#i appreciate the noise/static when he's fainting because that is exactly what it looks like

[drawbauchery]

I did a thing ( jay-reid)

THE MADMAN DID IT

[deluluass]

What bliss, domesticity.

for: @tink2kagome. i’m sorry it took me so long to work on ur pretty setter squad request T^T i’ll probably do like another one in the future! 

  & @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @belpomme @chaichai-the-weeb for being such lovely mutuals <3 <3 

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; yakuza/organized crime; gun mention; a lot of (non-sexual) food references in this one

  Jun’ichi Saikawa was obviously the kind of man who liked to laugh. Not unlike most people in their world. The kind who use their entire body when they do, announcing to the entire world with a bellowing “Ha Ha Ha!” how pleased they are with whatever’s going on in front of them.

  Which, in all honesty, was pretty admirable, that the old man could still do it considering how bored to tears Wataru was. 

  That it’s a humid afternoon didn’t help either. He could feel the sweat on his back even when the doors were already slid open, exhibiting a verdant garden filled with blossoms and shrub peonies. From his place he could see the school of koi swirling in the shallow pond, their scales iridescent under the warm rays of the sun. 

  “Didn’t know you were the funny sort, 'Kaashi!” Saikawa blurted out, the sake in his hand spilling to his fingers.

  This wasn’t Wataru’s first day on the job, but this is the first that he gets to do something this important. And with someone he highly respects, too. 

  So he gave his collar a light tug, steeling himself to endure as he tucked his legs further beneath him, and resorted to thinking about the many things he would absolutely surrender just to lie down on the warm mat. 

  His car, maybe.

  The brand new noise-cancelling headphones he bought, if pushed. 

  Wataru saw Akaashi nod.

  “I appreciate a joke every now and then,” he said.

  The larger man laughed again.

  “Here, here!” Saikawa thundered, snatching a tiny, yellow box from the maid who appeared as swiftly as she’d left. 

  “I heard you like sweets. Here,” he said, grinning as he handed it to Akaashi. “My youngest son just opened a cake shop. I know what you’re thinking, but who am I to say no, eh?”

  Akaashi passed the box to Wataru. 

  “Mind it for me, please,” he whispered.

  How unexpected. Akaashi-san has a sweet tooth.

  Huh. 

  That’s pretty neat. Wataru himself wasn’t partial to cakes, but he does love pudding. 

  “You are a good father, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi told him. 

  This time, Wataru didn’t bother suppressing a yawn as Saikawa fumbled for his phone, hiding it behind his hand as he stared at the birds chirping and hopping about outside.

  “Wanna see him? He’s much like you! Good head on his shoulders, that one.” 

  “I am honored, Jun’ichi-san,” Akaashi echoed back, peering down at the photos Saikawa showed him. 

  “He sends me a lot of these- uh,” Saikawa snorted, his nose reddened by the alcohol. “What do young people call it, the- pictures-”

  “Selfies?” Akaashi politely supplied. 

  “That’s the one! Look. Precious, ain’t he?”

  His earpiece crackled to life. 

  Konoha’s voice emerged from the static. 

  “We’re ready when you are,” his senior murmured. “Man, this is taking too long. Let’s get some burgers when we’re done.”

  “Akaashi-san,” Wataru croaked, feeling his cheeks heat up as he continued, “K-Komi-san and the others are waiting for you.”

  Saikawa perked up. “Ah, of course! Of course!” 

  He stumbled when he attempted to stand up. Akaashi was quick on his feet to assist him.

  “I knew I could count on you, son,” he muttered, patting Akaashi’s back. “Now, you tell Bokuto that what happened between us- it’s all in the past! All in the past! And if those bastards mess with him again, you tell him to run to old Jun’ichi!”

  Akaashi clasped Saikawa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” Akaashi said. “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments to Bokuto-san.”

  “You do that, my boy.” Saikawa’s belly shook as he laughed. “Your generation’s a smart one, indeed. The in-fighting and wars, bah! All that trouble for nothing; that’s not your style. Your lot’s the future now!”

  Then, Akaashi stepped a few meters back and bowed. 

  Wataru followed behind him. 

  “We will be taking our leave,” Akaashi said. “It has been an illuminating talk, Jun’ichi-san.”

  The sound of the bamboo drip trickling water into another stalk permeated through the silence.

  It collapsed and clunked against a stone. 

  He heard the birds flutter away.

  When Wataru raised his head, Saikawa had already been lying face down on the floor. 

  And, of course, Wataru’s used to it: the crack of a gun muffled by a silencer. 

  He’s been practicing his entire life, after all. He actually doesn’t flinch anymore and Wataru thinks he should be proud of himself.

  It’s just that... how could someone who used to be there, suddenly...disappear? Saikawa was right in front of him a few minutes ago. Laughing and showing off photographs of his son. And now he’s...not.

  But, Saikawa didn’t disappear. Not really. 

  The blood seeping through the tatami is proof of it, but Wataru chooses not to look. In theory, he knows what a bullet through the skull looks like. He’d just rather not see today if what he’s taught reflects true in the real world. 

  Maybe some other time.

  “Wataru.” 

  Wataru flinched. “Y-yes?”

  Akaashi looked back at him. “The cake?”

  His body was still trembling and it took a lot of strength to not let it show in his hands when he gave it back to Akaashi, the box pleasantly yellow with doodles of doe-eyed eggs dancing along the handle. Unblemished, unlike Akaashi, who was sporting a splatter of blood along his cheek. 

  It’s surprisingly still cool to touch, too.

  “No, thank you,” he said, rejecting the handkerchief that Wataru offered. 

  From afar, Wataru could hear the faint melodies of an old love song being played by a car radio. No doubt Konoha’s doing. It followed them, growing louder the closer they walked back into the parking lot. The others bowed and sent gruff salutations along Akaashi’s way as they dragged bodies out of the Saikawa mansion. 

  (It was nauseating and Wataru wanted to pass out.)

  He pressed his nails harshly into the meat of his palm. 

