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ireadwithmyears · 23 days ago

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My Heart is Yours, and so are my Brothers

Pairing: Tbb Echo/fem reader

Word count: 6.5 K

Gift for: @eclec-tech for the @cloneficgiftexchange 2024 life day exchange

Prompt: clone asks reader to be part of his family

Tags/warnings: Light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mentioned past familial issues/toxicity, (I tried to keep it vague), insecurities, domestic/romantic fluff, found family, soft and cosy life day feels

Summary: You have always felt like you don’t fit within your own family. Echo is determined to show you that in his, your place is not something you have to earn, and the love they show you is nothing short of unconditional. And if that takes you overworking yourself, a life day baking mishap, and your beloved scooping you up and offering out a helping hand as soon as you show signs of beginning to fall, well... sometimes, that’s just how it goes.

Authors note: This was written as a gift for Amber, who has become such a good friend to me and ironically, is also my usual beta. We had, actually, briefly joked and giggled over the idea of one of us being paired with the others prompts... until it actually happened. So, I would also like to thank Carol: @clonethirstingisreal for betaing this work. It was a huge relief knowing that you could step in for this one, as I didn’t want to ruin Amber’s surprise by making her also be the one who has to edit it, because how mean would that be? This story can also be read on my ao3(check pinned for link) and I truly had so much fun writing it. Dare I say, one of the writing highlights of my year 😉 if you enjoy, please consider dropping a reblog. Sharing is always so so appreciated, as well as comments. Happy holidays, and happy life day🎄❄️

Waking up to the piercing shriek of your smoke detector, you think, your brain still groggy and slow from your impromptu nap, is definitely not a good sign.

Your heart is pounding, rattling furiously within the confines of your chest, your mind and body still trying to comprehend going from out cold on the couch to frantically running around the kitchen like a maniac, swiftly opening the oven door to discover what is no doubt the source of the alarm’s high pitched wails

It’s only after using a hastily dampened towel to smother the flames, vigorously flapping it

around to beat out the lingering smoke, that you’re still hammering heart rate finally begins to slow, and you allow yourself to take a drawn-out, steady breath, forcing yourself to calm as you anxiously peer into the oven.

You can tell, just from the acrid stench, that it’s bad.

Still, you’re not prepared to find the batch of freshly made cookies, each patiently dusted with a generous helping of sugar so that each chocolate surface appears as if snowflakes had found their landing place there, are nothing but crumbling, blackened crisps against the stark white of the baking sheet in the tray.

You shouldn’t have sat down, you think, strangely detached as with shaky, oven mitt-covered hands, you remove the tray from the oven, setting it down on the counter and gazing at what was supposed to be your life day offering to Echo’s family, to express your gratitude at their generosity for inviting you to their festivities.

It meant more to you than they would ever know.

They didn’t know that your own family looked down on you with disappointment. They didn’t know that you had fled to Pabu precisely with the intent to walk away from them in an effort to save yourself from more hurt. They didn’t know that you, stupidly and still with the embarrassing desperation of a child who might do anything to earn even just a smile of approval from those around her, want, need them to approve of you, and not just in the way that family members do because she’s their brother’s partner, but in a way that feels like they genuinely like you, and actually want to have you around.

But regardless, they still showed up at your door. Hunter, who you’ve only shared passing greetings with and who has, up until this point, been virtually a mutual acquaintance, and Omega, who despite having only caught glimpses of her around the island when she takes her hound out for a walk, had beamed at you, bright eyed and familiar, as if you had known each other for years.

It had touched you, and Hunter’s evident warm and sincere invite to their Life Day celebrations had made you just as excited as it did become a source of anxiety over the following weeks.

Nights where you should have been sleeping, instead were spent tossing and turning, trying to plan out every aspect. What you would say, what you would do, what you would bring to express your thanks to them.

Well, here it was, you think, suddenly grim. All your planning had amounted to what was now laid out before you in a charred, stinking heap, served on a tray.

Perhaps, if you were thinking logically, you would have shaken your head, let out a sigh of discontent before dumping the burnt cookies into the compost, giving yourself five minutes to take a break, then rolled up your sleeves, set your shoulders, and jumped right back into making a second batch, being extra careful to pay attention, never straying from focussing on your task.

Unfortunately, though, you weren’t, at present, thinking logically in the slightest. Thanks to the lack of sleep you had so desperately tried to ignore until it creeped up on you when you had collapsed onto the couch once the cookies were in the oven, and the stubbornly persistent overwhelm that you had convinced yourself you weren’t actually feeling, which had worked, at least until now.

Until you look down once more to survey the mess that had come out of a whole afternoon’s work, that you had so diligently, with both nervous and eager anticipation, been fretting over to make the perfect gift, the façade of composure, of pretending that the anxiety that had been stirring in your stomach for weeks was, actually, just excitement, cracks. And once it does, it’s easy for the whole thing to come down, crumbling around you as if it’s as fragile as the chipped and breaking edges of the cookies on the tray in front of you.

So, instead of reacting reasonably, your actions fuelled by logic, your response is to turn, press your face into your baking apron, and burst into tears.

It’s silly, you know, from the very first sob that claws its way up your throat despite your valiant attempt to stop it, that your reaction is so, so unjustified given the situation. They’re just cookies. They just got burnt. A new batch can be made and somewhere, deep down, you know all of this.

But well, your mother always had a habit of calling you overly sensitive as a child, punctuating that remark with a signature roll of her eyes. Your father would pipe up, in a tone that probably meant to sound more encouraging but just ended up coming across as condescending, “you need to grow some thicker skin, kid.”

This is solid, concrete proof that this particular piece of advice had never truly been heeded, or, if you’re honest, had never really been understood to begin with.

Your breath hitches in your throat, because the desire to push back the tide is still present, if not to stop, then at least to muffle, to not hear the discomforting, ugly sounds you make when you cry. Still, the tears fall, and quiet, broken whimpers and sniffles fall from your lips anyway.

And then, because apparently this day just seeks to prove how absolutely bad your luck is, Echo takes this moment to walk through the door of your shared small house.

You hear the sound of an umbrella being folded, boots being rhythmically stamped against the doormat as Echo steps inside, evidently trying to rid his boots of the dried mud that gets clumped together in the creases, so common this time of year on Pabu, and the quiet hiss of the door as it slides back into place behind him.

Then, in a murmur that carries from the small alcove into your kitchen, he calls your name and instantly, you freeze. For some reason, you believe that if you can just stand as still as possible, if you can bite down on your lip hard enough and not make a single sound, not even a breath, he won’t see you, won’t know that you still get upset and cry over little, seemingly inconsequential things like this, which is completely ridiculous, you know. But still, you’ve already established that right now, your actions are dictated by nothing more than pure instinct, and, at least today, your instinct is incredibly off target.

There’s a brief pause, the sound of Echo bending down, hastening to remove his boots, then a quick, light pitter patter of footsteps against the floor as he moves through the space to find you.

There’s a soft breath, an oh of realization as he steps through the threshold of the kitchen, standing completely still as he observes, pausing to take in, what must be, quite the sight before him. You, on the other hand, don’t look, don’t want to see the mixture of both pity and confusion that surely is displayed in his eyes. So you don’t, keeping your face covered with your hands, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Oh, cyar,” he breathes, and his voice isn’t mocking or disappointed or underlined with the sharp bite of disapproval, but instead it’s soft. It’s warm and smooth which only serves to remind you of the honeyed hue within his golden eyes whenever he looks at you and it’s soft, so warm, and so soft that your resolve melts in the sincere, empathetic face of it, and you’re moving towards him before he’s even finished speaking.

“Come here, ner kar’ta,” he says, his voice a low, gentle murmur as he opens his arms, just in time for you to come scrambling, throwing yourself into them with a muffled sob against the material of his sweater, pressing your face against his chest and clinging onto any part of him you can reach. There’s a soft puff of breath that you feel lightly ruffle your hair before his lips gently press against your forehead, lingering there as he whispers “That’s my girl. See? I have you. We’re okay”

His scomp arm is a heavy, familiar weight as it runs along the small of your back, settling at your waist as he guides you closer. He doesn’t needlessly comment. He doesn’t pepper you with questions or demand an explanation of what’s wrong.

Instead, he simply tucks your head beneath his chin, his hand gentle as it lingers to brush through and stroke your hair. He holds you in his arms, slightly swaying on the spot, the slow, repetitive back-and-forth as he rocks you, settling your uneasy heart as you sniffle, quietly allowing yourself to give into the tears.

The only sounds that fall from Echo’s lips aren’t so much words as they are just familiar, soothing noises. The soft “shh,” as his hand gently cups the back of your head or the gentle, barely there kisses, lightly scattered across the top of your head and the quiet, steady exhalation of breath that you become more and more aware of as your tears begin to slow.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble as he pulls back slightly, noticing you peeking up at him through watery eyes and stroking his hand along your cheek, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Rough day?”

A sound that could either be classified as a laugh or a small, broken sob is pulled from your lips as you look up at him, nodding your head.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your cheeks flooding with heat. “I didn’t mean to react like that, I just.”

“Shh,” he lightly cuts you off by leaning forward, lips a soft brush against yours as he lingers there, warm, golden eyes intent as they search yours, taking in your expression, the drying tear tracks on your cheeks, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“When’s the last time you got a full night's sleep?” he asks, and the question feels so off-topic that for a few seconds, you blink up at him, looking bewildered before you shake your head, shrugging.

“I, I don’t I um?”

Apparently, your hesitation and seeming inability to come up with a suitable answer is confirmation enough, and Echo, making a small, exasperated gesture with his scomp, clicks his tongue with disapproval.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighs, a hand running over the back of his head as he looks down at you. “Right, well, let me worry about cleaning up here. I want you to at least sit down and get some rest.”

“I can’t,” you sputter, your eyes widening. “Echo, me taking a nap is the exact reason why all of this,” you gesture towards the burnt cookies on the counter, “happened. I need to get to work on a new batch so that I have something to bring over to your family’s house for dinner tomorrow.”

“And we will,” Echo’s voice is patient, but there’s an underlying, stern edge that’s crept into it that breeches no room for argument as he ushers you into the living room, hand on the small of your back as he guides you over to an armchair. “But, cyar, you’ve just told me that you’ve already taken a nap?” he asks, folding his arms.

“Yeah,” you say, your lips tilted downward in a confused frown as you turn to look up at him.

“And isn’t a nap supposed to make you feel more well rested afterward?” he asks, the question clearly rhetorical as he takes your chin in his hand, thumb pointedly brushing along the bag beneath one of your eyes.

The silence he gets in response to that remains uncontested, and he smirks, satisfied in the knowledge that he has you beaten.

“No arguing with me on this one, princess,” he says gruffly, which makes you glare at him even as he lightly pushes your unresisting body down into the armchair, moving to pull out the Ottoman from beneath. “I’m not asking you to sleep. Just rest while I clean up the kitchen. We’ll figure everything else out once I’m finished, okay?”

“Fine,” you huff, looking up at him with a stubborn set to your jaw before you add “but only if you kiss me first.”

Echo’s chuckle is warm and deep, his eyes soft as he leans down to oblige you, first brushing his lips against your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, lingering at each spot.

“Now that, I can gladly do,” he murmurs, his voice a soft breath that brushes against your lips before he’s closing the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a warm, tender kiss.

When he pulls back, your eyes flutter open. Echo’s smile is small, but sweet and conveys the infinite amount of affection that he holds for you as he moves, retrieving a neatly folded throw blanket, from where it’s been draped over the back of the couch. He unfolds it, letting you see the depiction of a group of tookas snuggled together in front of a fireplace that’s been illustrated on the soft fabric, before moving back towards you, wrapping it around you, taking his time to make sure that you’re bundled up just right, movements soft and careful as he does.

“Just rest, Cyar’ika,” he reaffirms, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head before straightening, moving back towards the kitchen in long strides. “We’ll sort everything out, I promise.”

And because it’s Echo, and Echo always keeps his promises, you actually believe him.

Surprisingly, once you’re sat down and comfortable, you find it easy to, if not fall asleep, simply drift and allow yourself to zone out.

You can faintly hear the sounds of Echo moving around your kitchen. There’s light footsteps, water running as he does the dishes in the sink, the soft, warm rumble of his baritone as he quietly hums an unfamiliar tune. Your eyes drift close, and the next time you let yourself float back into awareness, he’s there, smiling down at you, a beloved pair of your slippers tucked beneath his arm, a steaming mug held out as an offering in his hand.

