the branches bare and bending, ticking the hood of your coat and snagging at you with the red scarf pulled tight to your chin, worn threads catching on the fading glossy lips and he thinks of them against his, the thump of your heart pressed to his, fingers tugging at his hair, a fist wound tight in the threads of it and pulling, yanking even, when he bites and licks and soothes over the marks made by his teeth.

He takes an unsure step forward, Kakucho in the car raising an eyebrow as he watches.

‘I mean, why aren’t you angry? You’ve not said anything about it yet.’

You frown, sidestepping between the curb and the road, weight shifting from one foot to another. ‘About what ‘Jiro? The way we parted?’

And he nods, the dull lustre of his eyes swimming with an undefined and unusual clearness and you sigh, drawing out a long breath that mists in the now clear evening sky. ‘What’s to say? You left me, you no longer wanted anything to do with me and I gave up on pretending there was something I could have done to change what happened back then. I admitted it to myself finally anyway.’

‘Admitted what?’ he says and tilts his head to the side, the swing of white hair now plastered to his neck where goosebumps prickle across his skin.

You wrinkle your nose, as if it’s obvious. ‘That you found someone else of course. Another girl, one prettier and smarter and better.’

‘Huh?’ Ice pours into his veins, a flash of white hot lightning across his skull. ‘That wasn’t it. I didn’t leave because of that.’

You stiffen, shaking your head, a frown bleeding across your forehead. ‘Then why?’

He clamps his lips together, a firm line that accompanies the uncomfortable shake of his head, the silence that stretches and yawns wide.

‘You know, I racked my brain for weeks, trying to think of if there was something I could have done, if I had accidentally done something wrong that I just didn’t know about. Was there?’

A beat. ‘No, no I made my decision weeks before that.’

Your chest falls, heart slamming against your ribs. ‘Then what Manjiro? I thought we were doing good, we really were, right?’ Your voice wobbles, tapers off at the end, a small and uncertain shake to the usually bright timbre of it and he aches, for doing this again, for a second time.

‘Stop. Stop asking me this,’ he says, a hesitant step back, hand catching on the bonnet of the car and Kakucho- inside- raises an eyebrow at the two of you, mouths moving, glassy pearlescent shine of your eyes that makes Mikey seem like a deer in headlights, uncomfortable and uncertain. It does not take him long to put two and two together from that.

You press on, a step forward with more vigour. ‘Why Manjiro? I don’t get it.’

He balls a hand into fists, the hurt churning in his chest, old wounds flayed open and licked with salt, the blood running down his ribcage where the carving of your name has never left. ‘I don’t want to talk about this, and you will not ask again.’

‘Please,’ you say, your hands coming out as if in prayer, surrendering yourself under the thick wiry branches where the rain trickles through the wood. ‘Please, I just want to know, I deserve to know.’

Kakucho puts a hand on the door, nerves wiring with anticipation.

Mikey’s blood roars in his ears, the silence a cavern, deafening and loud and vibrating in his skull and when he pauses, the silence hanging on his breath, you go on, and the tears spill, years of them, so watery and full of a grief so big you’ve been swimming in it. Twelve years, all the love that died somewhere, all the love you never got to give, all the forgiveness you knew he could have taken for himself if he just stayed- because you had forgiven him and it had been easy and you’d have come back to his waiting arms if he’d let you.

You take another step, within arms reach now, breath glossing in the mist, the lump in your throat spiky as it slides along your flesh with every sharp intake of breath. ‘I just wish- if it had been someone else- if you never loved me anymore- then you could have just said so, I could have taken it I swear.’ You’d have wished him happiness still, seen him off in some dignified way, left with a wave and a final smile as a parting gift rather than the grief and rage thrown at the wall, at yourself, for just not being enough for him to be honest to.

‘Please stop,’ he whispers, hands balled into fists in his coat, shoulders pulled up to his ears and shrinking still against his coat, his eyes averted and glancing frantically between you and the tarmac. Kakucho eyes the two of you nervously, apprehension that simmers along his skin, knuckles white and gripping the door for the moment to step in should he need to.

You deflate then, your body sagging in on itself, a tiredness that seeps into your bones, cold licking across your skin and down to the fibres of your clothes and you fiddle with your hands, pulling at your sleeves, hanging your head and your gaze dragging to his shoes again, now flecked with lashings of cold rain.

‘I loved you Manjiro,’ you say, a soft and hesitant whisper that’s lost under the rush and hum of passing cars, the puddles jumping and thrumming across the tarmac. ‘I really loved you.’

You look up and the pain is a knife across your lungs, sharp and fresh and fast, tears that are salty enough to sting, the devastation of all the untold feelings, all the hurts that were never resolved and never forgotten now rising to your tongue. From where Kakucho is, he only sees you, the bleak and crumpling turn of your once red lips, wobbling and glossy with tears, and Mikey struck still- a deer in headlights- his back stiff and hunched as if in pain.

‘You shouldn’t have, that was your mistake.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

'I do. I never asked you to love me, I never asked for anything from you.’

The edge of your voice seeps with a hardened bite then. ‘You’re an awful liar Mikey. Don’t think I didn’t notice how desperate you were just for someone to hold you- it was written all over your face.’

The inky velvet of his eyes flashes with cobalt steel. ‘Watch your mouth with me, I could have you killed.’

‘That’s the thing about you. You like to pretend you’re invincible, but I never forgot you at all and I would have stayed with you till the end.’

He swallows back a wince, a sharp lance of pain that slices clean across the shattered remains of his heart because he knows, he knew back then that it would have been true, that you’d have held onto him and waded through the thicket of sin, the debauchery you’d have endured for his sake, the violence you’d have scrubbed with the blood from his hands and then held gently- as if he had not killed to get there in the first place.

His skin burns, cheeks blazing with a furious heat, all the adrenaline now spilling into his blood and he hates you. He hates you so much that it feels close to shame, for this feeling still. That whatever he can still feel now, what passes as love to him still resides in his chest, an ache and a yearning for the heat and feel of you in his hands and he wishes it had been beaten out of him in some way, wishes your face was not so pretty, wishes your voice was less kind, less soft, less everything he so desperately wants to grab at selfishly and greedily.

He swallows, a thick boulder that has his tongue weighing down. ‘I don’t want to hear anymore.’ He makes a turn when you grab at his wrist- a minute and split second decision that has the hairs on his arms rising.

Kakucho stiffens, his gun pulled quickly and efficiently from the glove box and tucked into his pants, the car door pushed open and him stepping out as the rain spits through the gaps in the wiry branches.

‘Manjiro please, don’t just go- not again, not like last time,’ you say, your voice flecked with a desperation that breaks off into a sob, your other sleeve held to your running nose, your running eyes, tears that gather on your chin and his eyes rove over your pretty face, falling and falling till the glittery band on your ring finger snags him.

He freezes, and the silence is weighty, palpable when you glance down at where your fingers circle his wrist, thumb pressed to the indent of veins now thrumming with warmth under your touch, your heart punching against your ribs when his gaze flicks up to meet your eyes again, a fresh wave of pain quickly stamped out. He clenches his fist and pulls his wrist away, turning his coat collar up till his tattoo is swallowed by the black wool.

‘I…’

‘Don’t.’

‘I can explain, I swear.’

‘You’re married,’ he says, bluntly, matter of factly even- his voice melting with apathy, a sneer that he can’t help, that he hates himself for when the jealousy burns in his lungs, green and ugly and hot.

‘I am.’

‘You’re married and you didn’t mention it.’

You frown, your outstretched hand now pulled back and cradled to your chest. ‘Should I have? Why does that matter to you?’

His hackles rise again, a vein pulsing in his temple when Kakucho looms at his side, a reassuring hand coming to rest on his coat, the jet black swing of his hair flecked with frosty rain.

‘It doesn’t,’ he says, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, and a pain he does far into his stomach. ‘I don’t care.’

And of course you are, when he thinks about it. You’re good and it pains him that that hasn’t changed his many years later, still saying sorry, still bright as the sun, still soft and too pretty to touch, terrifying and alluring all at once when he knows the world is not kind and yet you behave as if it is, as if it should be despite yourself. The years have not changed you and it is this that has the seed of envy sprouting in his chest- that all those wasted years he did not waste with you, the two of you growing up and growing older and becoming mellowed by time. The regret sinks into his bones.

‘Oh,’ you say, stung and hiding it well behind your trembling lip, your sleeve coming up to wipe at stray tears, all the earnestness he knows he has to shatter time and time again because you are just like that.

You remind him of someone, another person left behind in the past. Someone who was too persistent, annoyingly so and yet funny, adorable, nostalgic, beautiful, all the things he no longer had room for when it all changed, all the determination he had to stamp out of you because you wouldn’t do it yourself and the world couldn’t shake you.

And then. ‘How long?’

‘Huh?’

‘How long have you been married?’ and he’s not sure why he’s asking when he believes he doesn’t care, only that some locked part of him wants to keep you a minute longer, be a bit more selfish and greedy for your time when he has twelve years to fill and no amount of pining can assuage the ache of your absence in all of it.

Something like joy flits momentarily across your eyes, and Mikey wonders if you know, if you noticed the sun that breaks through the clouds when your eyes shine with a clarity, a clearness that punches against his chest, the barest sliver of a smile tugging at your lips that you’re ashamed of even now and still hiding as if you’re trying to save him from more.

‘Oh,’ you say, a little shyly and kicking at the ground. ‘Me and Mitsuya have been married for about five years but we were dating for five before that. We have a son now too, a baby boy just starting school.’

You avoid his gaze, the slow and naked crumple of his mouth, the edges turned down and vulnerable, ashamed, the ricochet of his breaking heart you swear you can hear and wish you didn’t have to. You love your husband, you swear you do and it’s a testament to him that when Mikey left, he was the one who put you back together again, the time taken and mended to fix you, nights spent so freely and willingly at your side and never once used to badmouth Mikey or you, or anyone for that matter. Love persisting, as he always had and does.

But there is something that aches inside when you glance up at Mikey the same as ever, raw desperation and a need so great that you wonder if anything has changed in twelve years, if he lies awake on some nights as you do, the occasional thought and dream of him that you’re determined never to talk about, buried and locked in some dark part of your chest where the tangled thicket of your history lies dormant.

Do you ever really recover from the pain of first love? Is it even love then? When you are young and fickle and you think you know all there is to know about it and you wonder if the hurt can ever truly heal when it breaks you open and you recover and move on and forget, wounds painted over only to be peeled back again and again. Is it love? Or is it love for what you know it to be at the time?

‘Oh,’ he says, finally clearing his throat behind his hand, the mask falling as it does, as he’s used to and turning to nod at Kakucho now over his shoulder. ‘Get a driver to take her home, we’re done here.’

Your eyes widen in alarm. ‘Manjiro? No wait, we haven’t finished.’

‘We have, I have nothing more to say to you.’

He does. He doesn’t. He isn’t sure. He only knows with certainty that it burns him when he thinks of another man having you in all the ways he wishes he could, everything he should have been that someone else was so easily, pooling in a regret that’s a cavern so wide it’ll eat him if he thinks too long about it. He hurts, he inflicts pain, and you deserve a softer love than anything he could have ever given you.

‘Manjiro!’

He glares at you over his shoulder, the velvet darkness of his eyes swirling with an ivory flash, an impulse sparking to life. ‘It’s Mikey. My name is Mikey.’

Ice pours into your chest and you pull back as if burned, the fresh tears brimming unbridled and unbidden.

‘Mikey…’ you breathe, a plume of mist that dusts him with grey in your periphery, tasting the sound of it for the last time, savouring it on your tongue, anguish swirling in your voice when it cracks on the last syllable.

He nods at Kakucho once and stalks past you, eyes trained on the neon lights of the building behind and you in the corner of his vision getting smaller, the ache and thump of his heart that claws at him for doing it again. Leaving again. Hurting you again. Breaking you again, because it is all he is capable of, and you deserve something softer than the jagged edges of him to cut yourself on.