  “A-Akaashi-san,” Wataru began. “I didn’t know that- that um, you liked... sweets.”

  Akaashi halted. 

  “No, I don’t,” he said, blinking. “But my wife does.”

  Wataru stared at him. 

  Akaashi went ahead. 

  He stayed that way— staring and wondering, until they stopped by the fast food restaurant that Konoha loved so much. Wataru couldn’t even finish his burger and fries. 

  By the time that they hit the freeway, Akaashi had already cleaned himself up and Wataru was still grappling with the word “wife.” 

  Of course he knows the man is married. 

  But, how, exactly, do you reconcile his reputation with the sight of him, every passing headlight sharpening his features, quietly humming along to Aki Yashiro? Who was longing for Shinjuku at night, the beauty of it, and oh, how wonderful it’d be, she said: a rendezvous with her lover, waiting for her under raining cherry blossoms. 

  Wataru figured that he was tired and starting to see things. 

  That small smile that graced Akaashi’s lips couldn't be real, either, especially those hands of his that held the box of cake like it’s worth more than gold.

He wasn't really particular when it comes to music. A song's a song, in Akaashi's opinion. Another form of noise that helps when the silence gets too overbearing. 

  But you, on the other hand, liked music. Listened to it the same way one eats their favorite food: memorizes the lyrics; goes out of your way to collect unearthed photographs and newspaper clippings that made the singer seem more human.

  You loved music— was probably the right way of putting it.

  Especially the old variety. He didn't get it at first. The sounds are dated; no one speaks in that language with that cadence anymore; the singer's probably dead.

  Well, Akaashi still doesn't get it, if he were to be honest. 

  Yet here he is. 

  His hands were wrapped around your waist, coaxing you into a slow— albeit clumsy, waltz.

  "Kei-kun!" you squeaked. "The dishes!"

  You dragged your slippers beneath you, struggling to wipe the suds off your hands. 

  "S-seriously, Kei-kun..!"

  Sure, he doesn’t fully understand what’s great about it, music. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he immediately recognized the first few notes this time, that’s why he’s doing this. He didn’t even wait for the DJ to finish saying, “You’re still listening to Vintage F.M. Here’s a classic for you couples out there. Have a romantic night with Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-”

  Perhaps it’s because your cream stew tasted extra special that it made him shrug the fatigue off, giving in to the urge of pulling you close and taking your damp hand in his to sway and bob along the skipping bassline. Your bashful objections went in one ear and out the other.

  Sure, he’s not the type to do this, either, dancing. 

  Yet here he is. 

  Perhaps it’s because he knew that it’s your favorite song.

  Perhaps it’s just what marriage does to you.

  "Did you like the cake?" he whispered against your neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and the way your skin jumped as he did.

  Your breaths were shallow against his chest, but you managed a soft, “Yes, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  Akaashi caressed your back, kneading the tensed muscles as he huffed. 

  “Good,” he murmured, trembling. “Good girl. What a relief." 

  It was endearing, how offbeat the both of you were. A shame, though, considering that Nat King Cole’s fervently insisting on love; that it’s all that I can give to you; that it’s more than just a game for two. 

  So Akaashi makes up for his two left feet by joining in. He pressed his lips to your forehead. How strange, your presence in his life. What did he do to deserve you by his side, for this contentment that thaws away the chill?

  (He put a ring on your finger, is what he did. He deserves this.)

  “Two,” he droned, made giddy by the sparks in his belly, “in love can make it.”

  You looked at him, wide-eyed. 

  “Take my heart and please don’t break it.”

  He spun you around.

  “Oh my god, Kei-kun,” you gasped. “You can’t sing.”

  Akaashi’s aware of it all too well. He can’t carry a note; not him: the guy who’s had monotony ingrained in his very being. But that’s why he has you.

  A startled giggle left you as he guided you into a box step, the trumpet rising and falling over the strings. You stepped on him a few times, so he lifted you up, just so, and kicked off your slippers. Then, he set your feet atop his own. 

  He took you with him as he moved, waddling and careful not to hit his back against the countertop. It came as no revelation that both of you weren’t any better dancers even after this maneuver.

  Akaashi continued. Starting with L—

  “Is for the way you look at me.”

  “Stop, stop-” Your eyes crinkled at the sides. “You’re flat.”

  Akaashi persisted, anyway, taking your cheek to pepper kisses all over your face.

  “O is for the only one I see.”

  Your laugh was airy— light and buoyant all over the kitchen, like a fairy leaving stardust in its wake. Not gratingly booming nor demanding. After all, you weren’t the kind who felt the need for it: an audience to witness how pleased you are; how strong and powerful you are over everyone else. 

  Besides, your laugh was just for him. A private and intimate thing. And he was so lost in it that he almost forgot what’s been gnawing at him for the entire morning.

  Akaashi rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling the downy fabric of your dress as he gripped you by the hips. 

  “Where did you go earlier?” 

  The orchestra was in a joyous uproar, joining the rapid beating of your heart; the trumpet bright and clear, singing in harmony with the bass and saxophones and trombones, as Nat King Cole repeatedly guaranteed, as if an oath, that love was made for me and you. 

  Love was made for me and you.

  “I had to buy some groceries!” you piped up. “We ran out of ingredients. Sorry, I forgot to bring my phone with me. Oh, I have to run you a bath. I’ll tell you when it’s done, alright?”

  You broke away from him with a beaming grin, but Akaashi wanted to ask, despite the evidence of it before him. 

  “Are you happy?”

  It has already ended, the song. The DJ was signing off for the night.

  You nodded, playfully jabbing his arm with a fist. 

  “Of course,” you told him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Perhaps it’s because you were never really good at pretense, no matter how much you hid behind needless noise. 

  Music. Laughter. Running water. 

  Akaashi sighed as he slumped down the nearest stool.

  Of course you’re happy. Why wouldn’t you be?

  After rubbing his eyes with clammy fingers, Akaashi fiddled them together beneath his temples. He released a heavy breath and fished for his phone in his pocket.