“Careful,” he cautions you as you eagerly reach for it, making sure it is securely held within your grasp before letting go. “It’s still hot.”

You look down to survey the contents, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as soon as you register the warm, sweet scent of hot chocolate. He’s piled it high with marshmallows and whip cream, which he’s always rolled his eyes at you for adding.

“I don’t get it,” he would often say with fond exasperation, arms folded across his chest. “Why do you need to add extras? It’s already sweet to begin with.”

Seeing that he has evidently so lovingly prepared it in the way that you enjoy pulls your lips upward into a smile and you beam at him, your eyes lighting up for the first time in what feels like days.

You grin up at him, indulging yourself in a tiny sip, your eyes closing with delight before you utter a quiet, but sincere thank you.

“I still think it’s too sweet with all that,” he grumbles, a small, perplexed crinkle between his eyebrows as he sinks to his knees at your feet. “But anything for you, Cyar’ika.”

He gently takes one of your feet in his hands, seeming to contemplate it as he sets the pair of slippers at his side.

“Have you considered,” he asks idly, scomp carefully resting on your ankle, as with the other hand he curls one of his fingers, lightly pressing his knuckle against the overworked arch of your foot. “That you’ve been doing too much?”

As if to accentuate his words, he slowly begins to rotate his wrist, the drag of his knuckle a gentle, but steady, pressure that instantly causes your eyes to flutter closed. It feels good. It feels wonderful, actually. He’s working with obvious deliberation and care, but he’s also, quite effectively, digging into sore spots and tendons that you didn’t realize you were carrying, and the relief is instantaneous.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you admit, unable to bring yourself to open your eyes and look down at him. “For them and for you.”

He hums, a quiet understanding as he lightly grasps your Achilles tendon between his thumb and index finger, slow and gentle as he strokes towards your heel. He’s quiet for a moment, remaining completely focused on you, thoughtful as he keeps up with his task.

“Well,” he murmurs, lips twitching upward as he gently pulls at each of your toes, slight tugs to coax tension to release in each. “As nice as that would have been, I think I’ll be much happier helping you bake the second attempt.”

He gives you a rueful grin, easing one of your slippers onto your foot with a small assist from you before moving to repeat his prior treatment with the other.

“You’ll have to teach me, though,” he says, voice apologetic. “I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a baker. But, I’m willing to learn, and hey, we can finally put some of those scomp attachments that Tech has fitted me with to use.”

You laugh softly, your lips pulling upward into a matching smile. Tech, when he had miraculously found his way back to his family, returned needing extensive recovery and physiotherapy, with so many of his bones having been broken or shattered, including in his fingers and hands. To regain the dexterity that he once coveted, he was often found working on some project or another, requiring a constant flow of them to keep his agile and ever working mind occupied until the medics would allow him to walk again.

Crosshair, being Crosshair, had very limited patience, only sitting long enough to allow his brother to fit him with an appropriate cybernetic, fiddling with and rewiring servos to make it more effectively attuned to him. But, once he had started suggesting certain modifications, Crosshair had stomped off, rolling his eyes and tossing over his shoulder “I’m not a droid, Tech. It’s fine, just leave it,” in his seemingly trademark annoyed tone.

Tech had pressed his lips together, and you had wondered, still on the outside and learning Echo’s family as you were, if he was hurt by Crosshair’s vehement rebuttal. Echo, standing beside you, seemed to come to a similar kind of conclusion, but had only stepped forward, laying a hand on Tech’s shoulder, sitting down beside him at his workstation.

“He might be opposed to adding some cool attachments, but I’m not,” Echo declared, giving his brother a light nudge. “What do you say, Tech. Think you can make me something I can use to give Crosshair a good smack?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of practicality,” Tech explained, hands folded in his lap. “Perhaps a flipper or spatula to ease the burden of cooking somewhat.”

His eyes, when he had looked up, were sparkling with amusement, and his lips tilted upward into a small, but evident smile when he had continued by saying, his voice nonchalant, “But I believe your idea also holds certain merit. If you have the patience to let me experiment, I believe we can do both.”

Luckily for Tech, Echo seemed to possess an infinite amount of patience to let him fiddle, his scomp sometimes attached, sometimes laying on the table between them, their heads bent low as they quietly conversed with each other.

Echo was more than content to just sit and talk, of different attachment ideas, their uses both on the field and in simple, daily life, or of everything and nothing. You watched, quiet but observant, as Echo in his casual, straightforward way, brought Tech up to speed on the goings-on of him and his brothers whilst he was gone and inexplicably, you watched as Tech, still hunched over his work with his hands tangled amidst wire and components, allowed his shoulders to begin to soften, slowly pulling away from his ears as he listened to his brother talk.

You suspected that this was Echo’s way of making up for lost time with Tech, and for your part, you were more than happy to just be a silent, but present observer and support, there to reach for and squeeze Echo’s hand, or, if necessary, talk with him late into the night when you noticed his small tells of guilty, self blame ridden thought patterns starting to creep in.

Regardless of how it had initially started as simply mobility and skill recovery, Tech had, with the input of Echo, designed quite the variety of inventions for Echo’s scomp, one of which, you now found yourself in your kitchen, getting to test out its effectiveness for the first time.

“I have to say,” you murmur, arms wrapped around his waist as you observe him from behind, your chin lightly resting against his shoulder. “You’re doing a much better job than the stand mixer ever could.”

Echo stands, the attachment to his scomp lowered into the glass bowl, whirring as it stirs the ingredients. The mix looks smooth, slowly coming together in a blend. Echo lets out a low chuckle, and you can feel its slight rumble as he turns, retracting from the bowl and raising his scomp to give you a small salute.

“Happy to be of service,” he says with a smirk, startling slightly as a flake of the dough takes the opportunity to fall from the attachment, landing on the tip of his nose.

It’s your turn to giggle, and your hand stops him from instinctively moving to wipe it away as you rise onto your tiptoes, hurriedly exclaiming “I got it. I got it,” before you lean forward and, not giving him the time to protest, cheekily licking it off.

“You’re quite the opportunist,” he muses, moving towards the sink to remove the attachment and place it in a pile to be cleaned.

“Can I have what’s left on that?” you ask and he turns, a hand on his hip and his lips pressed together.

“Are you kidding? No,” he says, both exasperated and mortified. “That is so unsanitary. Meshla, do you realize how many diseases you could catch from eating raw cookie dough?” he asks, turning back to the sink.

“It was worth a shot,” you sigh in defeat, looking at the bowl of now mixed cookie dough with longing. You’re not usually this impatient and peckish for scraps. But really, after your first tried and failed attempt, you’re hungry, and eager to taste test the fruits of your labour

“What next, boss?” Echo asks a moment later, returning to your side and drying his hand on a tea towel.

“Now,” you say, beaming as you hold out an ice cream scooper to him. “Comes the fun part.”

“Perfect,” Echo murmurs in satisfaction, watching as the round ball of dough falls from the scoop into your waiting, cupped hands.

The two of you had decided it would be easiest, and move faster, if it was done this way. Echo, working with a lot more precision than you had when you had been doing this on your own, using the ice cream scoop to separate the dough into little balls. And you, after retrieving them, dunking them into a bowl of white sugar, rolling each around until each surface had a generous amount dusted on, and setting each on the lined baking tray.

“This probably wasn’t how you envisioned spending the night of Life Day Eve,” you say quietly, your words tinged with a note of regret.

“None of that,” Echo gently chides, his shoulder lightly bumping against yours. “I’ve already told you, Cyar’ika, I really don’t mind that this is the way that it turned out.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and sensing your lingering hesitance, he continues.

“You’re worried about spending time with them, aren’t you?” he asks, and his words aren’t accusatory, just a soft, knowing observation and you swallow, your eyes intent on your work as you nod your head slightly.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely a breath. “I know I’ve met all of them and have even spent time with a few of them when you come to visit, but this is different.”

“I understand that,” Echo murmurs, and from the sincerity in his voice, you can tell that he really does. “This feels more official than all of those other times?”

“Yeah,” you agree, setting the next ball on the cookie sheet and turning to receive the next one. “Life Day is all about family and mine... let’s just say they wouldn’t be overly thrilled to see me standing out on their doorstep if I showed up tomorrow for their celebration.”

Echo hums, and the silence that follows is comfortable, thoughtful as he turns, contemplating you from the corner of his eye.

“But my family will,” he says quietly. “You know that, right? They’re really happy that you’ve agreed to come. Especially Omega. She’s been chattering my ear off about how excited she is to see you every time I’ve gone over to visit them.”

His mention of the girl pulls your lips up into a slight smile, but the sound you make is noncommittal and he frowns, taking a step forward, catching your chin in his hand.

“I need them to like me,” you say, trembling at the vulnerability in your own voice. “I need to do something, give them something so that I don’t...”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Echo softly interjects, thumb lightly brushing over your lips. “You don’t need to do anything. I promise, cyar, they already love you.”

“I doubt that,” you say, unable to hide the edge of residual bitterness that even now, still lingers in your voice.

Echo is patient, letting out a breath, the backs of his knuckles gentle, unhurried, as they run along the curve of your cheek, as he takes a breath to carefully collect his next words.

“I know that your family has made you feel unwanted,” Echo says, after a moment's pause to collect himself. “And I know that a couple of words from me aren’t going to change how much that hurt you.”

His hand is, yet again, lightly nudging at your chin, bringing your eyes back up to focus on his warm, concerned golden depths.

“My heart is yours,” he says, his voice just a whisper, but still managing to carry the stone heavy weight of a promise beneath it. “And, if you want them to be, if you let them, my family will be your family, too.”

“Do they want that?” You ask, unable to hide the waiver in your voice.

Echo’s eyes soften, and you can’t help the way you nuzzle into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand.

“They do,” he affirms, voice certain and steady. “And if that’s something you want, all you have to do is say so. I promise, cyar, whenever you’re ready, they’re waiting for you with open arms.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask in a shaking voice, and at the first glimmer of tears in your eyes, he’s reaching out, pulling you to his chest and holding you in his arms.

“I’m sure,” he says, without a glimpse of hesitance in his voice. “You don’t have to make any grand gestures for them to accept you, ner kar’ta. You just have to be my girl.”

He drops a kiss to the top of your head and, despite the blush that’s crawling up your cheeks, you squirm, tilting your head, going up onto your tiptoes to capture his lips with yours, to which he surrenders happily.

When you pull away, your cheeks are flushed, your lips slightly parted, and your voice breathless.

“I, I think I can do that,” you murmur, looking up at him with a shy, barely concealed mix of nervousness and hope playing on your expression.

“I’m glad,” Echo beams, and the smile he gives you is a dazzling thing to behold. “Trust me, cyar, it’ll all turn out. You’ll see.”

You’re not really sure what he means by that, but, as you turn back to finish arranging the rest of the cookies, you decide that he has never led you wrong before, so you might as well take him at his word.

“Beauties,” Echo comments, bending to retrieve the cookie tray from the oven. “Now these aren’t such a bad batch, are they, meshla?”

Maybe it was the weight that you suddenly found had vanished from your shoulders after your and Echo’s chat, maybe it was just the late hour and the oven timer going off sending you a prolonged burst of energy. But you couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of your feet, peeking over Echo’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at the now perfectly baked, lightly sugar frosted chocolate crinkles.

“I know we should wait until tomorrow so that we can share them with everyone but...” you trail off, the indignant grumble of your stomach interrupting whatever excuse you were about to make.

Echo laughs, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkle with merriment. An arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tucks you against his side, looking down at you with a small grin.

“We made them. We deserve to taste test them,” he declares, and before you can protest, he swipes the nearest one from off the tray. “Want to share?”

You smile, nodding your head and helping him to break the cookie in equal halves.

“Cheers,” you grin, lightly bumping your half against his. Raising it to your lips, you indulge yourself in a large bite, closing your eyes and letting a soft “Mmm,” fall from your lips. It’s still warm, soft and gooey chocolate that melts in your mouth that reminds you, so quintessentially, of the holiday, and for once, only the good parts come to mind, as you watch Echo follow suit, though his first bite is much more delicate than yours. His eyes flutter close, and before you know it, both of you are looking at each other, your halves of the cookie gone within seconds.