You cradle your hand to your chest, the resounding footsteps getting further now, you glancing back at the swish and swing of white hair against the black collar of his coat, and always walking away, always the image of his back to look at like he had done before.

Kakucho rests a hand on your shoulder, the soothing warmth of his voice dripping like honey. ‘Hey, I’m not sure what all that was about but you’ll be fine and I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry? For what?’ you say, your gaze snagging on the crimson light of his eye, the milky white of the other hidden by the midnight black of his hair, a look so gentle and soft, a comfort so warm.

‘All of it I think. For what became of him that you know about, and even all that you don’t. For what it’s worth, none of it was ever your fault,’ he says, a faint tilt of his head to the side. ‘Mikey just changed after Iza-’ A pause, a harsh clench of his jaw, lashes kissing at his cheek as he heaves a weighted sigh. ‘After losing his siblings, all of them. It wasn’t ever you.’

‘I would have stayed, you know, I would have loved him through it all.’

‘That’s the problem. Look, I don’t know you but if Mikey felt like you could have come to harm because of him, then he left you for that reason. As unhappy as he is, and as you are with it, maybe the reason you’re alive is because of that decision.’

Apprehension bristles across your skin. ‘You know more than you’re letting on Mr….?

‘Kakucho, and yes I do. We heard things that’s all, and it’s my job to stay in the loop on his life. I recognised you from the pictures.’

‘Pictures?’

‘The ones he failed to burn, old pictures of the two of you that he thinks no one else knows he looks at. But we’ve all got skeletons in our closets and we just happen to know his.’

He watches you then, all the realisations that dawn and spill across your eyes, the turn of your mouth that has your lips trembling, your hair now plastered to your skin. It’s heavy, the weight of it all, truths and lies that unfurl like flags in the wind.

‘Look, I have to go, but there’s a car here to take you home, give the driver your address okay?’ And he shepherds you to the black unmarked car where the driver nods at you as you slip in, your mind blank and dizzy, a white noise that rings in your ears as he bends at the window. ‘Best you don’t tell your Husband about this either. For obvious reasons.’

‘Okay…’ you say, numb and blind, a grief so big clustering in your chest that it shows on your cheeks, where the tears continue, swallowed up by the red scarf now unfurling around your neck. ‘Thank you Mr Kakucho, for everything.’

He gives you a smile, a pained one at that, the shared weight and loss zipping between you two as he stands and taps the roof of the car, the driver calling a ‘Where to Miss?’ that’s cut when he rolls the windows up again.

You drive off and he sighs, heavy and thick and painful, a sharp pinch in his lungs when he turns towards the club and walks, feet dragging to the doors where Mikey waits, agonised as he watches your car drive off in a plume of grey smoke.

a/n: I have nothing to add, u can pelt me with rocks for this one lmao, I figured it was time for something soul crushing. sorry for this being a little late though but I hope everyone enjoys it still. happy birthday to baby boy.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub (pls dm or send an ask or comment to be added)

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #mikey x reader #sano manjiro #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

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chibsandchill · 1 year ago

Text

Your little Hatchling

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Reader

Warnings: Incest (Aemond is reader’s uncle), death, blood, canon-typical violence

Summary: The greens won the war and Aemond has taken you captive, though nothing he does goes according to plan.

Masterlist

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If it wasn't for the way his hair shone in the pale moonlight, you'd never know he was there. He moved within the shadows as if he was one himself, always watching but never venturing out of their reach. Sometimes his leather jerkin would creak as he shifted, but it was so faint it might as well have been the wind. Or so you wished for that would be far more comforting than the truth.

Perhaps that is why instead of staring at the outline of your uncle, you looked to the fluttering drapes as they swayed in the gentle ocean breeze.

But then after weeks of silence, Aemond stepped forth into the light and broke his unspoken vow of silence. You imagined he would say something profound, maybe even a honey-coated apology with hissed terms of affection and a burning gaze, but instead he looked you in the eye and asked:

"Do you like the ocean?"

"What?" You croaked, for while the evening breeze was a welcome change from the stifling heat, it did nothing to soothe the burn in your throat. "After everything you've done-"

"Do you like it?" He interrupted harshly.

"No." You said.

He seemed surprised by your answer; a brief widening of his eye, but with an ease gained only by growing up in a nest of vipers, he schooled himself.

"You told me once, when we were still children," his voice was no louder than a whisper, almost overshadowed by the wind, "that you had never felt as at peace as when your father took you with him on Caraxes and flew over the ocean to Dragonstone."

"That was before you murdered my brother."

His jaw clenched but didn't speak whatever words his wicked mind had thought up. Aemond returned to his realm of darkness, and the next day you were given a new cell far away from the ocean and its haunted melodies.

But even when you no longer heard the waves crashing against your prison, or smelled the salt, Lucerys' scream of terror lingered.

:-:-:-:-:-:

Constant heat and a sun that never fell reddened your face within hours of being placed in your new room.

Dorne.

He brought you to fucking Dorne.

Dorne was where dragons went to die, where even the tiniest of vipers had enough venom to slay even the largest of beasts. Sprinkled in the sand dunes were the remains of Targaryen heroes and conquerors, as well as their dragons. Age turned everything to dust, and before long you would be strewn across the closest dune, forgotten beneath the waves of those who came before you.

A speck of dirt in an altogether indifferent universe. Perhaps the Dornish would dance across the dune, celebrate another dragon pest removed, and another piece of justice served.

The Dornish desert didn't allow for the dragons to hide themselves, it left no dark corners for him to stare at you from. It left him exposed and vulnerable, like a raw nerve or a wound left to fester.

"Do you like sand?" He dared ask one night when the sun gave them a brief respite.

You ignored him.

"You told me once in our garden-"

"They were never our gardens," you were the one to interrupt this time. Age old bitterness barely scabbed over with forced indifference burned at the word our, as if anything in the Keep had ever been yours. For a brief time, that little corner of an overgrown garden in the eastern wing had been yours. Every morning you’d meet there, under the shade of the apple tree and you’d tend to your garden. But like all things, even that small piece of heaven was eventually discovered and it was no longer ‘yours’.

'Bastard' the court whispered as you walked past. 'Whore' or 'whore's child' if they were feeling kind.

"They were to me."

You scoffed.

"It was never the sand," you found yourself saying even as you wished you'd have ignored him, "I wanted to see the people brave enough to defy us."

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

You were moved again, but this time Aemond gifted you with a bronze-skinned woman from one of the nearby villages. Her name was Ela, and she brought colorful desert flowers that she ground into pastes which she slathered on your burnt shoulders, and with potent smelling leaves she fashioned into exotic teas and with what remained she managed to make sweet smelling perfume. The fragrance was dabbed onto your throat every day before Aemond’s visits.

"Why are you doing this?"

His one eye blinked in surprise. You had yet to initiate your rare and rather brief talks.

"I don't know." He lied.

"The truth, Aemond, is the least I deserve."

"'Tis a sin to lie."

"Murder is also a sin, but you still slaughtered thousands. Why do you insist on dragging this out? It won't make a difference in the end."

Aemond looked away. "It will."

"It won't." You spat. "This changes nothing but the hatred in my face as I watch you die."

"Hm." He angled his face away from you. His beautiful face took on a haunted expression."Yes, I suppose that's right. Do you remember when I was born? The few times father spoke to us, he regaled us with tales of how happy you were, how you claimed me. I was your little hatchling, the dragon your father never allowed you to have. Yours was the first face I saw, the warmth of your arms the first I ever felt. I dreamed of your smile when you were gone."

"It was your father," you corrected with no small amount of venom, "that denied me my birthright."

"You still defend him," he mused, "even after all his lies. I wonder, why do you not grant me that same kindness? Everything I have done, I did for us."

Disgust twists your face into something you barely recognize. When did you go from the little child who always smiled despite the insults, who would trail after their lord father with a tattered dragon toy, and who dotted on their hatchling, to this being driven by nothing but hatred and never-ending lust for blood he'd gladly give if you but only asked.

Perhaps that's why you didn't ask. You feared the truth of his answer as much as you feared the day when his face no longer made your stomach turn.

"We could have ran." You argued. "You had the largest dragon alive, who would dare oppose you? We could have flown East and conquered whatever lands our ancestors forgot. No, Aemond. You can blame only yourself for this."

"Your father would follow."

"I understand the concept is wholly unfamiliar to you, Aemond, but that is what a good father does. Care. And you stabbed him in the back for it. Aemond the one-eyed Coward, slaying his uncle in the streets whilst he was unarmed and escorting a child of three summers, struck him down as if he was nothing and left him to die surrounded by people who hated him." You taunted him, enjoying every layer of self-hatred and anger that flashed over his face. You knew not if it was the mention of the neglect he suffered at the hands of his father that broke his mask, or that he had stooped so low as to become a kinslayer. No longer was he Aemond the one-eyed Prince, Aemond the studious and quiet prince. Now he donned new titles, none of them flattering. Years spent in the gardens together had taught you every single one of his insecurities, his fears and every aspect of his pain.

He moved closer with cat-like grace but with none of their caution, swiping away your tears with a caress of his finger. The promise ring felt cold against your rosy cheeks, the hand-carved rose and thorns curling around the digit was an unwelcome reminder of your affection for him.

"I had no choice." He whispered, voice thick.

"There is always a choice." You muttered.

"My life was not his to claim." Aemond moved closer, fingers threading through your hair. He pulled, forcing you to look up at him. You grit your teeth at the sharp sting, but you welcomed the pain, it burned away at the ember of love that sparked in the depths of your burnt heart. "It has always been yours. My love, my eye, my life."

"Then you know how this ends."

"I've always known," he pressed the side of his face against yours, his breath fanned over the shell of your ear. "Do you know why I killed your brothers?”

“Because you’re craven.”

Aemond stood to his full height before removing the leather patch covering the precious stone he had instead of an eye. The sapphire sparkled in the candlelight. He shook his head. “Because he took something that didn’t belong to him. I tried to forgive him, my mother told me he couldn’t possibly understand the consequences of his actions, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive.”

The memory of Vhagar emerging from the clouds was burnt into your eyelids. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw it. Heard the cracks of her wings as she flew closer, the snapping of her jaws as Aemond taunted you, and the look in Lucerys’ eyes as he pushed you off Arrax. You had never seen such terror in a person’s eyes before, or heard someone scream like he did. Parts of him and Arrax washed up on the beach for weeks.

You averted your eyes. “And Jace?”

“When you ran to me, you fell and cut your hand on Lucerys’ blade.” His voice was soft, the softest it had been since Blood and Cheese tore the last chance you two had of a shared future. “Do you remember what Harrold Westerling begged of you?”

‘We have to stop the bleeding,’ he urged you, heavy armor clanging together as he fell to his knees next to you and Aemond. His voice sounded as if it was underwater, distant. Not there. Not with you and Aemond. ‘The maester is on his way but you have to stop the bleeding or he will die. Press here, your highness.’

“Yes.” You whispered.

Aemond kept a vial of the blood the Maester removed from his face on dark twine around his neck. There was some solution in it that kept it from drying. He used to show it to you when you were younger, and when he was anxious he’d trace the glass with his fingers. His mother hated it. She didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the significance of what you had done to save her son.

“Then you already know why, raqiarzy. And Daemon,” despite the vile things your father had done for your family, Aemond’s voice had yet to lose the admiration that clung to them, the childish idollation he had never quite managed to shake, “was plotting my murder. I had already lost my eye, I would not allow him to steal what little I had left to offer you.”

You laughed, but it’s twisted, broken in a way you had never heard a human laugh before. It rattled deep in your chest, and despite the pain and the tears brimming in your eyes you were unable to stop.

“You’re pathetic, Aemond,” you managed to force out.

The hurt in his eyes was impossible to miss. “I only ask that you grant me my one last wish before I go."

Disgust marred your face. Aemond had taken everything and yet he came to you with demands, conditions for a death that was long overdue. Where was your father’s wish when Aemond ordered common thugs to hold him down whilst he snuck up behind, when he drove Vhagar’s tooth into his lungs?

"What's that?"