  He spoke after the first two rings. 

  “Wataru-san, I’m sorry for bothering you,” he said. “Can you do something for me?”

  His subordinate didn't ask him why, neither did he react when he'd stated his request. Akaashi knew, however, that the question was sitting in Wataru's clipped replies. The boy’s “yes, sir” and “understood, sir” were far too enthusiastic than normal.

  Akaashi didn’t mind, though, if he did ask. And despite that familiar pang of dread, Akaashi would answer him like the common— just like the average, everyday husband— with that characteristic, bordering on irksome pride that they have when they talk about their wives. 

  Why?

  “Well, Wataru-san,” Akaashi would answer. “Perhaps this is just what marriage does to you.”

The house was a house like any other.

  There was an old pickup truck parked outside the freshly painted gate, carrying crates of fruits and vegetables in its trunk. Along the bricked walls was an overgrowth of vines and ferns. It extended around the windows and crept up the balcony.

  A large Shiba ran outside and jumped to your lap as soon as it saw you by the driveway.

  Wataru heard Chiaki stir at the back of the car.

  “Pay up, asshole,” he grunted, waking a disheveled Ryota who’s still holding a half-bitten melon bread.

  His lackey cracked his neck and gave the scenery a cursory glance. “Could be a front.”

  Ryota grumbled and went back to sleep.

  “Idiot,” Chiaki clicked his tongue. “She traveled all the way to Miyagi just to give intel? And here? Of all places?”

  Three days. 

  They’ve tailed you for three days. Akaashi-san never said anything else, besides that within the week, while he’s gone and sealing deals in another country, there was a high likelihood of you folding and getting out of Tokyo. 

  To run right here. In Miyagi.

  He didn’t say why, really, but Wataru supposes it’s better that he didn’t. Because during the days of absolute, mind-crushing boredom, of watching some suburban wife go out for a morning walk, chat with her neighbors, and shop around the market, rinse and repeat, coming up with the Why had been their only salvation.

  The betting pool has two answers: cheater or snitch.

  Chiaki was insistent on the former, while Ryota stood by the latter. 

  And Wataru...Wataru could only watch, waiting with a bated breath as the door finally opened.

  “I bet it’s someone younger,” Chiaki said. “Usually is.”

  Seems that none of them were winning anything today.

  The man who emerged from the house was far older— who, oddly enough, resembled you. An  old woman soon followed behind him. Both of them looked at you as if they were witnessing a specter, or someone who's crawled back from the dead. An appropriate comparison, especially since they’re both wearing somber black clothes.

  It wasn’t his place to assume. Though he’s been promoted to a slightly higher position, it will never come close to the place that Keiji Akaashi occupies. Wataru knows all of these, but nothing was stopping him from putting the pieces together, no matter what little he has.

  They could only stare when all of you broke down into tears, locked in each other’s embrace as you knelt on the pavement. 

  Don’t let her stay too long.

  That had been one of Akaashi-san’s orders.

  So the three of them didn’t wait it out. By the time that the sun had set, Wataru had already stepped out of the car, taking Ryota with him. He made sure to remind the boy, just in case he’d forgotten.

  “Be gentle, alright?” Wataru reiterated.

  There hadn’t been any need for that, it turned out. 

  He’s sure you’ve never met before, but Wataru saw bitter understanding flash in your eyes when you caught them loitering in front of your house. Fear was there, too, of course. 

  Wataru was convinced that surely it’s a good thing. It saved everyone a lot of time, that way.

  You didn’t even say a word, only giving Wataru a stiff nod when he’d introduced himself, and remained like so on the ride back to Tokyo, with the strap of your handbag trapped by a clenched fist. Wataru didn’t try to initiate small talk; it felt unnecessary.

  It took a while for Wataru to realize that you also hadn’t bothered to change out of your pajamas, though he gave you a couple of minutes to say your farewells. 

  Pajamas, obscured now by a thick, gray coat. 

  Akaashi-san was right.

  You had no plans of coming home. Not tonight. Maybe not for a while.

  Wataru decided not to linger on it anymore. 

  He ignored the blank stare that pierced right through the rear-view mirror. And then, Wataru wondered, hand sweating in his pocket, what the three of them should have for dinner.

Thick chunks of pumpkin melted in your mouth with just the first spoonful of broth. 

  It'd been a while since the last time Akaashi cooked. So, more than anything, it was the sight of him setting plates and utensils that took you aback, greeting you with a, "Welcome home. You're just in time. Food's ready," his sleeves rolled to his elbows while donning your baby owl-printed apron. 

  The taste didn't. Surprise you, that is. He's a good cook. Unlike you, who only became marginally better one hundred burn scars later. 

  It also didn't surprise you that he flew back home at the drop of a hat. Even when he said he'd be gone for a week.

  "How is it?" Akaashi asked after chewing. "Took me a while to make it."

  It obviously did, you thought. When you arrived, Irma Thomas was already begging through the record player.

  "Do you need me, like I need you?" she implored, straight from the heart. "Look at me, I'm crying from holding you." 

  The last song on your favorite record. It was cheap and had the best from the artists you loved. 

  Etta James. Ella Fitzgerald. Aretha Franklin. The Mills Brothers. Bessie Smith. All in one vinyl.

  "Yeah," you replied, clearing your throat when you realized how hard it is to speak. "It's delicious."

  You looked back down to your bowl. The  tofu had gone untouched. Your food was still close to spilling to the brim, while Akaashi was almost finished with his, scrolling on his phone laid on the table.

  "So no one coaxed you into it," you heard him say, and that had ripped your eyes away from the broth like a bandage on an infected wound.

  Akaashi was holding your phone, reading the messages- his number was the only one there, as pealing bells resonated in the dining room. 

  "I'd think of all the things that I wanted of you," cried Irma Thomas. "To make me forget the pain that you caused."

  "I would've known if anyone else talked to you, anyway," he huffed, locking the screen before blowing steam off the morsel. 

  "You would," you conceded. The tofu was soft when you bit into it, sinking into your teeth.