You both smile, soft laughter falling from your lips as you both trade glances towards the tray, tempted to reach for another, but making a valiant effort to resist.

“Look at me, beautiful,” Echo hums. “You’ve got a little something right...”

He dips his head, leaning in, fingers delicately tilting your chin upward, lips warm as they brush against yours. You gasp, unable to hide a slight shiver as his tongue gently sweeps over your lips and he lets out a soft hum, fingers lightly teasing along your side, his hand eventually coming to rest at your hip.

The kiss is sweet, filled with tenderness and topped with the lingering traces of sugar that Echo chases away with his lips.

Faintly, as he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, feeling the soft puffs of air as you both try to regain your breath, you register the distant chimes of a grandfather clock, 12 rings of its bells to signify midnight, ringing in the new day with its song.

“Happiest of Life Days, Cyar’ika,” Echo whispers, a soft breath against your skin.

“Happy Life Day, my love,” you say, your voice equally as soft.

Then, as the distant, echoing chimes of the clock ring and fade into the night, you cradle his face in your hands, tilting your head to kiss him again. You feel, for the first time in your recent memory of Life Days past, a sense of rightness, of knowing that here, with his warm body lightly pressing you against the counter and his soft lips settled against yours, content, it seems, to linger there until all coherent thoughts have been chased away from your mind with each teasing touch, that this is where you’re meant to be.

That somehow, despite having convinced yourself that you were never going to find it, you think that finally, truly, his arms might just be the safe, comforting place that you choose to call home.

“We made you a gift.”

Omega is beaming with excitement, almost on her tiptoes as she bounces on the balls of her feet with a wide smile, and looking down at her, it’s impossible not to be captivated and taken in by her infectious joy as she produces something from behind her back.

Despite Echo’s stream of reassurances that all would be well as you left the house this afternoon, picking your way through rainy pathways and hopping around puddles, you still look to him now, reaching for his hand to feel the reassuring press of his fingers against yours.

“You did?” You ask, unable to hide the note of startled surprise in your voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring something for each of you. I didn’t know what you would like and...”

“It’s a gift,” Crosshair cuts you off, folding his arms as he leans against the wall.

“We do not expect nor require you to provide anything in return,” Tech states, much more kindly as he gives you one of his small smiles. “We merely hope that you enjoy it.”

“Hunter did the carvings,” Omega says, very carefully lowering something into your hands. “But we all contributed in one way or another.”

You look down to find a snow globe, rested atop a circular, wooden stand beneath, cupped within your hands. Inspecting it closely, you find that indeed, there is something to signify each brother within the carvings of wood that decorate the base. From the small carving of Tech’s goggles, to Hunter’s skull emblem and Crosshair’s tattoo.

“I made the snow,” Omega declares proudly. “And Wrecker took the photo.”

“What photo?” You ask and Wrecker grins, leaning across you and touching a small, unnoticed button at the top of the glass.

A holoimage slowly fades into focus within the glass orb, snow lightly swirling around it. It’s of you and Echo, sitting out on a porch swing and snuggled beneath a blanket. You remember how the rest of them had teased you both, saying that it wasn’t even that cold outside and was the blanket really necessary?

Wrecker, in particular, had let out a booming laugh, claiming that since the two of you seemed to run so cold, maybe it was a sign that the two of you were perfect for each other.

“Aw, look at the two a ya. You can keep each other warm,” he had grinned, and you can remember him snapping the photo shortly after that.

“We all have one,” Omega continues, pointing to the mantle above the fireplace where indeed, you see a line up of six other snow globes. “You can take yours home, or you can set it with ours, if you want to.”

“You, you would be fine with that?” You ask the room at large, scanning their faces. For some reason, it feels wrong, and you don’t want to insert yourself into their already established Life Day family traditions.

“Why not,” Hunter grins, gesturing to the mantle. “You’re one of us now.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask, unable to hide the waver that’s crept into your voice.

“Of course we are. You make him so happy,” Wrecker beams, and before you know it he’s enveloped you into a fierce, tight hug that simultaneously knocks all the air from your lungs while also, at the same time, making you feel like you’ve just let out the biggest sigh of relief. He lifts you off the floor, which makes you let out a sound, somewhere between a startled gasp and a laugh. “That seems like as good of a reason as any to me,” he continues, suddenly gentle and steadying as he sets you back down.

“It’s true,” Crosshair snarks, watching as he idly twirls a toothpick between his fingers. “I’ve never seen him look like such a lovesick puppy before,” he says, pulling a disgusted face as he slides the toothpick between his teeth.

“Oh, shut up,” Echo grumbles, but when you turn to him, he’s ducking his head, his cheeks having gone slightly pink.

“I think it’s sweet,” Omega declares, lightly elbowing Crosshair in the ribs. He pretends to give her a glare, then, as payback, lunges forward, easily grappling her and beginning to attack her with tickles. The small house is momentarily filled with her shrieks and giggles which ends with Batcher, torn between which of her owners needs to be protected from the other, shoves between the two of them, nudging her snout at both sets of scrabbling hands to entreat them to pet her and give her head scratches, which both happily oblige her demand.

“You are by no means obligated to,” Tech cuts in, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to you. “It is our gift, and you may do with it as you wish. But, if you would like to place your snow globe alongside ours, we have made a space for you, right beside Echo’s.”

“I would,” you admit, voice soft, wistful.

Echo rises to his feet, his hand held out in a silent offering. After a moment's pause, you take it, letting him guide you towards the blazing heat of the fire that warms your toes, caressing up your legs as you get closer.

With hands that are shaking despite the warmth, you lift your snow globe, careful and gentle as you lower it down into the spot that they’ve made for you, smiling as it fits perfectly beside Echo’s.

“There,” Echo murmurs, and the smile he gives you is soft, speaking volumes of his affection.

An arm curls around your waist, and you melt into him as he pulls you against his chest, letting out a happy sigh as warm lips brush against your forehead. When he speaks his voice is low, soft, and meant for your ears alone.

“Welcome to the family, Cyar’ika. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

When he leans in to kiss you this time, standing by the fire and in front of all of his family, you start to get that same feeling you got late last night, when you had shared your first Life Day kiss with him. Only this time, it’s not a glimpse, or an echo or a maybe. When you tilt your head, rising up onto your tiptoes to meet him, warm contentment settling over you like a soft blanket, you know, without any second guessing or lingering reason to doubt, that he is your anchor, your lodestar, and, most of all, that Echo is your home.

•Thank you to @strangergraphics for these adorable Christmas themed dividers

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lalalooopsies · 2 months ago

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INTRO !!!

hii my name is orange and im new to the tcc !!! im here per my pookie @gata-niilista 's suggestion so hii hello !!

i'm rlly new to this stuff so sorry if im a little awkward but i LOVE!!!! talking pls speak to me 🙏🙏🙏 my prns are she/they, i'm 16 and i'm rlly interested in sandy hook , academy maniacs & jokela high school massacre, virginia tech and ambar cornejo :33

my favourite artist are los prisioneros, los bunkers, the cardigans, fob, msi, mcr, the ronettes, doris day, weezer, millionaires, swr and early p!atd !!

my other blogs are @orangelovesyou (main) and @orangelovesyoumore (ranfren centered acc) !!!!

#kills myself 💔#tcc fandom #adam lanza #tcc #teeceecee #pekka eric auvinen #true cringe community

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feralrabidcrow · 7 months ago

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My Merc LGBTQ Headcanons

Disclaimer: my headcanons aren't set in stone so these are like, what I assume them to be in the average fic I write unless stated otherwise. For example, usually I headcanon Medic as bisexual, but I might make him gay in an AU if I want to explore that instead. And I might make a merc I usually headcanon as cis trans if that's a story I want to explore with them.

Scout: Bisexual and hasn't quite come to terms with it yet. He has a strong preference for women, but being stuck living closely with a bunch of men definitely has him experiencing thoughts he never did before.

Soldier: Transgender and technically bisexual, but he thinks he's straight because he considers having sex with Demoman every night 'masculine male bonding to strengthen our manly friendship'. Demoman doesn't have the heart to tell him that yeah, it's pretty gay. He's trans because the hypermasculine American patriot named Jane Doe of all things is just Valve spoonfeeding transgenderism to me. I also like to entertain the idea that he's forgotten that he's trans (lead poisoning) and regularly breaks into the medbay screaming at Medic about how the communists stole his penis until Medic finally gives up and just gives him bottom surgery.

Pyro: Genderqueer butch lesbian who uses any and all pronouns.

Demoman: Pansexual, it makes no difference to him what gender his lovers are. I think he's known this for a long time too, no sexuality awakening that caused him any turmoil, just always knew that he didn't have a preference.

Heavy: Gay, and unlike Demoman, he definitely did not know until very late in his life. After joining Team Fortress, to be exact. After meeting Medic, to be exactly exact. Living in isolation for so long definitely stunted his ability to explore his sexuality. He had a 'crush' on a girl when he was about 6, but he only liked her because she had red hair that he thought was pretty. Looking back, it meant about as much as a crush when you're 6 can be expected to mean. He always assumed that the reason he didn't feel a desire to find a woman and settle down, like his mother always hoped he would, was because he hadn't met enough women to want such a thing, and if he did meet the right woman, that's when the feeling would click. Then the feeling ended up clicking instead with a maniacal doctor who liked putting black market zoo organs in him.

Engineer: Biromantic and sex neutral asexual. He always assumed he just liked women, simply because he didn't realize he could like both. After Medic told him that he liked both women and men, things started making a lot more sense. He can handle being in some specific sexual situations, but he refuses to be on the receiving end of anything, and exclusively gives.

Medic: Bisexual, reciprosexual/recipromantic. In simpler terms, Medic does not feel romantic or sexual attraction to anyone unless he knows for certain that they're attracted to him first. As a result, he has never made a first move in his life, and is also sometimes very bad at picking up on romantic advances unless they're extremely blunt.

Sniper: Gay, I don't really know what else to say he just gives me huge homo vibes. He probably got a mindblowing handjob from a bloke behind a Macca's that changed his life or something. Yes I think high-tech TF2 Australia that's basically a spoof of Wakanda still has Macca's why wouldn't they.

Spy: Bisexual, I'm going to be honest I don't spend a lot of time thinking about Spy's sex life but he definitely fucks men look at him just look at him. He's fucking men. And Scout's mother but also men.

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n4tural-3mo · 7 days ago

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Intro!!!

Call me Angel/kita

I <3 Nik

Things I like : tcc, vocaloid, overwatch, monster high, incelcore music, cats, monster, bears, Kandi, zero day, elephant, etc.

My favorite tcc cases : academy maniacs, columbine, Westroads Mall shooting, sandy hook shooting, virginia tech shooting, artem iskhakov, shauiby aslam, etc.

Tiktok : N4tural_3mo_

Pinterest : N4tural_3mo

My favorite artists : lil watermark, tuv, Peirce the veil, falling in reverse, mitski, deaftones, rebzyyx, Penelope Scott, brokencyde, etc.

YouTubers I watch : coldraven, tuv, turkey tom, etc.

I don't have any dni so feel free to dm me I'm looking for new friends!

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kitthepurplepotato · 1 year ago

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Week 7 - It’s just a cold, Izu!

Summary: Midoriya can’t handle his love ones being sick and Y/N can’t handle Izuku when he’s freaking out for no reason. The duo has their first proper fight but Mama Katsuki and Auntie Inko are here to help.

Warnings: Swear words, a bit of angst, Y/N has a cold.

First Part Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Things went back to the good old ways after all the drama during the camp; Midoriya worked a full week without a single day off, you worked your ass off on your commissions to have some money to buy the latest hero merch, All Meowth continued to get fatter and fatter so you decided to alter his fancy ass feeder but even though Midoriya isn’t home at all he somehow still manages to change the settings back in those 5 fucking hours he’s home. It’s a pain.

Sometimes, Midoriya manages to get into his bed. Sometimes, he just sleeps on the sofa. And sometimes, more often than not, he just curls on himself by the end of your bed like a little stray cat and sleeps for a few hours, not even changing into his pajamas which usually ends up with you changing your bedding after finding mud or blood - or whatever pro hero Deku decided to roll himself into during his mission - on your sheets. Thankfully, Izuku has a super high tech washing machine x dryer combo with a built-in washing detergent and fabric softener dispenser, so the only work you need to do is fold it and put it away. That doesn’t make changing the sheets less annoying though. You might need to ask Midoriya if there’s a device for that too.