"A kiss."

"You disgust me.” You spat.

His one eye met yours again and his lips curled into a crooked grin.You tried to think of your father, of Rhaenyra and Syrax, Lucerys and Arrax, Jacerys and Vermax, of the hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers, burnt by Vhagar before you managed to slay the old beast, of the smell of burning flesh and screaming children as their mother’s were ripped from them, instead of how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. As Aemond leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in a motion so heartbreakingly familiar you dreamt of a world where you had died with your family. Still, your heart raced as his skin met yours, warmth spreading from the spot as fire met fire. He had taken everything from you, and yet you could not stop yourself from returning the gesture, leaning into his touch and were your hands not bound you would trace the sharpness of his jaw, and he would do the same.

“Liar,” he whispered.

Aemond closed his eyes, leaning in, about to press his lips against yours when he gasped and froze. Over his shoulder you spotted sun-kissed skin and dark hair. Ela. Crimson covered the black blade in her hand.

In a poetic sense of justice, Aemond falls to the ground, a steady puddle of blood growing under him. Horror is clear on his face and he tries to reach for you, but he has grown weak since the war ended and so he falls limp. You fall to your knees next to him just like that day in Driftmark, wrists easily slipping out of the bonds. Aemond stutters out your name, a thin line of blood running down his chin.

“Shh,” you coo to him before flattening your hand against his face. “It’s okay, valzȳrys.”

He managed a weak smile.

“I thought I’d never hear you say it.”

It was always going to end this way, but that does not lessen the pain wrecking through your body, or the sobs you let out as he started fading away. Your fingers shook as you traced his face, wiping away his tears like he did yours.

You chuckled. “Neither did I.”

You didn’t plead with the gods that they save him, you wished only that they take you with him. In life you could never be, but in death perhaps you could find peace.

“I love you.” He said, and then his eyes fluttered close.

In a flurry of panicked moves, you press your lips to his. Your first kiss. Your last kiss. You felt his lips twitch against yours but he was too weak to respond. There was nothing romantic about the way you moved against him, of the desperation you poured into the kiss, or the tears that fell from your eyes like waterfalls.

His hold on your hands slacken and that’s when you know he’s gone. Aemond would never let go of you.

Ela stands in front of you as fierce as her ancestors, and you have never loved them more than at this moment. Weeks of serving you had not killed her spirit. She had robbed Aemond of the last thing he had, but you could not fault her. She saw what you couldn’t admit even to yourself. No matter what he did or how he hurt you, you’d never be able to kill him. His death was never meant to be at your hands.

“In the front please,” you ask of her, your one last request, though your eyes never left Aemond's face.

Ela nodded and walked over. Her dark eyes met yours and you nodded in response. A flash of pain, and then your blood mixed with Aemond’s again. There was nothing personal in how she stabbed you. The dagger tore through you with ease and it’s over in seconds. She then ran out of the chambers, leaving the dagger still in you. You waited until you didn’t hear her rushed steps anymore before you laid down next to Aemond, lifting his still warm hands to entwine with yours in the way your family never allowed.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Dying was peaceful in the way life never was.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagines #aemond imagine #aemond x reader

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jaybleu25 · 4 months ago

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My Take On Mario Odyssey's Main Ending

I've wanted to write something related to Mario Odyssey for a while, especially related to the bros and their POVs during all this. With Mario's POV after just getting rejected by Peach on the moon, and Luigi's POV of his brother being missing and finally coming back home. I finally got an idea for how it would have gone in my AU, so I hope you all enjoy(?).

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

…

Luigi was running as fast as he could.

Mario had been missing for about a week. Before the adventure had occurred, Luigi had alerted Mario that there were airships in the sky after looking through the window of the house. Seeing that, Mario immediately sprung into action, telling his brother to stay in the house as he ran off to deal with it. Luigi watched from the window as his brother reached the airship, but he couldn't quite make out what had happened.

All he could see was a speck of red fly off of the ship, going off far into the distance.

Ever since then, Luigi had been stuck at home alone, worried for where Mario was. He didn't know if it was safe to leave, and he sure didn't want to go against Mario's word. It was hard for Luigi to function due to the endless worry, and he had a hard time doing basic tasks around the house. Almost everything in the house reminded him of his brother, mainly with the matching red and green furniture spread around the house.

Now, after a week, there was a knock on the door; a Toad had come to notify Luigi that there was a red object floating towards Peach's Castle. Hopeful of something, any news of his brother and his whereabouts, Luigi dropped everything and ran out of the house, running straight to the castle.

Running up a hill, the 'red object' came into the distance. Not only that, but familiar figures were there as well. Princess Peach was there, in a beautiful white dress, talking to two spirits of some kind. She was a little bit away from the red object, which upon closer inspection seemed to be some sort of ship or mode of transport.

However, the main thing that caught Luigi's eye was his brother, dressed in white just like Peach, without his hat. Immediately, Luigi ran over to him, panic and relief in his eyes. The moment he reached Mario, he put his hands on his shoulders.

"Mario, where were you?!" Luigi cried. "What happened?! I was worried sick..!"

Despite Luigi's cries and questions, Mario didn't respond. Now that Luigi was able to get a better look at him, he was broken and bruised. His eyes looked sad and dull, almost as if all the life had been sucked out of them. He was covered in bruises from head to toe, all from the various foes he had to fight on his journey to save Peach.

Too overwhelmed by what had happened, instead of a spoken response, Mario clung to Luigi, putting his forehead against Luigi's chest. He had started to quietly cry. Luigi, not sure of what to do due to not knowing what happened, just simply embraced his brother back.

"Why did I do that..?" Mario cried under his breath.

"What..?" Luigi asked timidly.

"She had to deal with him for so long, and I just made it worse..." Mario muttered. "She just wanted to go home..."

"'She'..? Do you mean Peach?" Luigi asked. "What happened, bro..??"

As the two brothers talked, Peach looked at the two of them solemnly in the distance. She was tired. The two Bonneters looked at her with concern, worried for her well-being. She felt bad for Mario, for causing him such pain, but she didn't really know what to do. Everything was happening so fast, it was too much for her. Unable to see Mario in such a way anymore, she started to make her way back to her castle, her head down as the ghosts followed her. One of them, Cappy, stopped for a moment to look back at Mario. However, seeing the moment he was having with his brother, he didn't want to interrupt. So, he continued to follow the princess.

"Peach, she...Bowser took her again..." Mario explained painfully. "I kept looking for her, and I finally got her away from him. But then Bowser tried to confess, and I...I messed up...I-I just got scared, I don't know what I was doing...we both overwhelmed her. She just wanted to go home..."

While Mario didn't directly explain what he did himself, Luigi understood. He knew how his brother felt about Peach, for a long time in fact. He could feel his brother's pain and sorrow the more Mario explained. He knew Mario would never do something like that on purpose. He wouldn't hurt Peach on purpose.

"Mario..." Luigi said sadly.

"I don't know what to do..." Mario muttered, his grip on Luigi's shoulders getting tighter. "She probably doesn't even want to talk to me anymore...I-I wouldn't talk to me either after that. I was stupid."

"Hey, hey, don't say that..!" Luigi exclaimed. "You're not stupid, Mario. Don't ever think like that. It was just a mistake. She was overwhelmed, but so were you most likely. You've been gone looking for her for a week..! You know Peach, bro...she'd never hate you for that. We've known her since we were kids. She'd never hate you, no matter what you do."

"But what if she does..?" Mario whimpered. "What if I just ruined everything..?"

"Big bro, look at me," Luigi said firmly.

Mario finally, yet slowly, lifted up his injured head to look up at his brother. His eyes looked desperate, tears still falling down his face. Despite how many were falling, he barely made any noise.

"You didn't ruin everything," said Luigi. "And she doesn't hate you. You really think she would hate you for just a single mistake? No. That's not the kind of person Peach is. And this...you aren't a bad person, Mario. You never have been. You were just scared. That's what you said."

As Luigi tried to talk sense into Mario, he put both of his hands on the sides of Mario's face.

"You meant well, you always have," Luigi continued. "I think the princess just...needs a few days to herself. A bit of space. But that doesn't mean she hates you. She just needs a bit of time to figure things out, and to relax."

"And...I think you need a break too."

As Luigi said that, he moved one of his hands onto a bruise on Mario's face, which made him flinch in pain. He normally had a pretty high pain tolerance, but now that everything was over and he was feeling everything at once...the pain started to become overwhelming.

"How about we go home and just...relax for a while, okay bro..?" Luigi asked. "I'll help with bandages when we get there, and then you should try and get some rest. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I...haven't," Mario admitted.

Luigi wasn't surprised by that response. Mario had done similar things in the past with past adventures. Whenever there was someone in danger, Mario always had a habit of just going and going, nonstop. Never resting. How could he rest if he knew someone he cared about was in danger?

If anything, Mario saying that just made Luigi want to bring Mario back home sooner.

"Come on."

As Luigi said that, he kneeled down, indirectly asking Mario to get onto his back. Mario gave in, climbing onto Luigi's back as Luigi stood back up and started walking home. Mario wrapped his arms around Luigi, laying his head on his brother's shoulder. He was exhausted.

"What am I even going to say to her..?" Mario muttered.

"Maybe just start off slow," Luigi responded. "Did you try to apologize..?"

"Yeah..." Mario answered. "A few times, but...it probably didn't help, heh..."

"Maybe wait until she wants to talk," said Luigi. "Just give her some time."

"Okay..." Mario said sadly.

It would be silent for a moment.

"When was the last time you ate?" Luigi asked.

"I don't even know..." Mario answered tiredly. "When did you..?"

Luigi hesitated for a moment. He hadn't said anything about how he himself was doing, and yet somehow Mario was able to figure it out. Maybe it was big brother intuition.

"I don't know either..." Luigi responded.

"Have you slept at all?" Mario asked.

"Hey, I'm taking care of you right now," Luigi joked. "Worry about that later. You need rest."

It would go silent again.

"...But...no. Not really."

Mario hugged his brother a bit tighter while still on his back.

"How about we both get some rest after we eat, okay Lu..?" Mario asked.

Luigi smiled a little.

"Yeah...we can do that."

-END-

#mario #luigi #princess peach #super mario bros #super mario odyssey #mareach #mareach angst #tw injury

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omaano · 3 months ago

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SW Hades AU August Update

Links and previous updates: May - June - July, everything else in this AU

In contrast to the July update, I didn't make as much progress in August as I'd intended, but all the same I'm quite happy with what I get to share with you here:

In the previous poll I only promised to get Echo and Fives to lines and flat colours by this (more than a bit belated) update, but thanks to @lesquatrechevrons keeping me company while I was working on them I managed to get the Domino Twins character art to a state of "almost finished". (I had posted them as "finished" but that was before I realized that I'd forgotten to add the little specks of neon colour to them, but oh well, I hate that stage anyway XD)

I also did some brainstorming with the amazing @elwinged about all the characters, as well as the various weapons and their aspects for this AU. They had some great theories and ideas, and also made me actively think about these things, which was real fun!

Before I go into some ramblings about what went into Echo and Fives' art and design (gotta pad this update with something, and some of you seemed to enjoy it with Omega last time), let's have another poll for next month! I've looked over my table of characters and plans, and I came to the delightful realization that I've made far better progress than how it feels on a day-to-day basis. So maybe it's time to work a bit on the boon-giver characters for a change:

Also would anyone be interested in a taglist for these updates, or are you all fine with me just putting these out whenever and let tumblr do its thing in getting them to you? (send me an ask or reply here if yes, I know my tumblr is a mess XD)

Now on to some thoughts on Echo and Fives:

Depicted but not illustrated in its fullest is that Rex has been a constant presence next to Echo and Fives (and to Cody, too, previous to that). It bears repeating that I really wanted to make sure that the clones are the same in size, and share as many colours as possible (so Cody also stood around as moral support when it came to Fives' hair). So you can also see how the shading on their faces are very similar in their shapes, except for the shadows in that part where nose, cheek and mouth meet, because I wanted to make the Dominoes look a bit younger.