  "I found that in our cabinet. Last time it was in the kitchen drawer, wasn't it?" Akaashi helped himself to a bowl of rice. "Don't leave it in stuffy places. What if you forget where you hid it and you won't know when I call?"

  "And I can no longer keep track of where you are for every moment of the day?" you could hear him say. Though he didn't; though all that could heard, besides the scraping of utensils, was Irma Thomas declaring:

  A fragile thing, like life. It just don't last so long.

  It could be for a minute or an hour. Or then again, from now.

  Your lips tightened with a grin. "I won't do it again, sweetheart," you said, spoon hanging limply in your hold.    

  He didn't need to say it. 

  That your phone has a tracker. That this house is still the same cage that it'd been before. That the only difference between then and now is that silver band on your finger.

  Akaashi’s blinked back at you as he sipped  what remained of the soup. You tried to do the same.

  The savory taste was cloying and it burned in your throat, so you didn't attempt to finish the bowl. It cut down to your heart, sinking heavily on your stomach, bile rising as the song came to a close.

  You gulped it down, though. You had to. And in the final moments, Irma Thompson told you what she really wanted. 

  "Make me forget," she said, "the pain that you'd caused."

  The chorus joined her. "Understanding is a great thing," she concluded. "If it comes from the heart."

  Akaashi was on his own phone this time. Most likely checking on the business that he left, judging by those furrowed brows and that long-suffering look in his eyes.   

  Fizzling noise came at the heels of the fading music. Then, it stopped. And there was nothing left anymore but silence.

  It's over now. Akaashi’s making a move to clean up. You were supposed to say, "That was a lovely dinner, honey." Or, you could tell him to sit down and watch a movie with you when he's done. 

  "I'll help you with the dishes," you wanted to say. 

  I'll help you with the dishes. It was so easy to say. 

  Instead, what came out of your mouth was a hushed call for his name.

  "Kei-kun," you repeated, brittle and weak and dry.  

  "I'm so sorry," you might've mouthed. 

  You could barely hear your own voice as you looked at him. Akaashi paused from tidying the table. 

  You're parched and a lot has happened today. Gathering the courage to take that first step out of the city had taken what little strength you had. The fear never left you. Seeing your old house almost ended you. 

  It should be physically impossible for you to still be able to cry. And yet there doesn't seem to be an end to your tears now, the same way your apologies unfurled in an embarrassingly infinite string.

  "Don't lock me inside here again," you whispered, clinging to him as he shushed you, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs as he helped you drink a glass of water.

  He carried you to your room and sat you down on the bed, right between his thighs. You sobbed into your hands, tears and snot on the sleeves of your pajama top.

  "I- I just wanted to see them. That's all. Just one day, Kei-kun. One day. I was gonna come back, I swear." 

  You're rambling. You're a madwoman pleading and bargaining with a stone-cold judge because playing house is the only thing keeping her alive. 

  And you messed that up you foolish, foolish girl.

  "Please don't hurt my family," you heaved. "They're all I have left."

  Akaashi doesn't speak, not for a while, but when he did, you bawled harder.

  "I can kill them all," he said, matter of factly. 

  It is true. Hearing him say it does not make it easier to take, though. 

  "I can hurt you the same way that you hurt me."

  Your neck strained as he tipped your chin towards him with a slender finger. 

  "I can break you," he muttered, not batting an eye.

  That, too, is true. You know it all too well. He said it with such serenity, still and undisturbed by the shaking of your head, because it goes without saying. 

  Except, you, too, know it. 

  When he is breaking. When he is falling apart.

  He smothered you, taking your entire body to curl against you, making himself small as he pressed his face on your back.

  "Yet- and yet I-" Akaashi sniffled. You felt your shirt dampen. "I've given you everything."

  When he finally brought his face close to yours, he looked so lost. Almost like a little boy who's on the verge of drowning,  clinging desperately onto a lifesaver and too shocked to shout for help. 

  You hated him all the more for it.

  "Each other," he said, snarling, almost, through tears as he grabbed your face with both hands. "That's all we have left, you hear? You and I. Husband and wife."

  He seized your jaw and turned it towards the vanity mirror.

  The room was dark save for the light in the hallway, peeking into the crack through the doorway. 

  But you could see yourself. And you could see your hand intertwined in his, your rings gleaming like muted starlights. 

  "We made a vow," he whispered, kissing your ring finger. 

  A detached part of you is astonished with how inescapable it is. Whether it be a reward or a punishment; a good day or a bad one.

  No matter what happens, you always end up like this, don't you? 

  Begging to him with your legs spread wide.

  You did as you'd always done when he began unbuttoning your top. 

  You go back to that autumn morning, when you first laid your eyes on him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and you thought that he had the prettiest face you'd ever seen.

  You go back to when he was just this really romantic guy who sent you flowers every day. There was a letter, every time. 

  Nothing too grandiose. Just short messages hoping that you'd have a great day ahead.

  He kissed your neck, wet smooches and long, flat-tongued licks dipping down your shoulder.

  He watched you through the mirror, his eyes a pair of darkened blues daring you to look away.

  Akaashi Keiji was your boyfriend, you told yourself. You dated him for quite some time before you married.

  Akaashi Keiji got along well with your father and doted on your mother. On Sundays, you visit them and they send you back to Tokyo with ripe watermelons. 

  Akaashi Keiji has never hurt you.

  The man tracing the hem of your bra, cupping your clothed tits and drawing lazy circles over nipples, however, did.

  (And he still will in future. He still is, right now.)

  This man is the real one. 

  And you have angered him, so he will not make this easy for you.

  "What did you promise me?" Akaashi whispered as he lightly bit the shell of your ear. "Or have you forgotten?"

  Of course, you haven't forgotten. You were chained to this very room when you made them, after all.

  "N-no, I remember," you said, catching your breath. "I remember, Kei-kun."

  "Then say it," he said. "Look at me."

  You shivered as his palms swept over your  stomach; as he unfastened your bra, letting it fall down your arms.