Are you bothered by Midoriya sleeping by your feet like a fucking dog? Yes.

Would you rather have him sleep like a normal human being, snuggled into your back cozily? Yes.

Will you ever tell him that? Probably no.

Well, listen. Things might be back to normal but your feelings are not. It’s nearly impossible for you to sleep on the days he decides to sleep in your room. He also mumbles a lot before he actually falls asleep, his mutters usually consist of him saying sorry and talking about consent and about his terrible day and you do respond, especially when he starts beating himself up for doing “the wrong thing” but you are quite sure he thinks it’s his mind speaking back to him in your voice by the way he just ignores them.

For your surprise, after his fifth day of working non-stop Midoriya actually manages to come home on time; and by “on time” you mean 8PM instead of the usual 2AM. You look at the poor guy like you’ve seen a ghost.

“What? I mean what are you doing here? I mean, you live here but… Are you hurt? Did something happen? Izuku, are you an apparition?” Your voice sounds really raspy compared to your usual sound but you blame it on not speaking for 5 days. “Oh, maybe you are just that holographic thingy you have in your bracelet.” You move towards the ghost by the entrance, grabbing his beautifully sculpted bicep to prove your point. Oh. “You are here. Wow.” You snicker awkwardly, giving his bicep another squish because… well… you fucking can.

“Sweet Pea, are you okay? You act a little bit weird and I’m not talking about the part where you squished my arms, twice, but… you don’t really sound coherent?”

“Nah, I’m all fine!” You laugh like a maniac, waving your hands in front of you so aggressively you almost knock one of Izuku’s ‘welcome figurines’ off the shoe cabinet.

Yes, you guys have a bunch of figurines by the entrance to welcome the guest, mostly of the Deku squad so they feel loved and cherished. “I’m peachy.” You try to laugh but your face contorts into something extremely unappealing right before you sneeze and headbutt the door frame. “Ahh, allergies.”

Okay, you have a confession to make…

You’ve been feeling under the weather for a while now. You were okay when you came back home, but on the third day, your throat got a bit itchy and your mind a bit fuzzy. That didn’t stop you from working through the whole day, drawing, cooking, taking care of the laundry and the garden and trying your best to scrub out the blood of Izuku’s dirty clothes which probably didn’t help with your worsening condition.

It’s really not that bad though. Back when you had a job you went in to work when you were sick with no problem at all. It’s really not the end of the world…

… for you.

Apparently, it is the end of the world for the hero in front you.

“I’m calling the hospital, Sweet Pea! Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me you’re feeling unwell, you could have died! Oh my god.” Midoriya freaks out completely. He throws all his stuff on the floor with a loud bang and comes closer to you, his palms on your forehead in only a millisecond.

“Izu come on, let’s watch a movie, I want to snuggle up! I haven’t seen you for 5 days! Also, stop bleeding over my bedsheets I had to change them three times this week! Just put on a bandaid or sleep without your clothes! Wait… no… don’t sleep in my bed without your clothes on, you might set my sheets on fire with your hot ass.”

Shut. Up. For the love of god, just shut up.

“Oh my god, you are burning up.” Midoriya declares, ignoring your rambles. Well, thank fuck for that.

“Aww, thank you!”

“No… I mean yes, but no, you have fever! It’s really dangerous to have a fever, Y/N!” He reprimands with tears pooling in his beautiful eyes and you can’t help but laugh.

“Says the guy whose life is literally in danger 14 hours a day. Come on now, change into your pj’s!” You try to pull the hero in by grabbing his hand on your forehead, but he doesn’t move.

Midoriya is having a meltdown. Internally. And externally as he can’t stop muttering. He drops on his knees right in front of you, hugs your legs and just mutters and mutters and mutters…

“It’s just a cold, love.” You kneel in front of him to swipe your fingers underneath his teary eyes to dry the skin. “Do heroes not get cold?”

“I should have realized something’s wrong, but your snores were so cute…”

“My what?!” You yell, trying your best not to cough all over the hero afterwards.

“You snored a bit yesterday. It’s was so adorable. I should have known you are getting sick. You never snore.”

The fact that he knows that makes you wonder how many times he ended up in your room without your knowledge and you should probably be concerned, but this is Mr. Green flag. He might not know the word ‘personal space’ but he can’t even hurt a fly. Literally.

You wanted to buy a Venus flytrap and Deku started crying because the plant is carnivorous and it would kill the flies around the house. You really had to stop yourself from telling him about where meat comes from. If Izuku would take a few seconds to think about that he would go vegan in a heartbeat.

Wait, how did you end up on this topic?

Also, why are you flying right now? Oh, Midoriya is taking you to your bed.

“Izu, I don’t want to sleep! I want to watch something!”

“You are going to bed and I’m going to get a bucket of water and a sponge. Then I’m going to the conbini to buy you medicine then I’ll cry in the shower.”

“Izu, you are overreacting.” You sigh. Yes, you do feel a bit weird but it’s really not that bad. This drama is uncalled for.

“Okay, I’m calling the ambulance.” Deku puts you down on your bed and gets his phone out to actually make a call. You really want to fangirl over the fact that his background is one of the pictures the gang took while camping and you are also on the picture but even with a high fever, you know that’s not the priority right now.

“Okay, okay, Izu, stop! Just.. whatever. Do whatever you want.” You give in, not even moving to get under your sheets. You can’t believe he came home sooner to be with you and you ended up like this.

“What about watching Netflix on your computer when your fever breaks?” Izuku asks, his hands caressing your forehead.

“Snuggles?”

“Snuggles.” Izuku smiles, tugging a stray hair behind your ears.

“Okay.”

~•🥦•~

Izuku really goes above and beyond to take care of you. He sponges your skin with tepid water to help the fever to go down, tugs you in like a baby so you can rest comfortably while he runs outside to find something for you to take. He comes back with a bag full of random stuff; there is a nose and throat spray, cold medicine - the super high end one you could never afford - throat sweets, vitamin C, pre-cut fruits and easy to eat stuff, Orange juice and a Deku plushie.

“I missed you.” You murmur as Izuku puts the stuff on a big tray and puts it on the bed.

“Have you eaten today?” Midoriya grumbles and you really hate the way he ignores you completely.

“Don’t be like this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m freaking out. Let me take care of you first, okay? Then I’ll be back to normal.”

“Gimme’ the Deku doll.” You command. Deku’s eyebrows rise at that.

“Excuse me? That’s for when I’m gone to patrol.” Deku reprimands, his eyes full of that weird kind of darkness again.

“Are you jealous of yourself, Izu-Izu?” You say mockingly.

“You know what, princess? You are not getting it. Nope. You’ve messed up.” Midoriya pouts while pointing his nose towards the ceiling offendedly.

“Give him to me, I’m a sick woman!” You move yourself up from the bed, aggressively trying to take the doll from Izuku. You manage to grab the poor fluffy thing so you yank it towards you but the hero comes with it; he ends up on top of you, giggling and laughing while you struggle to breathe. Midoriya pulls himself up to let you take a deep breath and you can’t help but look at his pretty and tired face up close; his eyes are shining in that weird way they usually do when you are around, gaze full of fondness and something else you can’t put your hands on; you look at his freckles and start counting them but there’s so many thanks to the sunny weather… at last, you look at his lips which you kissed by accident the other day.

Talking about that little accident…

“What if you get sick?”

“Why would I?” Midoriya smiles.

“I… we… kissed… on the peak. By accident.” You mumble nervously.

“Could you not say that right after you stared at my face for a whole minute, Sweets?”

“But staring at your face for a whole minute made me remember it.” You mumble like it’s common sense.

“You don’t have a filter when you have a fever, do you?” Midoriya giggles, but his shyness wins; he moves to the end of the bed, his face hidden in his hands awkwardly while his shoulders move with the laughter. After a few seconds, his tone changes into a serious one. “We barely get sick.” Midoriya admits. “We are always on edge, ready to fight. We are stubborn bastards who don’t let themself rest for long enough to be able to get sick.” Deku smiles into the nothingness with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“We should go on a holiday, Izu. To America, where All Might studied.” You sigh. “We could go to see his school, that famous street where he first debuted. Geeky stuff like that.”

“Sounds like a dream, Sweets.” Deku smiles for real this time and you really want to daydream a bit more but somehow you’re incapable of words; the sleep takes you without a warning and the world goes black.

You wake up after a few hours; it’s still dark outside, but it’s closer to the morning than to the night; or at least that’s what your body clock tells you. Next to you, there is a green mop of hair sprawled out on the second pillow you never use; he’s sleeping next to you but in a safe distance, unlike the other day when you woke up in his arms. You really miss the closeness, you miss everything about those three beautiful days; it’s harder and harder not to point out the elephant in the room and just end this sweet nothing and burn it to pieces for that 1% chance of your feelings being reciprocated. Apparently, Izuku is a vigilant sleeper; when a tiny sigh leaves your mouth he opens his eyes; without a single word he puts his palm on your forehead and starts his usual freak out session.

Honestly, this joke is getting old.

“Izu, stop freaking out, I’m actually feeling okay. My fever broke hours ago.” You stare at your shaking roomie with disappointment. “I’m literally tucked into 3 different comforters, of course I’m burning up. I’m quite sure I fell asleep in one, so why do I look like a burrito now?” You try your best to get out of the hellishly hot covers but Izuku looks at you with those freaking puppy eyes; he literally looks like a puppy who just peed on the carpet and feels bad about it. He’s the definition of a baby golden retriever.

“Let me get the sponge at least!” He murmurs almost silently with a little pout on his face. Adorable.

“Izu…”

“What about a lukewarm bath?” Midoriya pushes but you roll your eyes. “I’ll help you.”

This guy is ridiculous.

“You wish.” You snap back with a red face and if you wouldn’t be so ashamed you would have heard the almost silent “I do” murmured into his pillow.

“What did you say?”

“I said I need to go to work.” Midoriya grumbles, his sleepy voice more deep than usual. Oh no…

“Izu, are you grumpy right now?” You giggle and Midoriya really doesn’t appreciate that; he looks at you with an offended gaze. “Did you wanna have a lovely bubble bath with me and wash my back like you wanted in the camp?” You full on laugh now which ends up with you coughing a bit, which as per usual makes the greenette freak out for a good moment but after he checks your vitals and decides you are not about to die from a single cough, his angry pout is back.

“Shut up and take your Deku.” Midoriya tries to throw the stuffed version of himself to you and it lands on your face as your reflexes aren’t really good in your condition; you might feel better but there is definitely a long way until you can go back to your usual self. “Don’t make fun of me, I’ve grown up in a really loving and really touchy family. Once I tried to wash Kirishima’s back in the river and almost got Howitzer Impacted into the moon.” Midoriya admits and you burst out laughing.

“You did not…”

“I fucking did and he fucking let me. It almost cost my life.”

“Wow, you swear so much on this lovely morning.” You grin menacingly. “Did you not sleep well in MY BED?” You try your best to tease him flirtatiously; Midoriya was right, you have no filter when you’re sick. Oh well.

“You snored so much I couldn’t sleep well!” Izuku sticks his tongue out and you can’t believe his audacity.

“You cheeky little bitch, get out!” You whine and your green companion snickers as he leaves your room to get ready for his day. He comes back after a while in a full setup with a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat this and take your medicine. Only leave the room if you really need to. Send me a message every hour if you don’t want me to jump in through the window which I will leave open just in case.” Midoriya mumbles, and you can’t help but giggle.

“We have a door you can use, I hope you know that.” You try to deadpan but your mouth doesn’t want to cooperate.

“Let me be extra, okay?!” The move Izuku made with his hands really makes you question his sexuality.

“I didn’t know you can be so sassy, Izu-Izu, I kinda like that.”

“Say that when there’s no snot dripping from your nose and I might get a little bit turned on.” Izuku fucking WINKS at you and leaves like the sassy bitch he is.

So let’s take a deep breath and think about the fact that Deku openly flirted with you, even though you look like you were just hit by a truck.

… and now freak the fuck out.

Yes, that will definitely help you to get better.