Same with how Rex still has that wrinkle in his forehead that I oddly fixate on so much (don't ask), but Echo and Fives very clerly don't. I'll claim that it had been a completely conscious decision, and not just time passing between the two designs - well over half a year - during which I got it into my head that I should depict the clones during wartime as close to their barely-20-ish age as possible.

One thing I didn't commit to enough though (because I chickened out) was to make Fives look a bit more "dead" and ghostly before I put the blue-green soft light adjustment layer on him was the deeper and darker circles under his eyes, and I fully intended to leave out the light reflection from his eyes... but in the end I went back and added a duller shine to them because I'm weak, it's barely visible and he looked too grumpy and mean already T^T I also didn't want to make his cheeks more hollow or anything, because then I would just feel bad and weird about taking away the roundness from their shapes that I've worked so hard to put on them.

As I was working on this piece I've also thought a lot on the style that I've been trying to mimic through this project.

The thing that gave me pause is that I see more and more of my own style slipping into these pieces, I allow my lines to round out more... and I can claim that it is mostly because that's the compromise I can make with the clones, but I open up and look at Hades references less and less, and I just go freely with what's stuck in my brain while I'd tried to wrap my mind around the style when I first went at it.

I've also always had trouble with grouping my shadows and shapes, and this is exactly what I should be pushing more from now on forward. I keep letting myself get distracted by all the tiny details that I so enjoy to put into my work (case in point all that scarring on Echo, and even Fives' hair - as well as Cody's previously, but I didn't know how else to convey the texture of their hair in less and larger shapes). Hades character designs always feel so rich with detail, but at the same time they are a lot more streamlined than what I'd do if i let my own instincts and desires run wild. I'll try to work with that in the future!

Last but not least a few words on Echo's armor:

I'm slowly but surely stretching my artistic muscles a little and going a bit off-model for the characters, so I wanted Echo to wear armor that is a mix of his ARC and Bad Batch commando armor. So he's got the old plates on his arms (where he still has one LOL), all the straps and pouches (and both blasters!) and old kama hanging from his belt, as well as the hand print paint (because that is personally very very important to me that he has it). Then, beause I desperately needed some other colour in my characters that's not blue or black or grey, he's got elements of the red and orange paint he wears later in TBB (I really wanted him to have that orange stripe down the middle of his chest piece too, but I couldn't make it work with the handprint :() I'm real happy with this balance, and particularly with the shades of blue in his worn paint ^^

I also really wanted to give him a hand (I'll never not be frustrated at how Echo was kept literally handicapped with only his left hand to shoot and grab things (and people) with. It's good that he'd been an ARC and trained in dual wielding, but in a world where people keep losing their appendages (and sometimes half of their bodies) as if it was np big deal at all, it couldn't have been too difficult to get him a hand!! ANYWAYS. I'd first learned how to draw mechanical prosthetic hands/arms during my time in the Overwatch fandom, and I don't think I could draw them any other way (especially the fingers and the lights showing through in their joints) than how I'd done for Cole Cassidy way back when he still had a different name XD

I know there is a relatively limited way in how and what parts you can use to build up a hand/forearm, but I just cannot unsee it, and I thought I'd share this tidbit fun fact as well XD

I hope you enjoyed these ramblings, and I promise to try and keep to the normal mid-month-ish schedule for September!

#my art #hades au #hades au update #long post #domino twins #star wars #star wars fanart #tcw fanart #sw fanart #work in progress #artists on tumblr #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #tbb echo #I have the same imahe in this post twice so sue me :P #I meant to talk a bit about the stars and constellation element in their design as well but... I lost my steam and I just want to post this #I've been meaning to type this up last week but ugh.... I got very stressed and tired with other things so.... this is what it is #I hope you enjoy!

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avinwrites · 2 years ago

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Glimmers of Gratitude || Norton x reader

Synopsis: You've become close with Norton Campbell despite his erratic behavior. On a particularly bad day, you have something that cheers him up!

Norton… scares you a little bit. He always has this distant, unpleasant look on his face, and while he isn’t directly mean to anyone, he seems annoyed at all times. Despite this, you’ve had good conversations with him. Mostly just pleasantries that happen to evolve into real discussions, such as asking him how his day has been and you end up talking about good and bad experiences for what feels like hours. You naturally get along with him, and you can both appreciate that. Occasionally, he’ll become distant towards you, almost out of nowhere. His temper is somewhat unpredictable, but you make it through with some effort on your part. Right now, however, he seems to be in one of his moods.

He hasn’t talked to you all morning. Even when you waved, sat next to him, asked him how he slept, nothing. You were going to keep at it, you get the feeling that he’s having a rough time and you want to help him through it, but you had to participate in a match. During this match, thankfully, you were left alone to decode. While moving from one cipher to another, you caught something shining on the ground, a very interesting looking rock. When you first pick it up, it’s unassuming, like a normal rock, but once you shine it in the light, you see specks of gold and green and yellow, that just leave you in awe. It reminds you of a certain pair of eyes.

When you get back from that match, without thinking, you go to knock on his door, eager to show him the acquisition you are oh so proud of. It takes him a long time to answer the door after you knock, so long that you think he’s elsewhere, but, slowly, the door creaks open to reveal Norton with horrid posture and eye bags as dark as his mental state. You look from his face to behind him for a short moment, debating with yourself whether or not to leave him alone, but you really can’t stand to see him in this kind of shape, and your will to make him feel better overpowers your dread of making him feel worse. You stand there, silent for an uncomfortable period of time.

“I wanted to ask you a question, but I get it if you aren’t in the mood to talk.” You start, having difficulty making eye contact with him.

Wordlessly, he opens his door wider to invite you in, shrugging in the process. From your pocket, you fish out the small, unassuming rock you found earlier, taking his hand and placing it gently on his palm.

“Look.” You tell him, shining a light on the rock to show him the dazzling sparkles deep within it. He watches with you, paying close attention as you show him all the interesting spots you found.

“You had a question?” He finally responds, whilst taking a closer look at your finding.

“Oh, right, I was going to ask you if you knew what it was.”

“Looks to me like Bornite.” He says, matter-of-factly. You weren’t expecting the quick answer. You watch as he closely inspects the mineral and continues. “It’s commonly found in copper mines, but it's not a rare ore. I used to see it a lot…” He trails off, lost in his thoughts once again.

You take a deep breath before taking his hands in yours. You’re determined to boost his spirits at least a little.

“I saw the gold and the green, and the way that it seemed to shine… the first thing that came to my mind was your eyes. Seeing them next to the rock… your eyes are prettier.” You pause before your attempt at flirtation, not knowing how he’ll take it.

At first, the silence was deafening. You feel like you just made a horrible mistake, like you had poked the ever-volatile bear, but after what felt like a long time, only a few seconds in reality, you notice the beginnings of a bright red spread across his face. He’s stunned. Then, he does the unexpected. He smiles at you.

“Thanks.” That soft grin widens slightly. His singular word seems to have more application than just one. As if to say: thanks for the compliment, thanks for the gift, thank you for noticing me, and thank you for your comfort.

“Anytime.” You reply with a smile of your own, reciprocating each appreciation with an acknowledgement of your own.

Maybe you could have said more; maybe you should have. But for now, just being in his presence, both smiling and happy, is enough. There would be plenty of time and opportunity to talk further, but right now, words aren’t needed when you can see his eyes, sparkling just for you.

#idv #idv x reader #identity v x reader #identity v #idv norton #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader #idv prospector #identity v norton #identity v prospector

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 1 year ago

Text

"well at least let me Love You The Same"

"baby, I thought that we had something. compared to him I'm next to nothing."

synopsis// izuku knows he has no chance, but that doesn't stop him from falling hopelessly head over heels for you… or where izuku is an idiot and doesn't know proper communication since he was seven.

pairing// izuku midoriya x gn!reader

word count// 5.2k

contents// no quirks au, fluff? maybe like a hint of angst? college au, pro heros are now famous musicians, mutual unknown pining, childhood friends to lovers?, izuku has NO game. one singular kys joke.

notes// im trying to get rid of my oldish mha drafts so heres this. anyway i kinda tried something new with the povs in the story so uhm let me know if it worked or if it made everything unnecessarily confusing. anyways todays oneshot was inspired by uneasy hearts weigh the most by dance gavin dance ! (so good im trembling )

April 10th, 20XX | 7 years old

Izuku, you, and Kacchan were on another one of your little adventures. The three of you sat atop some rocks you had to climb to get up in the first place, all of you attempting to catch your breaths as the fresh spring breeze felt heavenly against your sweaty bodies from playing all day long. Izuku loved days like this, where all of you would hang out together. Most days, it was just him and Kacchan because you’d have a babysitter who wouldn’t let you out of their sight, but your parents were home today, and when they’re home, anything is on the table. You want to leave to go to the river with the boys? Go right ahead! You want to chase down an ice cream truck? Sure, why not? Izuku loved when they were around because that meant you were around. and Izuku loved you.

Even as young as he is, he knows, and maybe he doesn’t know in what way he loves you, but he very quickly finds out when he turns toward you. The sun is just barely starting to set, and the orange hue reflects off your eyes as you gaze out into the horizon, like little gold specks of glitter, and Izuku finds himself completely enamored by them. He wants you to look at him, to stare at him as peacefully as you are staring out into nothing, and suddenly you turn toward him as if you had somehow read his thoughts. You grin childishly at him, your smile so big that your eyes shut and your nose crinkles, and Izuku finds his heart skipping a beat. that’s... That’s not normal, is it? Kacchan doesn’t make his heart skip a beat even though Izuku loves him, so why do you? It hits Izuku like a train. Oh, right. Because he loves you. as more than a friend. Lost in thought, Izuku doesn't realize that you're calling his name until you grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little.

“Zuku!”

“S-Sorry!”

You laugh a bit and shake your head as you return your hands back to your sides. “It’s fine; you were mumbling. You okay?”

He nods, an endearing smile paints his face, and his wide green eyes are filled with nothing but pure adoration for you. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm more than okay.”

You return the smile before turning your head back toward the sky, and Izuku has to muster up an inhumane amount of strength not to beg you to keep staring at him, to keep smiling at him, to focus on him and him alone.

Izuku’s life-altering moment is quickly ruined by a grunt.

“Let’s go, extras,” Kacchan says.

Kacchan jumps off the rocks the three of you are sitting on, but instead of landing, he eats shit and lands with a loud thud on the pavement. His knees and palms, and nearly every other part of him, were scraped in the process. Though apparently that's just a normal occurrence for him because he gets up like nothing's happened and stares up at Izuku and you.

“Let’s go; what are you guys waiting for?”

Izuku and you glance at each other in complete amazement. Though Izuku’s awe for Kacchan is quickly replaced by amazement for you, and with the way your eyes glimmer, he almost feels like they’re beckoning him to tell you he loves you. But the next words out of your mouth shut him right up and completely shattered his seven-year-old heart:

“Bakugo is amazing!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

Izuku lies flat on his bed, staring up at his hands as they stretch out toward the ceiling. He opens and closes them, half-heartedly imagining what it would feel like to hold your hand. He sighs and lets his hands fall back to his sides. Twelve years later and Izuku is still, if not even more, hopelessly in love with you. Actually, at this point, he doesn’t think the word love is large or strong enough to convey how he feels about you. How could such a meek word ever begin to truly explain the depth of his feelings for you? They could never, but it’s the closest attempt. Though Izuku is losing hope in himself and in you, he’s tried to confess; he really has, but every time he thinks the moment is just right, something always happens.

Whether he freezes up, someone walks in, one of you gets a call, or Kacchan somehow gets brought up, whether it's from you talking about him or physically showing up, without a doubt, something goes wrong every time he tries, and at this point, he’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure this is the universe telling him to stop while he’s ahead, and maybe he should listen to it. Not maybe; he should. He knows he should. He’s known since he was seven; you like Kacchan, not him. And maybe the fact that he doesn’t understand why you like Kacchan doesn’t make this any easier. Yes, he agrees that Kacchan is amazing, but there are also so many things that Izuku excels at compared to him, like, for example, romance! But he understands.