  "Look at me when you say it."

  You felt your nipples harden, gooseprickles spread all over you, as the air hit your bare skin, cooling the sweat that made it glisten.

  "Please," he rasped.

  The eyes of the woman in the mirror was hooded, threatening to close as she puffed with each squeeze and caress to her tits, swiveling her hips against her husband’s crotch as he grinded into her. 

  "I will be happy," she said.

  Akaashi nuzzled your temple, using his rough fingers to tease your nipples just as he did, brushing them to and fro, then grazing the bumpy skin around until you're squeaking out his name. 

  And when he began pressing down on the stiff peaks with his thumbs, before rolling and pulling at them, the heels of his palm digging into your tits, you saw the woman claw at her husband's hair, a graceless affair that almost scratched his eye out, making him reach for both her arms to wrap them around his neck. 

  "I- I will..!" Her lips parted in a breathless scream and it was disgusting how lewd she appeared. "I will not run away!"

  The streak of tears on his cheeks touched yours when he kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, his wet tongue gliding in so slowly as he deepened the kiss with a throaty groan.

  His other hand crawled down to your soaked panties. You couldn't contain the mewl that left you.

  Both of you gasped and struggled to breathe again after you parted from each other.  

  "You understand, don't you?" he rasped.   

  Two of his fingers slid down your folds, only to slither back up, then down again, smearing your cunt with its own slick.

  But he never touched your swollen clit, even though it's throbbing and aching to be rubbed and the hard bulge sitting between your ass grew harder the more you squirmed in his hold, whimpering like a bitch in heat.  

  You heard your husband sigh, his hot breath tickling you when he said, "This isn't about you now."

Belly pushed into the edge of the dressing table, rattling and battering against the wall with each forceful thrust, and your leg perched atop it, made numb by Akaashi's grip on your thigh.

  That was the first thing that you could recall when you opened your eyes.

  But your entire body was screaming in pain, so you knew that everything else that happened last night would come back to you soon enough.

  The flesh had a memory of its own. 

  You sat up with a groan and you didn't have to see the marks to know.

  His teeth were still nipping at you, biting you until they drew blood, only to follow with an apologetic lapping of his tongue. 

  You could feel him beneath you, his hands clawing you down to him, palms kneading your ass cheeks as you bounced up and down on his cock.

  You could feel him above you, gripping your wrists not unlike the cuffs that once kept you shackled. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling you close to him, filling you up with loads and loads of cum, squelching every time he sank down your weeping hole.

  And when your vision began to blur at the edges, he carried your body, mere seconds into fainting, to the dressing table. 

  The evidence of that stared back at you in shameful streaks and smudges, traces of your fingers on the mirror when he rammed your cunt from behind.

  "Are you happy?" Akaashi whispered.

  You don't know. 

  When he's just your husband who comes home to your arms and brings you sweets because he knows how much you love them; who dances with you in the kitchen and listens intently to you when you talk about that cute dog you saw at the park, were you happy, then?

  You don't know, but the woman in the mirror, in that moment, surely was.

  She even said, "Yes, yes, Kei-kun, right there, fuck me right there!"

  Her pupils were blown wide, eyes rolling almost over to the back of her head. And despite the cries that escaped her, there was a wide, dissipated smile on her lips,  spit trailing down her chin.

  "Look at you," Akaashi said, grunting when your walls tightened around his shaft. "You're clearly happy with me."

  "So why? Why'd you even think of leaving?" He rocked his hips, grinding his thick cock against that spot that had you holding onto the mirror. "Don't ever do that to me again." 

  You told him no, no, you won't run away again, but it didn't seem to placate his unease, nor his tears.

  "I'm so scared, everyday, that you'll leave me and- and- it feels like hell. I would rather die." 

  He kissed your nape as he huffed and said, "Because I don't know what I'll do without you."

  You never really understood why; what about you had caused him to single you out in the sea of people that had vied for his attention. Especially now as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

  There were dark circles under your eyes and Akaashi’s t-shirt was rumpled on your body, engulfing you whole with its size— a far cry from that lovely, dazzling bride that his best friend, Bokuto, had described you as on your wedding day. 

  But you’re aware, more than anyone, that Akaashi Keiji is the last person to care about appearances. 

  When he entered the room, carrying a tray in his hands, he gazed at that disheveled girl with eyebags big enough to be dragged around the same way he looked at her when he waited for her at the end of the aisle.

  “I made you pancakes,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he sat down beside you.

  You were tired so it didn’t dawn on you as quickly as it should that he made them the way you preferred. Four fluffy pieces stacked atop one another, sprinkled with powdered sugar, whipped cream and a smattering of berries on the side.

  He fiddled with his fingers when you only stared at it, so you immediately took the fork in your hand and sliced the pancake in half.

  “I’ll be taking some time off work,” Akaashi said as you took the food in your mouth. You only nodded, having noticed that he wasn’t wearing the usual bespoke suit as soon as he entered the room.

  You felt him near you; felt his hand, warm to touch, cup your face.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes were misty and, this close, it seemed that he, too, wasn’t in a good shape. “So please-” Akaashi licked his chapped lips, “Please don’t go.”

  “I won’t,” you replied, giving him the smile that you knew he needed. “I promise.”

  Then, as you moved to kiss him on the cheek, the chains that tethered you to the bedpost clinked softly beneath the blanket, and you didn’t bother to keep the tears at the bay.

  Akaashi wiped them for you when you said that you loved him. And when he asked why, you only shrugged and told him that the pancakes were so sweet that they could make anyone cry. 

[keichanz]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

hey @britonell​. do you remember Ride? yeah. that’s the one. anyway i have absolutely positively no explanation for this other than the fact that i’m a slut and also i’m blaming @clearwillow​ and @lemonlushff​ for this because they will know exactly where in the fresh fucking hell this came from. 

now if you’ll excuse i’m going to crawl back into the hole i came from and actually attempt to finish my 654 WIPs i have kthxbye.

anyway this is a follow up of sorts to my oneshot Ride because i have no self control. so here enjoy Stripper Inuyasha in chaps and a Stetson as i make him fucking line dance across a stage *cackle*

brief smut at the end but nothing exceedingly detailed because i’m lazy.