~•🥦•~

Well, Deku wasn’t joking when he said you need to message him every hour. If you were even a minute late, you woke up to a green blob staring at you from your window like a creep. It was kind of funny until you realized how dangerous this whole situation is; Deku is clearly not concentrating on his job properly which is not just a risk for his own health but to the people of the city as well. You need to do something about this.

“Hey, Katsuki.” You ramble into the phone with a husky voice. “I have a problem.”

“The fuck, freeloader! Are you hurt?! I’m coming over!” Katsuki is about to end the call but you stop him.

“I’m sick, don’t come here. I need your help with Izu.” You sigh. “He’s not concentrating on his work because of me. He’s around the house every hour, he’s absolutely lost it.”

“Fuck. He did that to me too when I was sick. Only happened once but fuck I make sure to eat my fucking vegetables since, he was an absolute emotional mess, crying and yapping by my fucking bed like I’m dying.” Katsuki tenses. “I’ll sort this out, you rest or whatever.” The line goes dead and the silence is back. You send a quick message to Midoriya that you are about to sleep and decide to close your eyes a bit; the sooner you get out of this mess the sooner you get your old roommate back.

~•🥦•~

The next time you open your eyes, Izuku’s sitting at the leg of the bed, hunched over; he looks banged up and really tired but he still smiles at you as you sit up.

“Hey, Sweet Pea.” His voice is rough. Something is not right. Something is…

Dripping. On the bed. From his side.

That’s fucking blood.

Okay, this is it. You are done.

“Midoriya Izuku, you are bleeding! What the fuck are you doing here and why are you not in a hospital?!” You yell but straining your voice probably wasn’t the best idea as you end up having a coughing fit. Midoriya tries to move and help you through it but even the smallest movement makes his breath hitch.

This is not funny anymore. “Why are you doing this?! How am I supposed to get better if all I can think of is you dying on the battlefield because of me?! Huh?! I’m really fucking done, Izuku! I don’t want you here! I want to sleep! I’m calling the hospital!” You cry to him, your eyes full of worry. It breaks your heart to talk to him like that, but he didn’t listen to you when you were nice and if you need to break your own heart to save his life, then so be it.

“I’m sorry, I only looked at my phone for one second…” he tries to explain, but fuck if that doesn’t make you even more angry.

“You looked at your phone in the middle of a fight?! I’m having a cold Midoriya, not a terminal illness that will take me away randomly!”

“Don’t call me that…” Midoriya’s eyes are full of tears and that only makes you cry harder; it’s extremely hard to breathe, your already stuffed nose not letting any air into your lungs. Your door gets smashed in suddenly and you both jump; Midoriya makes a tiny whine from the pain.

“Okay, this shit show ends now.” Bakugou barges in and puts Midoriya on his shoulders like he’s nothing but a sack of potatoes. “Deku, you are going to the hospital.” He grumbles. “Freeloader, you hide that fucking bedsheet before Auntie gets a heart attack when she comes in from the living room.”

“Mum is here?” Midoriya mumbles with a pale face. The weakness of his voice makes you cry again.

“Yes fucker, she’ll take care of your girlfriend while you get your ass treated. You are not going back to work today. We’re going to use your window so she won’t freak out. Now shut the fuck up and chill for the fucks sake, what kind of fucking drama is this anyway? Honestly, you need to get a grip, you fucker! She’s just fucking sick. Stop being an idiot!” Bakugou doesn’t stop talking as he jumps out of the window; you can hear him yelling at the greenette until their silhouettes disappear in the sea of skyscrapers. When you hear the footsteps coming from the living room, you quickly hide the top sheets under the bed.

“I heard a lot of yelling, are you okay?” Mama Midoriya comes in but she stops at the door when she sees your teary face. “Honey, what happened?” Inko runs over to hug you. You try your best to not cry even harder as she embraces you the same way a mother embraces her child.

“He doesn’t have any sense of self preservation, I can’t do this. It’s my fault, everything is my fault…” you bawl like a baby, your words so mumbled she probably can’t understand the half of it.

“Is there something bloody hidden under your bed, honey?” She mumbles into your ear and you freeze; Katsuki went above and beyond to make sure Inko doesn’t see his injured son yet you managed to mess up everything in the first 30 seconds. Well done.

“… N-no?” You stutter but Inko only laughs at that.

“Y/N, I know those two like the back of my hands. I heard yelling then Kacchan disappeared through the window, together with my son. I might be a working class woman but I’m not stupid.” The lady smiles. “I used to cry so much when my boy got injured but it’s the part of the job. I can’t believe they still try to hide this away from me. I was the one who treated Izuku’s wounds in the first few years. I was the one who washed his blood soaked clothes. Honestly, these two boys… they are a handful.”

“It was my fault, I’m sorry…” You try to apologize but Inko puts her hands on your mouth.

“Oh, shush now, Sweet Pea. It’s his own fault for not taking care of himself. He should have called me right away. This isn’t a first time I take care of his friends while he’s on duty. But I guess you are special. He wanted to take care of you himself.” Inko looks at you with a knowing look. “Don’t be too hard on him when he comes back, okay? He’s probably really heartbroken right now. He takes everything so seriously…”

“I yelled at him.” You sniffle. “I yelled at him and told him I don’t want him here. I didn’t mean it…”

“I know, honey. But you thought this is the best you can do to keep him safe. Thank you.” Inko keeps rubbing your back soothingly and the movement makes your sick brain feel super woozy - in a nice way. You could really sleep in Mama Midoriya’s arms. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a minute, honey? Let’s kick this cold in the butt so you two can make up and be happy again, yeah?” The soothing little circles lulls you to sleep really quickly; the next time you wake up it’s the next morning; you are alone in your room, there is water and breakfast ready for you by your bedside and there’s also a little pot of pink flowers sitting next to your pancakes. By the look of it, they were planted really quickly and you must add, really messily but you know these flowers; they are pink kisses, the flowers you made Midoriya buy for the garden when you first moved in. You really want to cry right now.

“Are you feeling better, honey?” Inko comes in with a sleepy face; you really hope she didn’t sleep on the sofa. Knowing Izuku, he probably let his mother sleep in his bed while he crashed on the sofa even though he’s hurt. You want to strangle that man and kiss him senseless, all at the same time.

“Much better, thank you. That disgusting thing with ginger really helped.” You giggle. “How is he?” You ask in a serious tone, worried. The poor guy went out into your garden and dug a flower out of the fucking dirt. He must feel so guilty for everything he’s done and probably has the wrong idea about your feelings as well. You really need to talk to him. As soon as possible.

“He’s okay… right, Izuku?” Inko smiles and suddenly, there is another green head in your view; Izuku looks so tired, his eyes red-rimmed and full of regret.

“Izu…” Things happen really quickly; Izuku is at the door one moment and in your bed in the next; he hugs you like he haven’t seen you for a year, grabbing your shirt anxiously while he buries his head into your neck. “I smell really bad…” you mumble self-consciously, but he only buries his head in deeper.

“I’m so sorry.” He sniffs and you really can’t take this anymore; you embrace the man so tightly he ends up making a little noise of discomfort.

“Ahh, sorry, did I hurt you? You got injured yesterday, I’m so sorry!” You ramble but Izuku only smiles. Inko slowly backs out of the room and closes the door behind her to give you some privacy. Bless that woman.

“I got healed by recovery girl, I’m fine. I’m sorry I made you worry and for being a ‘creepy ass fuck’ as Kacchan has said.” Poor Izuku looks so dejected you can’t help but caress his cheeks to cheer him up.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. You were hurt and I only made it worse for you. Look at your eyes, love, they are so red and puffy…” You barely realize what you’ve just said. It just slipped out without your knowledge. Oh, you really fucked up this time, you really…

“I love the sound of that nickname.” He mutters with a red face. “You are forgiven. You’ll always be forgiven, Sweet Pea.”

“And so will you, Izu.” You mutter back with teary eyes. “Whatever you do, I’ll be here, waiting for you to come home to me again.”

This is the last straw for your poor heart. You are in love with him. You can’t fucking lie to yourself anymore. He’s the most perfect creature you’ve ever met in your life with all his weird habits and stupid shenanigans. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted. You really need to take a deep breath and close your eyes for a second to not act on your instincts and kiss the man in front of you.

“Promise?” Deku smiles, his pinky lacing together with yours.

“Promise.”

~•🥦•~

After a few days, you feel good as new; at last, you can safely snuggle with your favorite roommate as you two enjoy a movie on this lovely afternoon.

“Hey, Sweet Pea…” Midoriya mumbles shyly. It weirdly sounds like a beginning of a question so you look up at the green haired hero. “So, my mom told me off for not listening to the doctors and getting glasses for home to read and to watch the TV, so… what do you think?”

“About you in glasses? Or about you being an insufferable little bitch about using them?” You grin when Izuku makes that funny squeaky noise he usually does when he’s being bullied.

“Excuse me, first of all, I’m not an insufferable little bitch about it, I just forgot to get my glasses done. Second of all, stop chatting with Kacchan when I’m not around.” Izuku pouts, so you give him a little kiss on his cheek to stop his incoming tantrum.

“You are literally so obsessed with him you have all his merch, is it really a bad thing if I sound like that?” You continue your teasing, because you are an asshole.

“Well, first of all…” Midoriya is about to start ranting but he gets cut off by your loud laugh.

“First of all, stop saying first of all over and over!” You talk back, still snuggled close to him, your hands playing with his fingers in his lap.

Yes, friendzone be damned, you two can’t stop touching each other since the fight, and no, not in that way, obviously, but you can’t lie, it is constant. Good morning kiss on the cheeks, good night kiss on the forehead, a ‘well done’ caress after finishing a commission, ‘thank fuck you are alive’ kiss on Izuku’s shoulder because you can’t reach his face properly without jumping up on him like a monkey, fingers entwining while watching a movie on the sofa, secret sniffs of the other’s skin after a shower… Long story short, it’s bad but neither of you really care at this point.

“I don’t want you to sound like Kacchan, because one is perfectly enough of him. Also, I’m getting those glasses, so if you see a new man sitting on the sofa, please refrain from attacking him with a mop again.” Izuku giggles, reminding you of your second encounter in the living room.

“Nah, I would know it’s you even if you take away all my senses.” You smile with a fond look on your face. You are so fucking obvious it’s actually hilarious.

“That’s highly unlikely, but I’m still fluttered.” Midoriya smiles back with a dorky look.

“Damn, you don’t even have your glasses yet but you already sound like a fucking nerd.”

“That’s it princess, you are going to the naughty jail!” Midoriya giggles and makes a move towards you. You look at him with questioning eyes.

“The wha… oh my god, Izu, stop!” You whine as the hero lands on top of you, viciously tickling you on your super ticklish sides, movie long forgotten. If you two end up staying in this position after tiring yourselves out by playfully fighting on the comfy sofa then falling asleep in each other’s arms, that’s no one’s fucking business.

Fuck, you really do sound like Katsuki these days.

~•🥦•~

EXTRA - A few days before

Deku’s mental health support group

Green oblivious idiot: Even her snores are cute…

Kacchan: Jesus ducking Christ Deku.

Kacchan: ducking

Shitty Hair: 🦆

Kacchan: I ducking hate you all.

Kacchan: Duck’s sake

Green, oblivious idiot: 🦆

Kacchan has left the group.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- This was actually supposed to be a 2 parter but I have so many chapters sitting in my notes I decided to post both of the chapters together haha I hope you enjoyed the little treat!

- The next chapter is my personal favorite one and guys… you are not ready.

- HEY VIETNAMESE FRIENDS, this story is being translated to Vietnamese by the lovely @tlam105! Thank you very much for your hard work! 🩷🩷🩷🩷 CLICK HERE IF YOU WANNA READ IT!!

- Eyy, Izuku has issues, man 😂 Someone needs to give that poor guy a chill pill. I’m really not sure how the heck did he manage to look at his phone during battle though, I’m quite sure he was hiding somewhere and that’s when he took his phone out, not in the middle of an actual battle but that doesn’t make it any better.

- I have a confession to make; I finished this story a few days ago and I’m really emotional right now 😂 the story will end with week 10, BUT! You know me and how much I love this story so there will be a second season! We will see more of Izuku’s weird habits in that one! It will just as fun as the first season was! 🥦 I already finished the new header for it 😂 I really hope you like the ending! (which ain’t an ending but you know what I mean.)