He understands that, in your eyes, he's nothing compared to Kacchan; Kacchan is everything he's not. So he'll listen to the universe, or at the very least, he’ll try. He can’t one hundred percent guarantee this will work because Izuku lives off his emotions and thinks with his heart, but he’ll try. He swears he will. He’ll push these feelings so far down, like an anchor cast into the middle of the ocean, he’ll make sure they never reach the surface again. He mumbles to himself about how he should make a plan. That could make things a lot easier, that could make this actually work. Izuku determinedly nods to himself and sits upright, leaning over to grab his pen and notebook from his bedside table. As he writes, he mumbles to himself.

10 STEPS TO GETTING OVER Y/N

1. Desensitize yourself to them!

2-9. ????

10. You’re over them! Congrats!

Izuku sighs. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have that much of a plan going, but two steps is better than nothing, right? At least he has an idea of how to start! But how is he supposed to do that? With exposure therapy, of course! There’s no better way to desensitize yourself to something than by constantly subjecting yourself to it, so that’s exactly what he’ll do. He’ll just spend more time with you! ... well, even more than he already does! Speaking of which, he should go do that now, not because he actually wants to, of course. This is all just part of his plan to get over you; there's no way in hell this is because he’s so in love with you and feels physically drawn to you like a magnet. Pft. Definitely not.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Bakugo lays on your bed with his head dangling upside down off the end, watching you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at your wall, a small frown flitting across your face.

Bakugo grumbles, “Fuck's wrong with you?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you respond candidly, not bothering to look at him.

He sits up on his elbow, turns slightly to look at you, and quietly asks, “….This isn’t about me telling you to kill yourself the other day, right? Cause I was just joking.”

This finally breaks your gaze away from the wall and toward him, your face scrunched up in confusion. “What? No.”

“Oh ok. Good.” Bakugo goes back to hanging upside down before continuing, “Do what then?”

“Confess.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Be so fucking serious.”

“I am!!”

“Y/N, you say this every fucking week and never do it.”

“I really mean it this time!” You say adamantly before trailing off, “I just..."

He raises his eyebrow at you. “You just?”

“I need your help.”

“Nuh uh,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t do that romantic bullshit.”

“Kirishima would say otherwise,” you mumble, “but it’s just... you’re his best friend.”

“Y/N, we're all best friends, idiot, and if anything, you’re closer to him than I am,” he says, either ignoring or not having heard your first statement, and either way, you’re not complaining.

“Can you just help me?”

“What do you even need help with?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “I need a plan to confess.”

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you in question. “a plan?”

“Yeah! like, I don’t know,” you say hastily, shaking your hands around you in vague gestures. “Maybe I should get him All Might merch and be like, I like you!” You end your sentence with a thumbs-up.

He looks at you blankly, and he’s not sure if it’s your shit ideas that are making his head hurt or the fact that he’s been hanging upside down for too long. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My face?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard?”

“Seen.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes at you and reluctantly asks, “Got any other shitty ideas?”

“No,” you say meekly.

"God, you're fucking hopeless,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples. He should probably stop hanging upside down, but he also doesn’t really care that much.

You cross your arms and glare at him.

Bakugo tuts. “What if you just confess like a normal person?”

“That just doesn’t feel big enough!” you exclaim, slightly miffed.

He can't help but let out a snort that's so loud it almost sounds painful. “That’s what she said.”

You huff in exasperation. “Can you be serious?!”

“God fuck fine,” he says, finally sitting up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been in love with him since we were kids, Bakugo,” you say, frowning. “I don't want to just be like, Lol, I like you; I want to do something for him!”

“Gross.” Bakugo stands up from your bed and points at you as he commands, “Get a piece of paper.”

You get up and grab a piece like he says regardless, yet you can’t help but still ask, “For what?”

“So we can brainstorm, idiot,” he replies pointedly, now sitting down on the floor where you were just moments ago.

“Oh! Thank you, Bakugo; I knew you loved me!”

He stifles a laugh. “Yeah, don’t go around saying that.”

You take a seat next to Bakugo, both of you sitting cross-legged, and place the paper down in front of the two of you. The two of you lean in to have a better view of the paper, your shoulders and legs touching at this point. You both take turns writing down a plan and either agreeing with it or, more often than not, scribbling it out because one of you finds it stupid. You two go at this for what feels like hours when really it’s probably only been about twenty minutes, give or take. Suddenly, he claps his hands together, and you jump at the noise.

“Jesus christ.” You exhale heavily, your hand on your chest, feeling how your heart races from being startled. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I got it,” he mumbles as he fervently writes something down on the paper, triumphantly slamming the pen down when he’s done.

You stare at him curiously, and he merely smirks at you while pointing down at what he wrote, silently urging you to read it. You roll your eyes at him before quickly scanning what he wrote, and you can see why he got so excited because now you’re feeling the exact same way.

“Bakugo, you’re a genius!” you cry, returning your focus to him.

Bakugo leans in toward you, his gaze zeroing in on yours, and nods. “Fuck yeah, I am!”

With how close you two were sitting together already, the two of you staring at each other like this, leaned in with your noses about to touch, makes it look like the two of you are about to kiss. So if anyone walked in right now, without a doubt, they would think something was up. And it’s just your luck—or lack thereof—when Izuku walks in. The three of you were close enough that, at any given moment, one of you would always end up in the other's dorm without warning. Izuku stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you, and he has to actively will his legs not to give out from underneath him right then and there as you both turn toward him, smiles on your faces.

You swiftly grab the piece of paper and hide it behind your back, smiling up at the boy who holds all of your affection. “Hi Zuku, what’s up?”

Bakugo hums and leans back on his palms. “Sup nerd.”

“Sorry for interrupting!” He stammers nervously; fuck, he hates when he does that. He’s been good about not doing that, but it’s easy to fall back into it when he thinks he’s just witnessed the two of you about to kiss.

“What?” You let out a small laugh. “Zuku, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I should have knocked! or given you guys a warning! Sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you!” Izuku avoids all eye contact with either of you as he slowly starts to back out of the room, like If he did it slowly enough, you wouldn’t have even noticed he was there in the first place.

You frown, noticing how his wide eyes are growing glossy. “Zuku, are you okay?”

Even Bakugo is taken aback by how he’s acting as he grumbles, “The fuck are you talking bout, nerd?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a small smile, but the way his bottom lip trembles betrays him. “I-I should go!”

The minute Izuku bolts out of where he came from, you turn to Bakugo in confusion.

“What the fuck was that?”

Bakugo isn’t looking at you; rather, he’s looking down at how your knees are touching; he’s looking at how close together you two are currently sitting. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“We are all up in each other's personal space,” he says while slowly lifting his head up to look at you.

When he looks at you, all you can say is “Oh,” because you immediately realize just how close the two of you are, your noses about to touch.

He rolls his eyes as he pushes your face away from him. “Yeah oh.”

“Oh fuck,” you exclaim panickedly now that everything’s clicked, “What do I do?!”

“Go after him!”

“And do what?”

Bakugo stares at you in utter disbelief before his face scrunches up into a scowl and barks, “Confess dumbass!”

You blink a few times and frown. “But our plan—“

“Fuck our plan,” Bakugo interrupts you impatiently. “Now you have to improvise and go tell that dumbass that you’re in love with him and that there’s nothing between us.”

You shake your head, staring at Bakugo in fear. “I don't think I can do this—“

“Oh no,” he says sternly, shaking his head. “You’re gonna fucking do this. I’ll drag you outside if I fucking have to.”

“Bakugo,” you plead.

He glares at you, speaking through clenched teeth, “Go. Run. After. Him. Now. Or. I. Will. Make. Your. Life. A. Living. Hell.”

“Again?” You tease him in hopes that it’ll distract him from forcing you to confess, because although you want to, you didn’t want it to happen like this. Though your efforts are futile because Bakugo does not budge.

“Y/N. I swear to fucking god.”

“Fuck fine!” You groan as you stand up, pointing down at Bakugo as you mumble, “But if this goes terrible, I’m blaming you.”

Bakugo slaps your finger away. “Get the fuck out of my face and go serenade the nerd.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

December 10th, 20XX | 12 years old

You and Izuku are sitting on a random bench, huddling for warmth as you wait for the train to arrive. Truthfully, this wouldn’t have been so bad if the two of you were still friends with Bakugo; his body temperature was always the highest out of the three of you, making it extremely easy to use him to warm up in the cold, but once middle school hit, something changed in Bakugo. Popularity and his ego got to him, and now the boy you two once considered a friend was nothing more than a bully on most days, and today was one of those days. You and Izuku side-eye each other and sigh the minute you hear a familiar scoff behind you.

“Fucking extras, hogging the bench.”

Izuku looks like he wants to say something, but you shake your head and place your hand on top of his. Izuku smiles softly at you, and it makes your cheeks warm—wait, what? That doesn’t happen. It’s probably just Bakugo’s body heat radiating off of him, that’s all.

“Oh, look, the nerd needs someone to calm him down, as if. The fuck are you gonna do?” Bakugo sneers.

You know he’s trying to egg Izuku on, but before you can try to say anything to calm Izuku down, he’s already pulling himself away from you and turning to face Bakugo. You quickly copy his actions.

“What’s your problem?” Izuku asks as flatly as he can, trying to show Bakugo that he’s not afraid of him, and he’s not. Not when you’re here, at least.

Bakugo takes a step closer toward Izuku, and you're on high alert, ready to step in between them if need be.

“You’re my fucking problem,” he says, poking a finger harshly into Izuku’s chest. “And that fucking extra too,” he quickly adds on, briefly glaring at you before looking back to Izuku.

You barely have time to respond, blink, or comprehend what’s happening when suddenly Izuku swings and strikes Bakugo. Bakugo's hand quickly touches his cheek where Izuku just hit, his mouth slightly agape, and you're afraid he’s going to retaliate, but he doesn’t. Time seems to come to a lull. Bakugo is staring at Izuku in shock, his hand still on his cheek. It's like he’s frozen under Izuku’s gaze. Izuku is glaring at Bakugo, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes, and you can't take your eyes off him.

Something swirling deep in your gut makes it feel like someone's in there trying to make balloon animals out of your insides, and it's a horrible feeling—maybe not the feeling itself, but why you feel that way. You aren't sure if it's fear, amazement, or love—maybe a combination of all three, actually. All you know for sure is that watching Izuku punch Bakugo and stand up to him awoke something in you, and whatever it is, you want it to go back to sleep. Your reverie is interrupted by Bakugo spitting out some blood, barely missing you and Izuku, before scowling at the two of you and walking away.

“Holy shit, Zuku-“ you begin but quickly stop when you notice him trembling. You quickly grab him by the shoulders and practically manhandle him into looking at you. “Hey- Zuku?”

“I-I didn't mean to do that,” he confesses, his wide, wet eyes locked on yours.

“Hey, it's fine,” you say softly, cupping his cheek into one of your hands.

Izuku shakes his head softly while leaning into your touch at the same time. “I didn't even care that he said I was his problem—but he brought you into it, and I don't know—I don't know what happened—I just... I didn't want him talking like that to you.”

Oh.

You know now.

Know that whatever just woke up inside you will not go back to sleep anytime soon.

It won't go back to sleep ever, actually.

That feeling in your gut was love. and the other two, sure, but mostly love.

You love Izuku.

You’re in love with Izuku.

You love Izuku so much that you can't help but tear up at the realization as you bring your other hand up to his cheek, fully engulfing his face.

Izuku panics at the sight of your now glossy eyes, which are perfectly matching his.

“y-y/n! Why are you crying? Are you okay? Did-did I do something wrong?”

“No!—“ you can’t help but let out a shaky laugh while tears freely run down your face—"No, Zuku, you didn't do anything wrong at all.”

He wipes away your tears and frowns skeptically. “Then why are you crying?”