“Kagome,” Sango groaned, following her friend through the packed club and raising her drink above her head in order not to spill it as she meandered through the sea of people and tables. Jesus, this place was huge! “Why are we here again? And how the hell were you able to bypass that line? It was like a mile long!”

“I told you already,” Kagome called back over her shoulder, keeping a tight grip on her beer as she headed toward the only empty table in the entire establishment, reserved for a one Kagome Higurashi and guest. “We’re meeting someone.”

Sango didn’t fail to notice Kagome did not answer her second question and she sighed in irritation. Her best friend wasn’t telling her something and for the life of her she didn’t understand why. Kagome had always told her everything, and vice versa. There were no secrets between them, and that was why they were so close. But she also trusted Kagome and knew if it were truly important, her friend would tell her so Sango let it slide and muttered an apology as she bumped into a table while squeezing through the narrow paths. The tables were clustered so close together it was almost impossible to maneuver between them, but they managed and finally reached where Kagome had been leading them.

Gratefully sliding into the cushy seat beside her friend, Sango glanced around and couldn’t help but notice their table, which had been suspiciously empty in a fully packed club, was near dead center of the place and with a clear view of the stage not too far from them. It was empty at the moment, but the show hadn’t started yet, so not a surprise. Above the dull roar of chatter and laughter, Sango could hear a low beat coming from the speakers situated everywhere, standby music as the “performers” no doubt got prepared.

Sango flushed and took a sip of her Cosmo. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed Kagome to talk her into coming to a damn strip club of all places and she’d only given in because she was tried of her friend constantly bugging her about it. Hopefully after tonight, and after meeting whoever Kagome wanted her to meet, Kagome would be satisfied and never ask her again. These places just weren’t her scene, though of course she had nothing against strippers. Hey, you gotta do what ya gotta do.

Sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs, Sango sighed and set her drink on the table before turning her attention to the woman beside her. Dressed similarly like herself in a short jean skirt, cowgirl boots and a cami to give off that western sort of feel – something about the theme for the night apparently, from what Kagome had told her – said woman was grinning down at her phone with a soft blush on her cheeks, biting her lower lip as her fingers flew across the screen, no doubt typing a text message to her the new man in her life. Sango hadn’t met him yet, and every time she asked about him, Kagome would blush darkly and dodge the subject.

Not very unusual behavior for her friend, if Sango was being honest with herself. Kagome had always been reserved and shy, easily flustered and quick to stutter out an excuse if she was feeling embarrassed or awkward in a situation. So the fact that Kagome had chosen here of all places to meet their friend was very strange, to say the least. Still, despite herself, Sango was curious and knowing Kagome would just avoid the question again if she asked, she resigned herself to wait as patiently as she could for this friend of hers to show up.

Well…at least the seats were comfortable and the alcohol was good. And also free. Sango frowned. Wait a minute, how the hell—

Unbidden the lights shut off, plunging the club into darkness and instinctively Sango knew the show was about to begin. The lights lining the edge of the stage started glowing and there was a tangible buzz in the air, a heavy anticipation that blanketed the eagerly awaiting patrons. Sango was surprised to find herself actually a little excited, sitting up straight in her chair, staring hard at the dark stage and…

Wait a minute. She squinted, leaning forward. She could see figures on the stage, dark silhouettes moving into a triangular formation with one person in the front and four more branching out behind him. Her heart rate increased when she realized it was the dancers—the strippers. Ohmygod she was about to see a strip show—

Beside her Kagome could hardly contain herself, biting down on her lip to counting her squeal of excitement as she bounced a little in her seat. Though it was dark, she could just barely make out Sango’s face and she grinned from ear to ear to see her attentively staring at the stage, looking just about as excited as she felt.

Kagome couldn’t wait to see her friend’s face when she told her one of those dark figures standing motionless on the stage was her boyfriend.

Throughout the club, all the speakers hummed as the volume was cranked up, but at first there was nothing but static. Every few seconds a brief burst of music broke through before fading back to incomprehensible white noise, as if a radio dial was being turned to find that perfect frequency. This went on for another few seconds before the faint twang of a guitar was audible, the notes growing louder until an undoubtedly southern melody could be heard clearly above the gentle crackling of the static.

No lyrics accompanied the melody, no voice crooning out words of country roads, sweet potato pie, or mama. Instead all that could be heard was just the strumming of the guitar getting louder while steadily growing faster, the anticipation building, thrumming through the joint and creating a charged, restless energy until—

Silence.

A crackle, followed by an incomprehensible jumble of words, as if several radio stations were playing at once burst from the speakers, and then it was followed in short order by a widely familiar, but altered recording.

“Th-th-there’s a snake in my—”

A husky and positively sinful masculine laugh abruptly cut it off, echoing seductively throughout the club, and the wicked sound sent pleasant shivers down the backs of damn near every single female patron in the audience. Warmth pooled low in Kagome’s belly and she bit her lip because she knew who that laugh belonged to.

And then finally - finally - everyone’s attention was directed toward the stage as one by one, the dark silhouettes that were standing immobile were suddenly illuminated starting with the two in the back. The middle figures were next, first left, then right, and then finally at the head of their triangular formation, silver hair, golden eyes, and a positively devilish smirk was revealed on who was no doubt the star attraction of the joint.

While the patrons went wild and hollered their vivid appreciation, Sango’s mouth dropped and her face went very red as she took in the five figures standing on the stage. While fringed brown chaps coupled with black western boots concealed their legs, it was very obvious they wore nothing underneath them by way of the black briefs that were clearly visible. A matching brown suede western vest hung open from their shoulders with nothing else and expensive looking Stetson hats completed the cowboy look and honestly, Sango was kind of digging the look and she really wanted to know who the one with the small ponytail and charming smile was…

The response was deafening: riotous applause, exuberant cheering, screaming, shrieking, high-pitched whistling erupted from the audience. From beneath the brim of a sleek black Stetson, amber eyes found and zeroed in on a head of dark hair and melted caramel eyes in short order, sitting at her table as he knew she would be. Their eyes met and she smiled, a secretive curl of her lips that was returned with a flash of fang and a suggestive wink.