- My boyfriend is cutting onions and I can’t see from the tears so if there’s a mistake in the potato ramble bit I’m sorry I’m literally blind. TMI, I know.

See you next week! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! I love to hear your thoughts! 🥦🩷

Taglist: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @momothemasocist @aymasakusa @kastuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku #mha midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #midoriya izuku x reader #pro hero deku x reader #midoriya x y/n #midoriya x you

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mangoisms · 1 year ago

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter seven: just get me through the night | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.8k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Steph believes you when you tell her you tripped and hurt your wrist.

After all, it’s not exactly a lie. That is what happened. It just… happened to occur while you were being advanced upon by, you know, the Batman.

You don’t tell her that last part. It’ll just worry her, you think, and she was worried enough about you that following day, when you told her about how your shift was cut short and how you hurt yourself. She fretted about you coming back to your shitty apartment in Coventry on your own but you made up a lie about catching a taxi.

(Technically, in a way, you suppose it could’ve been the truth but you don’t imagine Red would appreciate Redbird being referred to as a taxi service; though, at the same time, he drives like a literal maniac, so, it doesn’t fit.

And yes, he did name his car.

And yes, it is actually named Redbird.

He claims he gets around by motorcycle more these days but that obviously wasn’t conducive with the weather, so he used the car instead. A very high-tech, ultra-expensive car that you had to wonder how the hell he managed to get. He’s your age, after all. But you refrained from asking. It’s impolite, considering everything he did for you.)

After Steph’s shift, you both head to her mom’s house, where Crystal Brown, a nurse at West Mercy, generously takes a look at your wrist, as equally as concerned as her daughter when she hears the story.

“It’s just a sprain,” she says, frowning. “I can’t be entirely certain without an X-ray but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured. No need for a brace, either, but if it keeps bothering you…”

“I’ll get it checked out,” you agree easily. “Thank you, Ms. Brown.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Crystal.”

“You know how she is, Mom,” Steph sighs, folding her arms over the back of the chair you’re in, dropping her chin to your head.

“As hard-headed as you? Oh, I know.”

You smile bashfully as Steph snickers. Crystal rises from the table, stepping back to the stove, where she has dinner cooking. At their insistence, you agreed to spend the night.

Crystal has always been kind to you. Both this summer and the previous one did she tell you you were welcome to live with her and Steph here at their shared home, since neither of you could live in the dorms unless you took classes during the summer. Steph abstained from them to get more experience and you abstained because your financial aid wouldn’t cover it, which left you grappling with a three-month lease at the shitty student apartments near GU.

“No Tim?” Crystal asks, covering the pan, turning to look at you two.

Steph clicks her tongue, pulling away from you to flop into the chair beside yours; underneath the table, her ankle curls beneath yours, shin pressed to your calf.

“Busy as usual.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“It’s not that big of a deal—” at the looks you get from both of them, you quickly backtrack “—I mean, I’ll tell him later… That new Mission Impossible movie came out a few weeks ago, so I was gonna see if we could watch it together…”

Crystal frowns. “But you don’t like those movies. Does Tim like those ridiculous movies?”

She probably wouldn’t be displeased if he did. Crystal isn’t overly fond of Tim. Steph says it’s because of their relationship when they were kids but sometimes, it feels far too deep for it to be just that.

Still, she’s civil to him and he rarely says no when Steph invites him (and you) for dinner. If anything, you think Crystal doesn’t mind the opportunity to make him squirm. Steph probably doesn’t mind it, either.

Steph stretches her arms above her head. “It would be on par with him but no. These two just like watching them and making fun of them. I’m good, though.”

“I’ll tell him, then. He’d notice it, anyway, since my mobility is still limited, but yeah…”

“Well, be careful,” she says, mouth pursed. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking about your wrist but about something else.

Steph coughs. Crystal looks back to the stove.

“Well, hopefully you two will see him soon. From what I’ve heard, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you say heavily. “A while.”

Crystal doesn’t pay more attention as she focuses on the sizzle of the chicken breast but Steph does, giving you a lingering look that makes you look away.

You… try not to give away too much to her.

You feel horrible enough to be in love with her ex-boyfriend; pining after him in her presence is just the icing on the World’s Worst Best Friend cake.

That’s why you avoided him, after realizing the culmination of your feelings in May.

To see if you could shake the feelings, if you could get rid of them.

Considering how hung up you are on him still, it hasn’t worked.

But you still want to see him again. It’s selfish, probably, to be okay with avoiding him for your own gain and then when he does it on purpose, you want to put an end to it.

But you know now it wasn’t okay.

You want to see Tim, want to hear his bad science puns, you just want him around.

Your feelings won’t go away for a while but avoiding him was the wrong decision. You just have to handle it on your own like an adult.

You would if you could see him more.

You hope you can. Even if it kills you to act normally, to be okay with being friends. By this point, you’ve started to realize having him in any capacity is more than enough.

It has to be.

newest mission impossible movie came out… i can’t believe they’ve managed five of them and this one is only part one of the fifth one. they need to put that series down already

anyway :D in that case, was wondering if we could see it together? on sunday? i’ll get the tix and you get the snacks? we can get ice cream after and talk shit about it

i can’t, sorry! family dinner on sunday, then some other stuff before then and on sat too. see it and let me know about it, alright? :)

You cry when the end credits start rolling.

Not because the movie is good or moving or even so bad that it makes you cry, you’re just…

So tired.

Tired of him never having time for you, for you and Steph.

One part of you wants to give up. What’s the point, right?

His continued lack of time means you can’t even apologize to him, can’t even ask if your initial avoidance was what led to his in the first place.

Mostly because it feels like it doesn’t even matter at this point.

Maybe this is what you deserve and there should be nothing else to say on the matter.

But that hurts even more.

You sit far at the back—shitty seats, he would say—but it gives you the privacy to shed a few tears.

You leave only when the end credits are almost done rolling and the theater is empty. You don’t care about the looks people give you, coming out red-eyed and sniffling from the Mission Impossible movie. You just want to go back to your apartment and hide away for the rest of the summer.

You emerge from the cinema; it’s only eight, so the sun is still out, warming you up from the chilly theater. Sighing, you start for the nearest station to take the subway back to Coventry.

You only get a couple blocks before your eyes catch the storefront of an ice cream parlor. Wallowing deep in self-pity by now, you easily take the detour. The patio in front of it is busy with people and through the large glass window, you see the line inside is long, too. But since you have nothing else to do, you head for it, anyway.

You’re halfway across the patio when you see it.

Through the window, in line for ice cream, is Tim.

Your eyes found him immediately, without intention or purpose. Poetic, almost, were it not for the fact of seeing him here breaks your heart.

Here, not just by himself but with friends. Friends you’ve never met but know of from pictures at his place.

You try to rationalize it initially, still standing there in the middle of the patio, staring into the parlor. Maybe the dinner was canceled. Maybe they dragged him out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then it makes you feel second best. Second choice. That he didn’t think of you when his schedule freed up.

That’s presumptuous, though, right? What gives you priority? Nothing, especially after what you pulled before.

But the ache in your chest hardly allows for that much introspection or self-awareness.

Mostly… Mostly, you’re just hurt.

Seeing him now, separated from you by thin glass, the yawning monster inside you that longs desperately for him is unleashed, because he is so close but he’s not here with you, for you. And that hurts. A physical thing, your chest tight, throat thick with growing emotion.

But then, he sees you.

His head turns and you go rigid as your eyes meet his, which widen as he recognizes you.

It’s been long, so terribly long, since you’ve seen him. See the soft blue of his eyes, this lovely shade, like cornflowers.

It makes this so much worse because you don’t think anything will change, even with this, so it’s like a taunt to see him, knowing this might be the last for a while. A long while.

Another moment between you two, the surprise on his face morphing into something else and you look away before you can see what it is, turning on your heel.

You have to get out of here.

The subway is across the street but the light just turned green. Too long.

The hiss of hydraulics snatches your attention. A bus, several feet away. One last person climbing on. You take off for it, scrambling for your wallet, ignoring how the rough motions make your wrist throb in protest.

You think you hear your name. You hope you don’t.

You barely wedge yourself in just as the doors close.

The bus driver eyes you with thinly-veiled suspicion but you pay the fare and take a seat at the far back, away from the windows.

You don’t even know where this bus is going.

You don’t care.

You just have to get away.

You bury your face in your hands, your tears flowing again as the bus pulls away from the curb.

The worst part about it, you think, is that he doesn’t reach out to you.

Neither does Steph, but you reason expecting that is irrational. Why would he talk to her? Why would he tell her what happened?

You can’t do it, either. It’s for the best, maybe, that you don’t say anything about it at all.

Instead, as soon as you get back into your apartment, you collapse onto your threadbare couch and take a nap. Only dragging yourself off it when you have to get up and get ready for your shift, accompanied with the headache throbbing in the center of your forehead.

You trade off with the evening shift and things are quiet for the most part. To distract yourself (mostly to stop yourself from bursting into tears if you think too hard about what happened), you take on your night shift tasks with renewed vigor. Cleaning the floors, the machines, adjusting displays, doing inventory.

Your wrist protests throughout it but you ignore it.

Steph would scold you for it.

So would Tim.

You pause in the middle of cleaning the counter near the Slurpee machine. Your wrist throbs at your side.

The sharp gust of wind and the sound of your name surprises you.

Shocks you, really, since you’re still a bit on edge from Batman’s visit last week and you yelp, turning around, throwing the wet cloth on instinct.

Your visitor dodges it easily. It lands on the floor with a wet splat.

“Flash? What are you—what—?”

He tilts his head, grass-green eyes narrowing slightly, mouth pursing, and you get the unmistakable feeling of being scrutinized very closely.

“What are you doing here, Flash?” you question.

He keeps making that face. “I wanted to see you.”

That surprises you. You blink.

“Batman won’t like that.”

“Don’t care. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to see you. He can’t say anything.”

You don’t think that’ll stop him but you don’t say anything. Flash probably knows. He just doesn’t care. He’ll complain about it sometimes, go to lengths to avoid it, but other times, he just—doesn’t care.

Flash continues to look at you. Scrutinizing you.

You don’t bother trying to stop him from doing it. You’re too tired and the way your eyes are still red and swollen is telling, as well as the circles under your eyes.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Flash.”

His frown deepens and one of his hands comes to your shoulders.

“Seriously… are you okay, kid?”

For some reason, that does it.

The smallest of splinters to your resolve first, your breath hitching, then it breaks entirely, emotion swelling inside you with tidal wave force, your vision blurring with tears.

Flash reels back in surprise at first, then softens, muttering, “Aw, kid,” and pulling you into a hug.

It doesn’t feel perfunctory. Like he is doing this out of obligation at seeing you cry, like this is just another one of his duties as a superhero. It feels genuine, the way he holds you tightly against his chest, like you’re a child being comforted.

That just makes you cry harder.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Then you get embarrassed, sniffling out an apology.

He hands you a napkin, then pokes you affectionately on the forehead.

“Geez, what do you take me for? I don’t mind. Besides, worse bodily fluids have ended up on me. Way worse. This is nothing.”

You laugh wetly.

He squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, though. Seems like you’ve got some stuff to talk about. What’s going on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears briefly takes hold of you. You take a deep breath, working through it, blowing your nose.

Flash grabs two Slurpees, one cherry and one blue raspberry, and hops up on the counter, patting the spot beside him. You manage to wriggle up using just your right hand, your left still throbbing.

With plenty of breaks in between to cry a little bit more, you tell him everything that has gone on for the past month. Including the stuff with Red and the others, then your impromptu visit from Batman last week.

“That how you hurt your wrist?” he asks, thoroughly displeased as he reaches for it with gentle fingers. It’s more swollen than before, irritated from you ignoring your body’s warnings, warm to the touch.

“It wasn’t him,” you mumble. “Just me. I tripped and fell.”

He purses his lips but nods for you to continue, which you do, telling him about everything that happened today.

“It just sucks,” you whisper. “I mean, what I’m doing to Steph, first of all, by feeling like that and then with the stuff going on with Tim. I know I shouldn’t have avoided him earlier because of my own feelings and maybe this is what I deserve for it but…”

He shakes his head, seemingly bothered by all of this. Really bothered. You expected some, along with the concern, but all of that seems tripled for a reason you do not know.