“I just—I just really love you, Izuku.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

You run outside of the dorm buildings, met with an open campus, people walking around here and there as you turn your head every which way, hoping for just a speck, a hint, an image of curly green hair, but you can't find it, can't find him, and it makes your heart clench painfully. You groan loudly, ignoring how people side-eye you in confusion.

“Shit—if I were Zuku, where would I go? Where the fuck would I go?”

You stand there for a few moments, dragging your hand down your face in utter defeat, just trying to figure it out. It shouldn’t take you this long; it really shouldn't. Had you asked yourself this on any other day in any other instance, you would have been able to answer it immediately, but your head is hazy, it's smoky, and it's suffocating. like if you don't tell Izuku and put out the forest fire that are the words “I love you,” you'll suffocate to death in its smoke. Suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder, quickly turning on your heels to face whoever it is.

“Hey dude, you ok?”

“Kiri! Yeah- yeah, I'm good. Um, what's up?”

Kirishima narrows his eyes at you, confused at your reaction, but doesn't bother saying anything about it. “Oh! I just got done with music lessons and was actually about to go get Bakugo from your dorm.”

“Oh my god,” you say in shock, like you've just had a life-changing epiphany, and technically you have, or at least it feels like it. “Music lessons... The music room! Kirishima, you're a genius! I love you so much, if Bakugo ever does anything to you, I'll kill him. I owe you!”

“What?” Kirishima chuckles nervously, but you’ve already started running toward your destination, and Kirishima is forced to call out an awkward, “Oh, um, okay, bye!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

You're running to the music room like your life depends on it, and you’re sure if your high school PE teacher could see you right now, they would be impressed beyond belief. You get to the building in record time, borderline panting as you enter, but your steps don't slow; no, they won't; they refuse to until Izuku is right in front of you. You swing open the door, and Izuku jolts at the noise. Standing in the doorway, you can't help but notice how he frantically wipes at his face, trying to erase any evidence of him crying just mere seconds before. The sight makes your heart break, and you take a step toward him only for your legs to give out on you completely—fuck, you should probably run more if just this turned your legs into jelly. Izuku is now the one who rushes to your side as you fall to your knees.

“y/n!” He kneels down in front of you, his hands moving around frantically, like he wants to put them somewhere on you but isn’t sure if he should. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Are you?” You ask through heavy breaths, trying to still your racing heart, though you know that won't happen. Once your heart stops racing from the running, it will race for Izuku; it always races for Izuku. like he’s the very blood that keeps your heart beating.

His voice trembles as he asks, “Me?”

You take a deep breath to prepare for the shout you give when exclaiming, “Yes, you!”

“What did I do?”

“You ran out, Izuku!”

he frowns. “I said I was sorry!”

“No,“ you shake your head, “you said you were sorry for interrupting!”

“Exactly!” Izuku lets his head drop back and stares up at the ceiling as he groans in slight frustration.

You scowl at the fact that he’s no longer looking at you, and before you can stop yourself, you grab his face, your fingers squishing his cheeks as you force his head back down to stare at you. “You weren't interrupting anything.”

“But—“ he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled by the way you're squeezing his cheeks so hard that his lips pucker.

“Why?”

Izuku stares at you in confusion as he takes your hand off his face so he can actually speak properly. “What?”

You swallow harshly, trying to ignore how his hand is lingering on yours. “Why did you run out?”

He sighs and retracts his hand from yours, placing it back down in his lap, and you almost feel like you’ve made a mistake somewhere, like you’ve said or done the wrong thing. “Why did you run after me, y/n?”

“Izuku.”

“y/n.”

“Please tell me why you ran out,” you plead softly, slowly inching your hand back to his face. “What do you think you saw?”

His gaze flits down to your hand before he grabs it and brings it up to his cheek, too impatient to wait for you to get it there yourself, leaning into your touch as he sighs. “I know what I saw.”

You rub your thumb against his cheek soothingly as you softly demand, “Then tell me what you saw.”

Izuku looks away, and he cranes his head to the opposite side of your hand, as if he’s now trying to get away from your touch. You don’t try to fight it, although it hurts a lot. You accept it, letting your hand drop back down to your side, and pretend like you don’t feel like whatever he’s about to say will hurt you beyond belief.

“You—you and Kacchan were about to kiss, or did kiss—one or the other.”

You blink at him. Oh, that didn’t hurt. At all, actually. In fact, you find yourself clamping your hands over your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, but to no avail; you're laughing like Izuku just told you the world's greatest joke, but he obviously does not find this as funny as you do, and your laughing has Izuku staring at you wide-eyed, absolutely mortified.

“Why are you laughing?!”

You collect yourself with a deep breath before smiling at him as you mumble, “Oh my god, Izuku, you are such an idiot, it's almost endearing.”

“What?” His eyebrows knit together and his nose scrunches up as he frowns, but his scrunched-up face trembles, like he’s trying really hard to seem mad or like he’s truly scowling. "Y/N, that's mean! I mean, I knew you two had something going on, but just because I finally walked in on something happening doesn't mean you get to-“

You know better than anyone that once Izuku starts rambling, it's near impossible to get him to stop verbally. You've always had to flick him or something along those lines to get him to stop, and suddenly you realize this has given you the perfect opportunity to do something you've only dreamed about doing each and every time this has happened before. You can't help the smile that's on your face as you quickly lean in and grab Izuku’s face, kissing him, which immediately and effectively shuts him up like you had hoped. Much to your dismay, Izuku is the first one to break the kiss, and he pulls back just enough for you to see the flush on his face, and his eyes are the size of saucer plates as he looks at you in complete disbelief.

“What?” His voice cracks as he asks again, this time louder in complete shock as everything has finally processed in his head, “What?!”

You laugh under your breath as you grab him by the back of his head and pull his head in toward yours, butting your foreheads together. “Not to be cheesy, Zuku, but hell will freeze over before I ever kiss someone who isn't you.”

“Huh? But—I thought—“

You shrug with a small smile on your face as you lean back on your palms. “You thought wrong, Izuku.”

He places a finger on his chin and looks away as he thinks aloud, “Wait, but then—does that mean you like me?”

“No.”

“No?!” his head whips toward you, and his voice trembles against his will as he exclaims, “But you just kissed me!”

You roll your eyes before sitting up straight and leaning toward him, and Izuku can’t find it in him to pull away from you, slightly hoping you’ll kiss him again even if you just said you don’t like him.

You tuck a few of his curls behind his ear, cooing, “I'm in love with you, Izuku.”

“Oh,” he says, pausing. “Oh!!”

You pull your hand away awkwardly. “You know this is usually the part where you reject me or not?…”

“Oh right!“ Izuku grabs your hands with his before continuing, “I'm in love with you too!”

You briefly glance down at your intertwined hands before you look back up at him. The minute your eyes meet, you feel your throat go dry, having to force out a response: “Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Why do you think I ran out?” He laughs softly and gives your hand a small squeeze as he teases, “And no offense, but you're kinda oblivious; I'm really not that subtle.”

you frown. “Well, I could say the same about you!” You pause and think for a moment. “Wait, why the fuck did you even think me and Bakugo had a thing? or that I liked him? Literally, what could ever give you that impression, Zuku?”

“Oh, um,“ he looks away sheepishly as he confesses, “I've kinda… thought that since we were seven?”

“What?!” You stare at him incredulously, eyes so wide they’re giving his naturally saucer-plate-esque eyes a run for their money. “What the hell happened when we were seven to make you think that?!”

He starts tentatively, “Uhm, you kinda like, called Bakugo amazing after he jumped off those rocks we used to climb, but he ate shit and wasn't bothered?” He clears his throat, like what he’s about to say next will make everything click in your brain and make you agree that the reason he thought that makes complete sense. “And not to mention that was like minutes after I realized I was in love with you?…”

“Izuku Midoriya.”

He avoids your gaze and instead focuses on your intertwined hands.

“You thought I was in love with Bakugo this whole time because I called him amazing when we were seven?” You ask in a combination of being slightly miffed and in complete disbelief.

He groans and innocently looks back up at you through his lashes. “Okay, well, when you say it like that—“

You cut him off with a small huff and butted your foreheads together once more, murmuring, "Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

He hums and nods against you. “Yeah, but now I'm your idiot.”

You can’t help the smile that practically splits your face in two as you scatter kisses over his flushed, freckled painted cheeks.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

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dadsbongos · 9 months ago

Note

we need more airhead x megumi i loved that little series 🙏🏼

haha wholesome fun little addition to a fun little series - 645 words / not proofread :P