His girl blushed and bit her lip and fuck she was so goddamn beautiful.

If he’d bothered to take his eyes off of her for even a second, he would have noticed her friend beside her choking on her drink at the exchange, clearly shocked.

The beat dropped and forcing himself to tear his gaze away from her, Inuyasha adjusted the microphone headset – specially designed for his ears in mind – closer to his mouth and with one hand holding the brim of the black Stetson on his head, the other hooked into his chaps, and he waited for the next cue before starting the memorized choreography.

“Boys,” he spoke into the mic and behind him, his “boys” moved to the beat with him, holding a similar pose with one hand holding their hat and the other hooked in their chaps.

“Now, remember what we’re here for,” Inuyasha continued, purposely adding a southern drawl to his voice that elicited several hoots of appreciation from the crowd. “This ain’t no half-cocked or eight second rodeo. Ain’t no kiddie rides or little ponies up in here.”

In sync, Inuyasha led his fellow performers into a quick country two-step the flexed the muscles of his abdomen. More whistles and hollers of female appreciation were issued as he drawled, “Nah, what we got here is the real deal. We got them one of a kind”—slide a hand down the stomach—"large and in charge”—hip roll—“rough and ready”—step back, a little spin—“motherfucking stallions.”

Cheering amidst rowdy laughter and shrieked encouragement was the response to that and Inuyasha gave a fang-baring smirk, his low chuckle rising above the din of the crowd thanks to the mic close to his mouth.

“And believe me when I say,” he continued, kicking out his booted feet and transitioning smoothly into an easy line dance, “there ain’t nothin’ half-cocked about ‘em.”

More screaming and cheering, wolf-whistles and cat-calls abound and yeah Inuyasha had to admit, he was soaking it up like a fucking sponge.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen.”

The five men spun around in a brief circle and with practiced ease caught the prop that was tossed to each of them from off stage, not missing a beat before whirling back around to face the audience and straddling what they held in their hands—a hobby horse toy, the one where a stuffed horse’s head was on the end of a stick.

“A gentle reminder”—Inuyasha turned sideways, tilted his prop so the horse head at the end of the stick was pointing upward, and very suggestively stroked his hand up the wooden shaft—"that you must be this tall to ride”—feminine giggling, shrieks of laughter and more hollering met his ears at that and he grinned—“and that any lightheadedness or tingling sensations are completely normal.”

More hilarity and cheering, the crowd restless, impatient, so Inuyasha decided it was time to wrap up his little speech. After performing some rather provocative dance moves with their props that had every woman in the building feeling rather flushed, the five performers tossed their props back to the hidden stagehands and while Inuyasha strutted to the end of the stage, the other four took position behind him, preparing to put on one hell of a show.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, cowboys and cowgirls,” he began and once more locked eyes with his girl, a devastating smirk curling his lips upward at her flushed and star-struck expression. “We kindly ask that you sit back, hang on tight, and enjoy…”

Strobe lights flashed, spotlights swiveled and bathed him in an ethereal glow, and the smirk that stretched across his face was all fang as golden eyes flashed from beneath the rim of his hat, dangerous, alluring, positively wicked.

“…the ride,” Inuyasha finished in a husky growl and as the crowd once more roared their vivid appreciation, the hanyou whipped off his headset before tossing it carelessly to the side and then fucking moonwalked back to his position, tipping his hat forward so only his smirking mouth was visible as he waited for the cue. It started only seconds later, the music reverberating throughout the club, and as one the performers started the largely anticipated show.

Only vaguely did Kagome recognize the beat that was pouring from the speakers, some kind of remix of the song The Git Up by Blanco Brown but it hardly mattered. They could have been dancing to something as ridiculous as the big butt song and Kagome would have been just as captivated, as enthralled as she was right now watching her man gyrate and pivot on the stage like he owned it. A lot of his moves were familiar now – both from being considered a regular here now and from his private little shows he gave her after hours – and Kagome suspected no matter how many time she watched him work those hips and roll that toned stomach, it would still have the same effect on her every single time, warmth pooling in her belly, heart beating fast, and a familiar ache developing between her legs.

Stealing a glance at the woman beside her, Kagome was thrilled to see that Sango was in a very similar state, her face redder than she could ever remember seeing, mouth parted in awe, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her gaze was focused solely on Inuyasha’s friend Miroku. Kagome had met him shortly after she and Inuyasha had started seeing each other officially and though he could come on a little strong at times with his wandering hands and flirty nature, he was a good man and Kagome genuinely liked him. Charming, witty, and with a surprising sense of humor, she knew he would be perfect for Sango and she decided to ask Inuyasha what he thought about setting them up.

But not until later, though, because right now Kagome’s attention was thoroughly ensnared by one silver-haired, golden-eyed Adonis as he drifted across the stage, flexing muscle, smirking devilishly, and every so often tossing her little winks that never failed to make her erupt into elated, girlish giggling.

By the time the first show of the night ended a disappointingly short five minutes later, all five performers were sans their vest and chaps, strutting around on the stage in naught but their boots, briefs, and Stetsons and looking utterly fucking delicious while they did. For the finale, the toy horse props had been made a second appearance and then the show had taken a very unexpected, but also very appreciated twist that had captive audience roaring with applause, cat-calls, wolf-whistles, and general pandemonium as every woman collectively lost her shit.

Each performer, with Inuyasha going last, briefly disappeared behind a screen that had been discreetly rolled onto the stage while the audience had been distracted by sexy dance moves and when they emerged, the briefs were gone and the hobby horse was held between their legs in such a way that the stuff horse head deliberately concealed any stallions from their screaming fans.