He says your name, solemn. “You don’t deserve any of that. Sure, it was stupid but… you still don’t deserve that.”

“I can’t change it,” you sigh, setting your cup down. Your fingers are numb from the cold of it. “I just… I dunno. Had to get it out, I guess, so thanks. Why did you really come here, though?”

He sips his Slurpee. “I really came here for you. I just had this feeling… I don’t know. But it paid off, didn’t it?”

“True,” you admit.

“You want me to talk some sense into this kid?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know,” he muses, his thoughtful tone bellying the tension that seems to permanently reside in his body now; he’s really annoyed by it. You’re touched, if not a bit confused at the depth of his feelings. “I think I should. Might be good.”

“It’s not totally Tim’s fault—”

“His reaction is his own entirely. You shouldn’t have done what you did but anyone with any amount of common sense would talk to you about it instead of turning around and avoiding you, too. It’s dumb. Don’t let him off the hook.”

“Don’t let me off the hook.”

“I’m not. But from where I’m standing, his offenses greatly outweigh yours, especially with what seemed to happen today and… everything else.”

“Flash…”

“I’m just saying. I am, admittedly, a bit biased but… still. I’m not wrong, am I?”

You sigh. “I guess not.”

“Exactly. And for that stuff with your other friend… she hasn’t said anything about it, has she? I mean, I told you what it’s like for me and Pipes. We don’t feel like that for each other anymore. If I had some friend who turned out to like him, I wouldn’t care. So, what makes you think Stephanie does?”

You throw up your hands. “Most people would! Flash, not everyone takes that approach to their exes.”

“True,” he concedes. “But they’re clearly still friends and just friends.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s okay with that. That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I shouldn’t… it never should have happened.”

Flash sighs, watching you for a minute. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”

You laugh humorlessly. “You’re just now getting that?”

“I knew before but this is… a mess of epic proportions. Seriously…” he mutters the last part, shaking his head slightly.

Before you can respond, the door opens. You can’t see it, the aisle hiding it, but Flash can; since he remains calm, you assume it isn’t anyone bad.

Then you hear your name, from a very familiar voice and—

“Steph?”

She appears around the aisle, her jean shorts and lilac purple t-shirt wrinkled and in a state of disarray, her hair equally as messy, frizzed from the humidity outside; a light sheen of sweat shines on her face. It’s like she rushed all the way over here.

You hop down from the counter, concerned. “Steph, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? What happened?”

She lifts a hand, cobalt blue eyes on Flash, saying, distractedly, “No, it’s… it’s alright, nothing’s wrong, I just… had to talk to you… Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Flash says breezily, hoping from the counter. “You can talk to her. I was just visiting.”

“Wait—” you don’t want him to leave quite yet but you don’t know how to say that.

“I’ll hang around,” he assures you, tossing your empty Slurpee cups in your next blink; the only indication he did anything is the way they disappear and the breeze that hits you and Steph.

“Batman—”

“Don’t care. If anything, I might like to talk to him.”

“Flash,” you say, nervous, not willing to reveal what happened to Steph but also trying to tell him to very much not do that.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “But I’ll be around. I’ll come back in a few.”

He lifts a hand, then he is gone, the breeze following him much stronger this time.

“I guess you two really are friends,” Steph says when it calms, sending you a small smile, making you relax.

“Yeah…” Though friends didn’t quite cut it for you. Silly, probably, considering you don’t even know who he is under the cowl, but you can’t deny it to yourself. It’s hard to quantify exactly what he means to you—a friend, a big brother, some kind of weird uncle. If anything, it feels like an odd amalgamation of all those things. You wonder if that’s how he feels, too. You won’t ask. You can only handle so much disappointment in one night.

“I’m sorry to come by so suddenly,” she says next, her words oddly formal in a way that puts you on edge. “But I just had to talk to you.”

“About…?”

“About Tim.”

You go stiff. You try your best to school your expression, to not give anything away. After all, concerning him, it could be anything. What happened today, maybe. What’s been happening.

Or your feelings.

You really hope it’s not that.

You’ve only just started to realize you might be losing Tim. You can’t lose her.

You can’t.

“What about him?”

She says your name. Everything inside you tightens.

“I know. I know how you feel about him—”

Your throat aches when you swallow. Everything seems to come bursting out of you in the next second.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Steph, I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—I wouldn’t do anything—” you take a step back, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest.

Her eyes widen and she steps forward, quickly closing the space between you, her hands coming to cradle your face.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not, I never should’ve—god, I’m so sorry, Steph—” your vision blurs with tears.

She says your name again, keeping you in her grasp.

“I’ve known for a long time,” she quickly says. “Okay? I knew, but it’s okay. I was never mad at you, never, it’s okay, I promise.”

“But—but—”

She shushes you gently. “It’s okay. Deep breaths, alright?”

A couple tears trace down your cheeks. She wipes them away, a small smile forming on her lips—for you, entirely for you, the warmth there reflected in her eyes.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asks, rubbing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s really easy to fall in love with Tim Drake. And this isn’t my roundabout way of telling you I have feelings for him. Those are long gone. I love him and he’ll always be my first love but that time has passed—for the both of us. But for you guys?”

“Stephie…”

“I don’t care that you have feelings for him. I really truly don’t. I just want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy. I think you two can do that for each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I think… you’re good for him. He’s good for you. That’s all there is to it, okay? If you really want my blessing, you have it, but… it doesn’t matter to me that you like him. And I’ve known for a while but I just… I assumed you knew I was okay with it. Like it was the thing that was there but we never talked about. Stupid, I know. But… I just need you to know that. Alright?”

She hugs you. You bury your face in her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly, unable to stop your tears from flowing.

“I’m not just saying this to try and be the bigger person, either,” she murmurs. “Go for it. It’s been long enough.”

“I don’t know…”

“Why?”

“I mean, he doesn’t… and today…”

Steph pulls away, frowning now. “He likes you, too.”

“No—”

“He does. I know.”

“Then why has he…” You can’t keep going, biting your lip.

“‘Cause he’s an idiot,” she mutters. “In more ways than one. But… I’m going to fix it, okay?”

“No, no, don’t—”

“It’s okay. There’s… there’s other stuff going on right now and we need to take care of that first, then you can talk about your feelings. But I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to try.”

“You don’t have to, this is our mess, my mess, I was the one who started avoiding him in May after finally realizing my feelings and then he…” you trail off, sniffling.

“There’s something else,” she says cryptically. “That’s… just take my word for it. But I’m going to fix it. He’s been an idiot long enough and I’m not going to keep tolerating it, not if he’s going to keep hurting you.”

You shake your head, confused. Is she talking about today? Did he tell her? You have no idea…

“He only did it because I did.”

“No, no, it’s… it’s complicated, okay?”

You snort despite yourself. “You think?”

She smiles finally. “I know. It’s… a lot. But don’t worry. I’m going to get him to see the light. Not literally, though I wouldn’t mind roughing him up a bit just for how idiotically he’s been acting but… another time.”

You’re still confused. Terribly, terribly confused. But Steph is so impassioned, so sure, you let it go.

“Let me help,” you say. “I should be the one doing this but—but let me help. I need to. It’s my mess, too.”

“It’s all of us,” she sighs. “And right now, I’m in a unique position. So… let me, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you more later, but hopefully, I can get something together soon. Just sit tight, alright?”

“You do too much for me,” you whisper.

“I’m doing what I should be doing,” she says, looking… guilty almost before the look is gone. “This has gone on long enough.”

She leans forward to kiss your forehead. “But it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it better.”

You just nod, going along with it for now.

You scrape yourself together after a few minutes, wiping your tears away and blowing your nose. Steph hangs around long enough for Flash to return, at which point she bids you a regretful goodbye, telling you she’ll talk to you tomorrow. You worry about her getting home but she brought her car, or so she tells you, and Flash generously sees her out.

After a couple minutes, he returns.

“So?” he asks expectantly.

“You were right,” you mutter. “She’s fine with it. I’m not entirely sure why she had to rush out to tell me or what she’s planning to fix but… I don’t think I can stop her.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” he agrees lightly. “I don’t think you should, either. It’s probably important.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “I still don’t think she should be doing it but…”

“There might be more pieces in play than you think.”

You send him a look. “I got enough cryptic talk from her. I don’t want any more from you.”

He holds up his hands, smiling. “No more cryptic talk. Got it. I do, however, come bearing gifts.”

“Where on earth—?”

“Well, I already had them when I came here. I wanted to check on you and give you this stuff, but we got interrupted,” he says. “Give me a second.”

You give him a second.

He leaves and comes back in that time. You raise an eyebrow.

“Check it out,” he says, holding out a box.

You take it from him. It’s a small thing, easily held in your hand. You pull off the top.

And promptly blink as the shiny display of a phone greets you.

“Flash, what—”

He can’t wait for you to finish asking your question, apparently too eager to tell you.

“It’s a phone, for you. But it’s programmed with my contact info, that way you can talk to me, and you can move all the stuff on your old phone over, too. It really is just a regular phone. Well, it does have League-level encryptions on it, but you know.”

“Flash… this is too much.”

“Not really,” he says. “I couldn’t give you that info without making sure your phone was secure and it would’ve been a lot more work to get yours secured, too. Besides, let’s be real, your phone has seen much better days. I think it deserves to finally be able to rest.”

“Jerk,” you laugh.

He shrugs. “Not wrong, though. Anyway, it’s not just for emergencies. You can talk to me. Text me. You know.”

“Flash,” you say, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pressing a hand to your face.

He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself last minute and just gives you a small smile.

“Come on. Let’s set it up.”

You agree, not wanting to continue to refuse since it would be rude and… you do want to have a way to talk to him. Not just for emergencies but other stuff, too. This stuff.

So much is still up in the air.

But you can focus on the here and now, with Flash here to ease your burdens.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers @fridaenpina @skcj24 @bath1lda @omfg-its-tay @laughydaphne @fhrjrirj @iamthesimpmother @alittlelateforstars @thaliadoesthings @scarlett13 @zelabee @coffee-love-alltheabove @benstormy @sad-girl09 @lockofspades s @thereallchristine @thatonecroc @1lellykins @jelsafan0 @hearttjason @kno-way-home

[ask to be tagged! here or my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #red robin x you #dc comics x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n

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skellymom · 1 year ago

Text

"Silent But Deadly"

The FIRST Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES!

Background: A stinky stench "rustles up" controversy.

Word Count: 780 words

Warning: Farts, fiery crop dusting, stinky humor, swearing.

The Bad Batch landed on Anaxis at the meeting point with the 212th for a special mission. Hunter led the way and greeted Commander Cody who introduced them to Rex.

Cody’s clone troopers loaded onto their flying transport first with The Batch filing in after them. The door slid closed as the ship ascended on its journey to Skako Minor. All was quiet as each soldier stared ahead, contemplating the scope of this mission...until...

...Hunter suddenly started with a coughing fit.

“You ok, Sergeant?” Cody concerned, watched Hunter thump his chest with a closed fist, struggling to articulate his issue.

“Uh...cough...be...ok...”

Then the ruckus began. Cody and Rex watched as each Reg in the 212th violently protested one by one. Falling out of formation like a line of dominoes.

“WHAT THE KRIFF!?”

“Smells like a Rancor crapped in here!”

“What died???”

“I’m gonna die!”

“Who shit themselves???”

One trooper even tried to put his helmet on to avoid the fumes...to find the horrendous smell was trapped in with him, “GAAAAH!”

It wafted up to Cody and Rex who grimaced and gagged.

Every Reg in the 212th angrily glared back at The Batch.

Hunter, ever the gentleman and a leader, tried to take the blame. “Uh, sorry Lads...huh, gag...too many rations for...gag...breakfast.” He exhaled, fanning himself.

An angry Reg spoke up, “NO! I think it was the big guy!!! No way Sergeant Super Smeller did that!!!”

Everyone stared at Wrecker.

“WHAAAT???” Wrecker clearly had NO clue what was going on...as his sense of smell was deader than a Drydak.

Another Reg threw in his guess. “Yeah! The other two look like their asses are so tight you’d hear a SQUEAK!!!”

Tech’s head shot up from his data pad and gazed over alarmed at the Reg who was speaking with authority about HIS anatomy.

“ENOUGH!!!” Cody bellowed. Everyone immediately straightened up to full attention. “Corporal, open the bay door and air it out!”