non-descript spoilers for chapters 212 +

~~~~

Hot sand is soft beneath your palms, specks clinging along the lines in Megumi’s palms. Foamy ocean laps at the muddy shore, and he sinks his feet down into the pliant ground. Stringy, inky green seaweed shreds are stranded along the empty beach. Despite the water being in front of him, Megumi feels it all around him as well. Bogging down his clothes and lifting his grown hair (when was the last time he could enjoy a proper cut?). He smells it. Oxygen still filling his lungs as the salty tinge invades his nose. And he hears it, too. Gentle wave after gentle wave licking up to his shoes.

There is no sun, but he feels heat searing all down his exposed neck and drooling through his uniform. So hot it scars over his pale flesh. So hot he wishes he were dead.

Until his own shadow is engulfed by a wide bulb in the dark sand. Heat dissipates, and a calm cool overtakes the boil instead.

Megumi twitches around, eyes wide and ears clogged with water, to find you, punching an umbrella into the beach. He looks up as you look down, you smile and you say something that he can’t quite hear.

“What…?” he dumbly mutters, voice airy in the disbelief that you’re even here.

“I said,” you emphasize, “‘All alone, handsome?’”

Megumi can’t respond, too busy watching as you slip under the umbrella’s shade and sit beside him. You practically lay against him, cheek smushing on his shoulder.

“It’s boring out here,” your voice is loud. So much louder than the faraway ocean crashing. He watches through thick lashes as you glance around the abandoned shore, “At least it's clean.”

Megumi nods, too tired to wonder how it was you got here and how you plan to get out, and settles his weight against yours, “Yeah, well… who wants to look at trash while they’re at the beach?”

“True,” you turn your face until your lips are molded against his shoulder, he can faintly feel your frown through his sleeve, “I miss you, ‘gumi.”

“You do?”

“Yeah…”

Why? Where is there even the room for you to miss him?

Megumi flattens his head on yours, eyes fluttering closed as he chastises himself. He should know better. You have a big heart -- certainly big enough to miss him even as the world around you crumbles. Megumi, meanwhile, had all the time to miss you when he wasn’t wishing he was dead.

“I want you to come home,” your voice is muffled, but he strains his ears to ensure your words don’t go unheard, “I want to make you a new recipe I learned… before all this.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hum, jamming the toe of your shoe into the sludgy, wet sand and kicking it up to reveal a rock, “It goes with ginger…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you need to take me candle shopping again.”

“Do you really want me to go with you?”

“I want you with me all the time, ‘gumi.”

He has to stop himself from repeating the question. Even after all of this, you continue to want him around? His face, voice, and erratic hair -- even now, none of it disgusts you?

Megumi has to be thankful for that. He isn’t sure he could so much as look in a mirror right now without cracking it open.

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” you murmur, “I can wait.”

“Thank you…” he huddles closer to you, sucking up your warmth hoping it’ll make him feel alive again, “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” a breeze sweeps over, almost icy against Megumi’s bare neck. But it’s pleasant.

The washing waves overtake his ears again, but the heavy feeling of water has disappeared. Replaced with raw, crisp air. A bulbed shadow sways below, and a yellow parasol with printed daisies dances along with it.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #airhead reader #airhead regen

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 3 months ago

Text

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirty-Two

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: None.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.9k

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One Month Since Kidnapping

The gentle sway of the Red Force soothes your frayed nerves as you sit on the deck, knife in hand. Ongaku Island appears on the horizon, a speck of green and gold against the endless blue. The crew bustles around you, but you hardly notice their activity. Your focus is on the knife tricks Gab has taught you—flipping it, twirling it, letting it dance between your fingers. The blade gleams under the sun, a sharp reminder of how life can cut deep.

Gab’s voice breaks through your thoughts. "Aria, careful with that. You don't want to lose a finger."

You glance up at him, offering a faint smile. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

He leans against the railing, watching you with concern etched into his rugged features. "How’re you holding up?"

You shrug, eyes returning to the knife. “I’m managing.”

Gab doesn’t press further, knowing better than to push. Instead, he nods and walks off to join the others. You return your attention to the horizon and resume twirling the knife in your hand. You've long since left physical pain behind, but what consumes you now is bitter anger you are fighting to dispel. Not even Shanks embrace and the crew's words of encouragement lesson the taste.

You hear the familiar sound of Shanks' footsteps approaching, a steady rhythm that both comforts and unsettles you. He stops beside you, casting a long shadow over your seated form. You don't look up; instead, you continue to fiddle with the knife, letting its cool metal distract you from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Treasure," Shanks begins, his voice soft but firm. "We need to talk."

You glance up, meeting his concerned eyes. "About what?"

He takes a seat next to you, his pleading gaze never wavering. "You've been distant. Ever since we got you back, you're here but not with me."

Your fingers tighten around the knife handle. "I'm fine, Shanks."

He reaches out, gently taking the knife from your hand and setting it aside. His touch is warm, a stark contrast to the cold steel. "No, you're not. And it's okay to not be fine."

You swallow hard, looking away from him and out toward Ongaku Island. The island's beauty feels almost mocking against your internal chaos.

"Listen," Shanks continues, his tone lighter now as he tries to draw you back in. "I was thinking... how about we spend a day in town? Just you and me."

You furrow your brow, puzzled. "In town?"

"Yeah," he says with a small smile. "Do some shopping, maybe get you a new dress or two," you can see the sparkle in his eyes, the slight undertone of playfulness he is trying to express. "Just spend some quality time together. I think you need it."

You sigh deeply, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I don’t know if that’ll help.”

“Maybe not,” he admits, his hand lifting so he can brush his fingers beneath your chin, “but I would like to spend some time with you, treasure. Just with you.” He tilts his head slightly, studying your face as if searching for a flicker of agreement.

You finally meet his gaze again and find sincerity there—a genuine desire to see you happy, even if only for a moment.

"I don't suppose there is a taiyaki stand on the island?" You softly probe, a glimmer of life behind your dulled eyes. Shanks chuckles as his lips curve into a grin and he cups the side of your face, pulling you close to kiss your temple.

"You can have all the taiyaki you want, treasure," He murmurs against your skin, burying his face into your hair. "Promise."

Shanks' hand wraps firmly around yours, guiding you through the bustling market of Ongaku Island. The air is filled with the harmonious hum of merchants and shoppers, each stall bursting with vibrant colors and tantalizing scents. Yet, you feel detached, as though you're watching the scene unfold from a distance.

Shanks chatters on about various items—beautifully crafted instruments, intricate jewelry—but his words barely register. You nod and smile when appropriate, trying to match his enthusiasm, but it’s a hollow effort. Your mind drifts to darker places, memories you wish you could erase.

Then Shanks spots it—the taiyaki stand. His eyes light up, and he gently tugs your hand. "Come on, Treasure. Let’s get some taiyaki."

You follow him, allowing a small smile to tug at your lips for his sake. The vendor greets Shanks warmly, and they exchange a few words while he prepares the fish-shaped pastries. Shanks turns to you with that boyish grin that first drew you in.

The vendor works with precision, folding the batter into delicate fish shapes before filling them with sweet red bean paste. The aroma wafts through the air, a comforting blend of sugar and warmth. You watch the process intently, trying to focus on something simple and pleasant. Shanks stands beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the whirlwind of your thoughts.

When the vendor hands over the taiyaki, Shanks thanks him and passes one to you. You take it gingerly, bringing it to your lips and nibbling at the edge. The taste is as delightful as you remember, but you eat slowly, savoring each bite.

You notice Shanks watching you with a raised eyebrow. “What?” you ask, pausing mid-bite.

“Just surprised,” he replies, his tone teasing. “Last time we had taiyaki, you devoured yours in three bites.”

You glare at him playfully. “I have manners, you know.”

Shanks grins wider. “Sure, when it suits you.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Some of us like to enjoy our food.”

“Some of us,” he mimics, then laughs. His laughter is infectious, and despite yourself, you chuckle.

He finishes his taiyaki in two bites and brushes crumbs from his shirt. “Alright, Treasure,” he says, pointing towards a row of shops draped in colorful fabrics. “Time for some new clothes.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need any more clothes.”

He snorts, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “The dresses aren’t for you.”

That catches your attention. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Then who are they for?”

“For my enjoyment,” he says with a wink.

You laugh outright this time. Your first laugh in over a month. “I didn’t know you were a cross-dresser.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Not for me to wear. For me to view.” He emphasizes the word with a suggestive smirk.

Heat rises to your cheeks. You glance away but allow him to guide you towards the dress shops. The fabrics flutter in the breeze like colorful banners of a past life you're slowly letting go of.

As you enter one of the shops together, the soft rustle of fabric and warm ambiance envelops you both. Shanks’ hand remains on yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin. For the first time in weeks, something within begins to unwind—a small thread loosening in the tightly bound knot of your heart.

"Let’s find something that makes you feel as stunning as you are," he murmurs close to your ear. "Because as much as I adore seeing you in your lavender dress, one of these days I fear I might end up ripping it from your body."

You glare at Shanks, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. "I can't believe you'd even think of such a thing," you mutter, stepping further into the dress shop.

The interior of the shop is a sensory overload. Shelves and racks brim with vibrant silks, satins, and linens. Each fabric whispers promises of elegance and grace. The shopkeeper, a petite woman with graying hair pulled into a neat bun, greets you warmly.

"Welcome! How can I help you today?" she asks, her voice as soothing as the soft chime of bells hanging from the door.

Shanks' hand tightens around yours reassuringly. "We're looking for some dresses," he says, his gaze fixed on you with intense adoration.

The shopkeeper’s eyes twinkle with excitement as she claps her hands, calling for an assistant. A young woman with a shy smile appears from behind a curtain of rich velvet. "This way, miss," she says softly, guiding you toward the changing rooms.

You glance back at Shanks, his presence a comforting anchor in this sea of fabrics and colors. The shopkeeper turns to him, a knowing look in her eyes. "Will you be staying, sir?"

Shanks looks at you, his brow raised in question. Your aches from the unspoken communication between you. Come on, Aria, act happy for him. "Wouldn't it be nicer if you were surprised by the dresses?" you suggest, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

A twinkle ignites in Shanks' eyes, and he gives you that familiar curvy smile that always makes your knees weak. Even in this state. "Get several dresses then," he says with a wink, making the shopkeeper chuckle.

As you follow the assistant into the changing area, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety. The small room is lined with mirrors and draped with curtains in shades of deep burgundy. The assistant begins pulling dresses from racks, each more stunning than the last. And not at all ostentatious.

Moving to where you are directed, you stand in the small changing room, fingers tracing the delicate fabrics of the dresses hanging before you. Each one seems to whisper promises of a new beginning, a fresh start away from the nightmares of your past. The assistant hands you a dress of soft sea-green silk, its simplicity and elegance a stark contrast to the ornate gowns you wore back home.

"Try this one first," she suggests, her smile kind and encouraging.

You nod and step behind the curtain, letting the heavy fabric fall closed behind you. As you slip out of your tunic and trousers, and into the sea-green dress, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at you seems like a stranger—a woman that looks to be withering away.

The assistant’s voice calls out from beyond the curtain. “How does it feel?”

You step out hesitantly, smoothing the dress over your hips. “I feel... pretty.”

The assistant’s eyes light up as she looks you over, but she shakes her head slightly. “Pretty? No, no, you should feel wonderful in your dress.” She turns to the rack of clothes, her fingers skimming over various fabrics. “Let’s try another one.”

She pulls out a dress of soft red with delicate lace details and hands it to you. You retreat behind the curtain once more, slipping into this new garment. As you adjust the straps and examine yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but think it still doesn’t quite capture what you need it to.

You step out again, and the assistant tilts her head, studying you carefully. “It’s beautiful,” she says slowly, “but I think we can do better.”

You nod in agreement, feeling a mix of frustration and anticipation. She disappears into the depths of the shop for a moment before returning with another dress draped over her arm—a shimmering black gown that seems to catch and reflect every sliver of light.

“Try this one,” she suggests, handing it to you with a knowing smile.

You take the dress from her and step back into the changing room. As you slide into the black gown, it hugs your curves perfectly, the fabric feeling like liquid night against your skin.

As you move to stand before the mirror, the assistant’s deft fingers adjust the black gown that clings to your form. The fabric flows like midnight silk, hugging your curves and cascading down in an elegant train. The assistant fusses with the hem, murmuring about how the dark color accentuates your natural beauty.

The bell above the shop door chimes, signaling a new customer. You glance up briefly, catching sight of a woman accompanied by her maid. She strides in with an air of entitlement, her voice cutting through the shop's quiet ambiance.

"I need a dress for tonight's formal event," she announces to the shopkeeper. "Something befitting my status."

You turn back to the mirror, disinterested. You've had your fill of rich and snobby nobles, their haughty airs and insipid conversations. The assistant continues her adjustments, pinning the fabric just so.

"The 42nd Marine Branch will be there," you overhear the noblewoman say as she examines a row of dresses. Your heart skips a beat, and anger surges through you like wildfire. Collins. Flickers of pain try emerge, but surprisingly, your anger and malice beat it back until all you can feel is unbridled rage.

The assistant looks up at you with a bright smile, oblivious to your internal storm. "This dress is perfect for you," she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

But your mind is elsewhere. An idea takes root, growing stronger by the second. You straighten up, slipping into the poised demeanor of your noble upbringing. Turning towards the other woman, you channel all the charm and grace you've learned to wield like a weapon.

"Pardon me," you begin smoothly, catching her attention. "I couldn't help but overhear about this formal event. It sounds simply delightful." You flash her a smile that would melt glaciers.

The noblewoman appraises you for a moment before recognition flickers in her eyes. She sees through to your noble heritage instantly, drawn in by your polished manners.

"Oh, yes," she says, warming to you. "It's going to be quite an affair. The 42nd Marine Branch is hosting it."

You tilt your head slightly, feigning innocent curiosity while inside you seethe with determination. "I would love to meet those brave men," you say with just the right amount of admiration in your tone.

The noblewoman steps closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Well, I can tell you're someone who appreciates such company," she says with a knowing smile. "It's being held on the next island over—a short ferry ride from here."

As she continues to gossip about the event—details about who will attend and what will be served—you nod and listen intently, all while formulating your plan. You’ll sneak away from Shanks and his watchful crew, take that ferry ride yourself. This time, you won’t be hindered by anyone—not even him.

"Thank you so much for sharing," you say as she finally finishes her spiel. "I've been plagued terribly by boredom."

You gaze at your reflection one last time in the black gown that now feels like armor—steely resolve coursing through your veins. The assistant is still fussing with the hem as you make up your mind: tonight will be Collins' reckoning.

The Red Force cuts through the waves, its sails billowing against the backdrop of a setting sun. The crew, usually boisterous and carefree, move with a tension that hangs heavy in the salty air. Shanks stands at the helm, his one arm gripping the wheel with unwavering resolve. His eyes scan the horizon, but his mind is fixated on Aria.

Gab strides up to him, his expression a mix of worry and confusion. "Captain, what if she spooked? What if she ran off to hide somewhere? She's—she's a quick learner and if she gets away we might not find her before something happens…"

Shanks shakes his head, his gaze hardening. "Aria isn't running," he says, voice steady but laced with an edge of worry. "She's going after Collins. This isn't fear driving her—it's revenge."

Lucky Roux, gnawing on a piece of meat as usual, joins them. "You really think she's out for blood?" he asks, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Shanks' grip on the wheel tightens. "She’s been through too much to let him get away with it," he says quietly. The wind whips through his red hair, adding to the storm brewing inside him. "She wants blood and she'll get it one way or another."

Below deck, the crew readies their weapons and checks supplies. The usual laughter and banter are replaced by somber determination. Each pirate understands the gravity of the situation; their “Treasure” is out there, possibly in danger, and they won’t let her face it alone.

Shanks’ mind flashes back to Aria’s laughter as they walked through the picturesque harbor village, her eyes sparkling with a subtle joy he hadn’t seen in so long. Even if that happiness was barely expressed. The thought of Collins' presence threatening that light fills him with a fury he rarely allows himself to feel. He's taken more than just Aria's happiness.

"We’re closing in on the island," Benn Beckman calls out from his vantage point atop the crow's nest. His sharp eyes never miss a thing.

Shanks nods, acknowledging Beckman’s words but never taking his eyes off the horizon. “Prepare for anything,” he commands. “Collins won’t know what hit him.”

As night falls, lanterns are lit on deck, casting flickering shadows that dance across tense faces. The air grows colder, but Shanks feels none of it; his focus is entirely on reaching Aria before Collins can inflict more harm.

The crew shares silent looks of understanding and determination. They’ve fought countless battles together, but this mission feels different—more personal for everyone.

“We’ll get her back,” Gab says firmly, clapping Shanks on the shoulder.

Shanks finally allows himself a small smile. “We will,” he agrees. But deep down, worry gnaws at him like a relentless tide against a rocky shore. He can only hope that when they find Aria, they won’t be too late.

The ship presses on through the darkening waters, every soul aboard united by one purpose: bring their Treasure home and make Collins pay for every ounce of suffering he has caused her.

Date Published: 8/2/24

Last Edit: 8/2/24

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#red haired shanks #one piece shanks #shanks x you #shanks x reader #shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks

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anonymouszephyrus · 8 months ago

Note

Keith's really smart but doesn't fully understand humor so he'll pretend not to know some pop culture thing or extremely essential piece of knowledge for the bit and everyone takes him seriously and now everyone on the ship thinks he not only doesn't know what Legos are but also didn't know the difference between blue and green until Voltron.

Now... At first, I couldn't whether this was supposed to be a request for me to write until I actually started reading it and my little brain processed the damn thing. So here it is <3

(I may have gone way too off the script but oh well. I really liked it NFKJAN It's short but oh well, whoever wants to use it- go ahead. Have fun!)

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

"Keith."

Lance stared back at him with a perplexed, almost offended look in his eyes. The red paladin was almost tempted to stop the act and laugh in his face at how gobsmackingly stupid he looked right now. "Don't be fucking with me right now."

The blue paladin looked so serious and so utterly cute as he stared down at Keith on the floor, "What?" Keith answered, tilting his head a bit as he looked up at Lance.

"Are you colorblind?" He asked, moving closer to him, "Or just actually clueless?"

Keith couldn't help but give out a small chuckle, "I'm not colorblind, Lance. I'm quite sure of that."

It had been just a few weeks since the 'reveal' that Keith didn't know what Legos were.. that was fine, apparently. Not everyone had the option of having those little foot-breaking blocks... no, the thing Lance was so offended and disgruntled by was the fact that Keith mistook his blue lion for Pidge's. Not only were they different sizes, but Lance was so offended that his beauty of a lion was being compared to Pidge's snarky and "know-it-all" one. No offense, Pidge. He said before.

He might have chalked it up to Keith being slightly colorblind or his Galran heritage having something to do with the way he sees color... but the red paladin have proved before that he did know the difference between the two lions.. and now, Lance was utterly convinced he was just doing it to fuck with him.

"You're such a bitch." Keith laughed at his reaction, the very nerve!

How could he just sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?! It seemed as though Keith took pleasure in tormenting him, mocking him with his laughter and leaving Lance feeling foolish and inadequate. The audacity of that little shit...

This infuriatingly bossy, annoying, devious, stubborn, hot-headed, irresistible-

The blue paladin stared at him. Stared at how Keith laughed, realizing he didn't do it very often. He sat there and stared at him, for a long time he now realized.

With a sudden gesture, Keith waved his hand in front of Lance's eyes, jolting him out of his daze. Lance's gaze locked onto the red paladin, realizing that Keith had stealthily closed the distance while Lance was lost in his thoughts. As Lance stared back, mesmerized by Keith's captivating eyes—a mesmerizing blend of swirling black and purple, sprinkled with specks of dark blue—he couldn't help but think how stunning Keith looked up close. However, Lance's mind abruptly snapped back to reality. Wait.

Oh dear.

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

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callmehiri · 23 days ago

Text

Raid

By @secretlysheikah

An entry for whumptober! I didn’t necessarily follow a prompt but I wanted my blorbo to shine. So I made this. Whump is below the cut.

She didn’t know what she was going to do with him. Her hands opened and closed as she looked at the vase full of fresh picked violets. The blooms swayed gently in the warm spring air, wafting a sweet scent over to her. A bright green bow decorated the glistening glass with a small card attached. She didn’t need to read it to know they were from Colin. The thought made little sparks warm her chest even as her mind screamed about the potential danger of it all.

She un-stuck her feet from the floor and strode over to her dresser. She plucked up the little card, her fingers trembling as she turned it over and read it. Her brows rose before she snorted and shoved the note into her pocket. In a second she swung herself up on the dresser and then out the window behind it.

The sounds of men yelling and laughing as they trained filled the air as she walked around the edge of the outpost. The distant thunk of arrows accented the air, through the swaying grass her eyes landed on Colin swinging a claymore above his head to bring down on a training dummy. Straw and broken pieces of wood fell around his feet as he battered it, his eyes never leaving his target.

Colin’s hair stuck to his forehead and he held the look of deep concentration on his brow. His shirt stuck to his skin and for a moment she forgot why she had stormed outside in the first place. He sliced through the straw dummy, leaving nothing but a stump as he expertly stepped back from the mess of straw. He brought the claymore back to his starting position as he breathed hard. She shifted and felt the card poke at her thigh and shook herself. This had to end. It should end before it became dangerous.

She started over to him, leapt over the shoddy wood and stone fence before coming to a stop with her best annoyed look. Colin glanced her way, his blue eyes holding a question in them as she knocked the blade of the claymore to the side before he could start another set.

“What are you doing?” She hissed as Colin panted and raised an eyebrow. He leaned to the side and looked behind her with a thoughtful hum before looking back at her.

“Working with a claymore? I thought the giant blade would have been a good hint towards that, Mouse,” he said, pulling her glare into a deeper glower.

“Not that, smart ass. This,” she snapped as she dug the card out of her pocket and flipped it open “they are almost as lovely as you,” she read out loud and gave him a flat look, “Colin,” she snorted and checked to see if they were being watched by curious eyes.

“You, we can’t do this. Isn’t it against some sort of rule or something?” She asked, making Colin’s eyebrow creep up and a smile dance at the corners of his mouth. The irritating fool only shrugged and offered her a sniff, wiping off a speck of dirt from his sleeve.

“Against what? Giving you flowers with a nice note?” He answered leaving Sheikah to grimace and twirl the card around in her fingers. The stupid twinkle of amusement in his eye was enough to make her want to slap him.

“Don’t give me that look, I know it isn’t just a nice note. Colin,” she huffed and shoved the card back down into her pocket. Colin hummed, resting the blade into the hard ground at his feet as he leaned against the claymore. That stupid smile on his lips threatened to break the surface even as his eyes sparkled more.

“So I can’t give you flowers and a note? I mean, there’s no declarations of love in there,” he argued as he caught his breath and finally gave her the lopsided grin that had been growing since she confronted him. Sheikah’s glare could cut through glass, though he didn’t seem to mind one bit as he brushed some of his sweat dampened hair out of his face.

“Unless, that’s what you saw? Mouse?” He asked innocently and had the nerve to flutter his eyelashes at her. Heat rose up her neck and colored her cheeks as her brain scrambled to pick an appropriate dismissal. The card sat heavily in her pocket as she huffed and scrubbed at her face, her shoulders hunching as he snickered at her. Oh she hated him and his stupid smug face. Hated that maybe he was just a little right… attachment was dangerous, both for him and herself. The need to find her brother nagged away at the back of her mind but she couldn't deny that she liked Colin… maybe even a little more than like at this point if his words and the stupid note were making her feel giddy and stupid.

“I didn’t say that, you’re putting words in my mouth,” she said finally as her hands fell away leaving her only the sight of a chuckling Colin. He leaned closer, his eyebrows wiggling before dropping her a wink.

“Have I flustered the mighty Mouse? The secrets in the shadows? My pretty little flower?” He teased, laughing hard as she swiped at him only to miss as he leaned away.

“Oh I’ll show you flustered,” she hissed and batted at him again “I’m going to rip your arm off and beat you about the head with it!” She threatened only to jump as a cacophony of bells and a shout made the outpost freeze.

“RAID!” The soldier in the tower called. The bells still rang as enemy arrows whizzed past Sheikah’s head. Colin cursed as men went running for weapons and all hell broke lose. Monsters, a hoard of them swarmed the outpost. Screeching as the clash of swords meeting shields filled the air. She rushed to grab a blade, quickly losing sight of Colin as the crowd surged, swelled and dissolved into chaos.

She had no clue where they came from. Normally there were tells. The reek of monsters for one but also the way the world tended to go silent around a marching hoard. This time however it was a blink and then they were a slew of them. It was a thought she had to put aside for later. For now monsters screeched as the soldiers around Sheikah sliced and killed them. The clang of metal and thunk of arrows in flesh mixed with cries of pain made a hellish symphony that had her stomach roil. Sweat beaded her brow and monster ichor splashed her clothes, coated her sword and almost made her slip as she danced between fighting men and monsters.

“On your left!” Ford yelled as he burst from a crowd of monsters behind her, his massive claymore severing squealing beasts. She breathed hard, pausing just long enough to catch her breath and look around. The hoard was thankfully thinning but not without wounded on their side who were pulled away from the fray to be replaced with fresh fighters. Fresh fighters… her mind jumped to Colin again, Colin who had been training. Who had been working with a claymore for who knew how long before the attack.

She whirled around looking for him just in time to see a break in the battle. Colin, his face splattered with red and black and clothes torn with fresh blood dying his shirt. He was flagging, struggling to keep up with the chaotic flail of the bokoblin that battered at his chipped and breaking sword. She was already running when he skewered the beast. Was only a few feet from him as a moblin broke through Ford, sending him crashing to the ground and raised its club. Colin only had a moment to look over, lift his good arm up to cover his head before the weapon slammed into him.

It was like the earth below her shattered like ice, plunging her into a rage so cold and cruel that the very shadows around her darkened and twisted. A screech ripped at her throat, a song of bloodlust that burned her tongue as it left her; so savage that man and monster alike seemed to freeze, even if for a moment. The shadows continued to writhe and sharpen as she ran, all fatigue gone.

This Sheikah, her but other, tore through any lesser monsters like they were tissue paper. Her fingers blackened as she burned through magic like a forge. Even as she sent peices of beasts flying, she never remembered being able to use shadows like this. But there was always a first for everything she supposed, letting the thought drift away in a haze as she reached the moblin and swung up on the beast’s blood soaked club. It roared at her only to choke as shadows poured into its throat, tore at its insides. Her hands ached on the handle of her borrowed sword as she reared back and hacked away at the beast, only stopping when the thing stopped twitching. She looked up, a snarl on her face as her red eyes blazed and more shadows ricocheted away, spearing any monster foolish enough to not have turned tail and run.

“Mouse?” A garbled question. Confused and frightened. She turned and the shadows splashed into the blood soaked ground. Colin looked at her with glazed eyes, a broken form as soldiers stood back, too scared to approach him lest they get skewered… by her.

Her magic almost seemed to vanish as exhaustion slammed into her and awareness slapped her like a splash of water. She stepped away, her sword falling to the ground. The monsters were almost gone. There was only one left now and she could see it reflected in the eyes of the men that stared back at her. She took a step back, then another before she turned and walked away through the trampled grass with the stunned murmurs of terrified men drifting after her as they took care of their wounded.

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