Rex, speechless, put his hand over his nose.

Tech quietly glanced at Crosshair. There was a satisfied look on Cross’ face with just a hint of a grin. Cross gave Tech the side eye. Tech glared back at Crosshair with his best dignified, “YOU ASSHOLE” expression. Cross just chewed on his toothpick. He was clearly VERY pleased with himself.

Hunter leaned into Crosshair and whispered. “Do it again and I’m personally throwing your ass off this ship.”

“Mhm...Almost worth it.” He snarked back arrogantly.

Even though quiet and still standing at attention, it was clear the 212th Regs were fuming during the rest of the ride to Skako Minor.

Finally landing sometime later, the men filed out of the ship with several of the Regs body checking Wrecker as they walked past.

“HEY!” Wrecker protested.

“Get out of my way you STINKY BEAST!”

“YEAH, were you trying to gas us out back there!!!”

“THAT’S IT! Tech, gimme your repair torch!!!” Wrecker had enough of this BS.

Tech protested “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this situation...”

Wrecker yanked the torch off Tech’s utility belt and turned towards the two Regs.

“For the record...I’M NOT QUIET!” His voice rising.

“What are you going on about STINKY???” The Reg stood his ground sneering.

Wrecker wasn’t going to let this go. “You know what I like to do???”

Both Regs stood there looking at Wrecker, then glanced at each other, then back at Wrecker and just shrugged.

“I LIKE TO BLOW THINGS UP!!!” Wrecker shouted. With that he turned around, bent over, engaged the torch and squeezed out a LOUD fart that sounded like a TUBA BLAST. It ignited like a flame thrower, shooting out a jet of fire from his bum. The blast rolled over both Regs where they stood. Two high pitched Wilhelm screams were heard as both Regs took off running...their heads smoldering.

Wrecker laughed like a maniac...and handed the torch back to Tech.

Tech embarrassedly cleared his throat. “Uh...I assume those soldiers will need medical assistance...”

Rex turned to Cody mortified. “THESE are the guys that are supposed to help us find ECHO???”

“Yep...” Cody deadpanned.

*****************************************

Later, after Kix had medically treated the Regs, Cody marched them over to Wrecker to apologize. Both men were noticeably missing two things: Dignity and their eyebrows.

Wrecker couldn’t help himself. “Whattsamatter? You BOTH look so...SURPRISED!”

The rest of the 212th erupted in hysterical laughter. From then on NOBODY picked on Wrecker and he was the regiment favorite.

Crosshair sat nearby on a boulder watching all the action go down.

Hunter strolled up to Crosshair and kicked his boot. “You know this is all your fault, right?”

Cross pulled out a fresh toothpick, inserting it into his mouth.

“Hmmm...and enjoying EVERY minute of it.”

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED OR DROPPED FROM MY TAG LIST, PLEASE MESSAGE ME! Don't just comment as I might miss it. Thanks!!! <3

To read #2 in this series:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/740278235151106049/bombs-away?source=share

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tsukimefuku · 10 months ago

Text

Right, wrong and the in-between (Part 1)

Previous chapter | Next chapter

You and Higuruma were assigned to investigate the disappearance of women around Shinjuku. This led to a dicey situation regarding what place Jujutsu sorcerers occupy in this world and what is their role to play when non-sorcerers get involved.

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". There is currently a sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a fic I'll eventually write (eventually). To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :) The "Right, wrong and the in-between" will be a 4 (maybe 3) part short-story set in this AU. This is the first part, I hope you enjoy! The tags below will be applicable to every chapter.

Tags: oc/f!reader, soft/implied Higuruma x reader, soft/implied Nanami x reader, slow burn, mentions of violence and non-con/abuse among side characters, canon typical violence, some angst, some fluff, just characters being themselves driving the plot (and me) insane. Some philosophical debate will be in place.

WC: 1.7k

"Well, this looks like a one-man job." Higuruma said, with his small gavel resting lazily on the side of his forehead. You were both seated at the backseat of a Jujutsu Tech's car, and Ijichi was driving.

"Oh, it sure is," you replied, "but you can't be going on solo missions until further notice. So you're stuck with me for the time being."

"Oh, no. I'm definitely not complaining of 'being stuck' with you." He replied, looking at you. "I just think that there's probably a better way of using such scarce resources, like jujutsu sorcerers. This parole should've been over already, that's my point. I already commited myself with atoning for my crimes and fight alongside Jujutsu High."

"Higuruma, it could be worse. You could've been executed." You said, as you put the side of your forehead on the car's window and closed your eyes. "The higher ups are awful like that, I know it firsthand. I just hope they'll all die or go to hell soon enough."

That caught his attention, and made a small bead of sweat appear in Ijichi's temple as he looked at you through the rearview mirror. "You have told me to have your issues with them, but never clarified what they were. I mean, you don't strike me as the type to do something that would render you at risk of getting a death sentence, or anything of the sort." Higuruma pondered, now curious. "So how would you know?"

"Oh, how would you know that about me, now? We've been working together for only three weeks, smart-ass" you said as you looked at him, scoffed and smiled. "If you behave today and I don't get bedridden for whatever reason, maybe I'll tell you over some drinks at HQ, since you're still on a leash. I will get us some beer, and we'll bash on the established power right under their roof. How's that sound?"

He smiled. "Fine. We have a deal. But I get pretty argumentative when I drink, just a heads-up."

You chuckled. "Wouldn't expect any less from you." Even if you were working alongside Higuruma for a short amount of time, you actually appreciated the guy's company — when he wasn't being a risky maniac on the battlefield —, and could totally get behind his disdain for Jujutsu High. You felt that way about them yourself, and with good reason.

After the bantering, you started to mentally go over the mission you were both assigned.

Many women were going missing in an area of Shinjuku, Tokyo's red-light district, for the past few weeks. It wouldn't be something to be dealt by Jujutsu High if it weren't for the cursed energy traces left around the places these women were going missing from. The disappearances were undoubtedly due to cursed activity, so Higuruma and you were sent out to investigate.

"Ijichi, is there any indication this could be due to a curse user?" You asked.

"No, Ms. Why do you ask?"

You went over some pictures they had sent to you on your phone. "There is no blood, guts, or anything like that in any of these places. I mean, curses are often related to disappearances, sure, but it's not a very curse-like behavior to kidnap people in so many different places through such a large area."

"So a curse user with criminal intent is the most likely scenario?" Higuruma completed.

"Yes. It would make more sense. And considering the area of Kabukicho, it's possible these women..." Your stomach turned on itself before you could finish your sentence. You were all silent at that moment, for you all knew what that meant.

Higuruma sighed. "Yes, it makes sense."

"Oh. Hey, Ijichi, what is Nanami up to? Haven't seen him in some days." You asked. Since getting promoted to a Grade 1 sorcerer, you stopped going on missions with Nanami and were mostly taking on tasks alone until you were assigned to shepherd Higuruma.

"He's actually working on another mission around Shinjuku too." Ijichi replied.

"Oh, he is?" The excitement in your voice was clear as day, as you said that with a smile. Higuruma looked at you seemingly a little dissatisfied, but said nothing.

"Yes. But he's on the opposite side of Shinjuku, currently."

"Oh." You deflated a little. "Well, drink night with the sorcerers is almost up the corner. See you both there, Ijichi."

He smiled as his face blushed slightly. "See you there."

You looked at Higuruma. "And I hope you're liberated from your leash soon enough, so you can join us too. I'd be happy to see you there."

He was a little surprised as he looked back at you. "Oh. Okay." Was all he managed to answer.

After 6 minutes, you arrived at your destination. The street was covered with signage and neon lights over the buildings, which were all crammed together, in a tight and claustrophobic pack. Since it was still afternoon, there was not much effervescence, given that this part of Shinjuku would become more lively during nighttime.

"Ijichi, we will go looking around to see if we find anything. When we do, I'll cast a veil myself, okay? Wait for us here." You told him, as you and Higuruma started to make your way down the street.

"So, we're looking for cursed energy traces that could lead us to our culprit?" Higuruma asked you.

"Precisely. Be it a curse or curse user, this was sloppy as hell. They left remains in every scene." You replied. "Shouldn't be so hard to track them down."

"Fine, then. Let's get this over with."

***

After some walking around, you both stood in the front of a building that seemed to have some cursed energy traces over the door. They were very faint, but were definitely there. The club was closed, and would only open after 6PM.

"Well, do you want to look around while we wait for it?" You asked Higuruma.

"Anything to be out of headquarters. I thought I knew what being arrested felt like, but it's so much worse than I thought. Not having the freedom to come and go to places... It's dreadful." He replied, his body trembling unconsciously.

"Oh, really?" You said. "I thought you’d be used to that. I mean… You were a criminal defense lawyer."

He sighed. "Yes. But then I wasn't. It's a matter of will, you see, fighting a broken system from within." He put his gavel away, deducing you both wouldn't be facing any harm anytime soon. "There is no way to win a game when you're bound by the constraints of the game's unfair rules."

"Was breaking free worth it?" You asked.

***

When you were assigned Higuruma's case, to hunt him down, you were briefed on his situation. A curse user that was a lawyer and had awoken his abilities right after a trial, killing the prosecutor and the judge in the process. After that, he basically remained hidden for a few weeks before Jujutsu High located him. He expanded his domain on you and confiscated your cursed technique, but as you both started brawling, a curse attacked, lured in by the cursed energy you were both emanating. In a split second, you told Higuruma to run, and that you would face the grade 1 curse alone. You just felt, right then, that this man wasn't deserving of death. He had killed two people, of course, but nobody actually knew why that happened or even bothered to investigate it adequately. You wanted to hear what he had to say about it.

"You have no cursed technique anymore!" Higuruma shouted.

"Just fucking go! Run! I'll handle this!" You answered, charging to punch the curse with cursed energy. It had multiple arms, like a spider, and it took only one swing to send you all the way across the place, having you hit concrete and spit blood.

Shit. Higuruma felt it would be unfair to let you tackle this by yourself, with no cursed technique, after he was the one who removed it from you. He'd be indirectly responsible for your death, and this was completely different from fighting you and defeating you himself. This miniscule spark of morals coming back to him felt... Strange.

He took his gavel and proceeded to exorcize the curse as you watched mesmerized at how well this guy could fight in a such short amount of time. You texted Gojo asking for help without Higuruma noticing, because in that state, you wouldn't be much use defeating this man. After Higuruma was done, before he could leave, Gojo appeared, and you shouted for him not to kill the guy. Gojo knocked him out rather quickly, and you proceeded to explain everything that had happened, while also requesting his assistance to suspend Higuruma's sentence.

"He's strong. He exorcized this grade 1 curse without my help, and he awakened his abilities a week ago or so." You said. "I think this guy has potential. I talked to him, and he seems... misguided."

Gojo pondered for a moment with Higuruma over his shoulder. "Are you sure? I mean, he's the one that put you in this situation in the first place."

"I'm sure." You said. "Gojo, you saved me from the claws of the higher ups. They're arbitrary bigots, you know that. Please, trust me. Take this as a request from a friend." You felt indebted for that man, guilty or not, had just saved your life.

Gojo sighed and smiled at you, giving you a thumbs up. "I'll do my best. But you'll owe me another bag of kikufuku."

You smiled back at him. "Of course."

***

"I don't know." He answered earnestly, looking at you. "I'm still deciding while I atone for my crimes. After all, I left one broken system and ended up entangled in another. People seem to be terrible wherever I go."

You laughed. "Well, that's for sure."

"Aren't you going to try to dissuade me from that stance?" Higuruma asked. "That people are terrible?"

You scoffed. "Me? Hell no. We're a duo of cynical people. Can't promise to give you back any sense of ideal or anything of the sort. You'll have to find it for yourself."

He smiled at you. "You think of yourself in a curious way. I wouldn't say you're cynical." He replied.

"Oh, really? What am I, then?" You retorted.

At that moment, you heard two voices in the street around the corner. They were indistinguishable, but sounded female. You both approached quietly, and saw a woman in her late fifties, wearing a velvety crimson robe, guiding a lady — who must've been no more than over twenty-years-old — inside the building through a back door.

"Well, that was suspicious. That woman looked like a pimp" you said.

"You're someone that sees things for what they are" he concluded.

#jujutsu kaisen higuruma #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #jjk hiromi #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami x you

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