The dancers bowed and in another move that delighted the audience, each man removed their Stetson and tossed it into the crowd. Predictably they were fought over, women clamoring over each other to get to the precious souvenirs first, but Kagome ignored them all. Conveniently Inuyasha’s black hat found its way to her and she blew him a kiss as she placed it on her head to which her man winked at her with a grin before the stage went dark.

Giggling, Kagome turned to Sango to ask how she enjoyed the show and found that she was holding he own hat in her lap, a flush on her cheeks and a slight smile curling her lips. She recognized it was the one Miroku had been wearing and she smirked. Her little plan might be easier than she’d anticipated.

“Sooo,” Kagome drawled, not even bothering to hide her smirk as raised a brow at her friend. “Nice hat. It’s safe to say that you enjoyed the show?”

Flush darkening, Sango muttered something and proceeded to ignore her friend by putting the hat on her head and tugging it down over her blushing face. Kagome cackled and without removing the hat, Sango flipped her off. Kagome cackled louder.

Deciding to spare her friend further embarrassment, Kagome left to get them two more drinks and by the time she returned, Sango had cooled down and smiled her thanks when Kagome set a Manhattan down in front of her.

“Yes,” Sango sighed as nursed her drink and her smile was almost dreamy. “Yes, I admit it. I enjoyed it.”

Kagome simply waggled her brows and sipped at her amaretto sour, but before she could say anything else, she spotted a familiar figure, now dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, weaving through the sea of tables and people, fending off grasping hands of appreciative women. His honeyed gaze was zeroed on her, however, not once looking at any of the women that tried to get his attention and Kagome felt that familiar warmth bloom in her chest. She felt it somewhere significantly lower as well, but that was nothing new and she tried to ignore it as her boyfriend approached with his signature smirk.

“Ladies,” Inuyasha greeted and bent down to sweep his girl into hot kiss, caging her in his arms with a hand on either arm rest. “Baby,” he rumbled, pulling away and dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmmm,” Kagome hummed and tugged him back down for another one. Inuyasha chuckled and happily obliged, getting lost in her taste, her scent, the way she twined her fingers in his hair and snagged his ear to massage the sensitive flesh. He growled, lifting a hand to cup the back of her head, tilting it back so he could plunder the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue, nip her lips with his fangs, and suck the soft flesh into his mouth. Kagome moaned for him and the sound went straight to his—

“Inuyasha, get your tongue out of your girlfriend’s mouth. You’re being rude.”

With a grunt, the hanyou reluctantly pulled away and leveled a peeved glare at the source of the voice.

Unfazed, Miroku stared blandly back, arms crossed while next to him, eyes impossibly wide and mouth open in shock as she sputtered incoherently, Sango gawked incredulously at them.

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha grumbled something but nonetheless complied, dropping one last kiss to his girl’s mouth before standing up and gesturing at Kagome to stand up. She did, and he took her place in the chair before tugging her back down to sit on his lap. His arms went around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder and Kagome wiggled around to get comfortable before resuming sipping her drink, calm as you please, like she hadn’t just been making out with her hot as fuck stripper boyfriend.

Recovering from her shock while Miroku not so discreetly looked down Sango’s shirt at her cleavage, Sango jabbed an accusatory finger at her friend and screeched, “Your boyfriend is a stripper!”

Kagome blinked and smiled a mite sheepishly. “Um…uh, so, Sango, remember when I said we were meeting someone here?” She chuckled nervously. “Well…”

Without warning Sango snatched her drink off the table and drained it in three large gulps.

Miroku practically had fucking heart-eyes as he gawked at the woman who had just downed a strong cocktail like it was nothing.

“Fuck, marry me,” he murmured, barely aware of what he was even saying and then he promptly forgot how to breathe when the woman of his dreams suddenly swung her gaze his way, racked her eyes up and down his body in an evident once over, and then made a noise of approval as her eyes lingered somewhere considerably lower than his face.

Feeling warm not only from the booze in her system but also lingering effects from the captivating show featuring the very sexy man before her, Sango abruptly got to her feet and pegged her best friend with a look. Kagome blinked and innocently widened her eyes. Sango snorted.

“You,” she said, eyes narrowing. “We’ll talk later. And you.” She spun around and jabbed her finger in Miroku’s face. His eyes crossed as he stared at it. “You’re coming with me.”

Then with that, completely ignoring the couple nestled in the chair with matching knowing looks on their faces, Sango stormed off, head held high and like an obedient puppy Miroku followed after her, nearly stumbling in his wake and ignoring the hands that reached out to him as he passed by.

Kagome and Inuyasha stared after her, one gaze amused, one slightly bewildered.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome deadpanned. “Meet Sango.”

Inuyasha snorted and maneuvered her around on his lap until her legs were draped over the armrest and her arms were around his neck. He buried his face in her neck and kissed the soft skin, ears flicking at her soft sigh.

“I think Miroku likes her,” he pointed out a little needlessly since it was obvious the guy was already half-way in love with her. His friend always did like a woman that could hold her liquor well and Sango’s first impression had been stellar.

“Hmm,” Kagome hummed and her friend was the last thing on her mind as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and ran her fingers across the hard lines of her man’s defined abdomen. “I like you.”

Inuyasha smirked and kissed his way up her neck. “Yeah?”

“Mmmhm.” Scratching lightly with her nails just to feel him shiver against her, Kagome slipped her other hand into his hair and found one of his ears, fingers stroking the soft flesh. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” Inuyasha growled into her ear and nibbled on the tender lobe before trailing his tongue along the delicate line of her jaw.

Breath hitching in her throat as his devious mouth licked and nipped at her skin, Kagome swallowed back a moan and slyly slipped her fingers further south to flutter over the crotch of his jeans as she leaned up and confessed her secret in a sultry purr.

Inuyasha’s entire body stiffened as her naughty words registered in his brain and he groaned, head falling back to loll against the backrest of the chair as his devil of a girlfriend snickered impishly on his lap. Damn, but his girl was dangerous, and fuck if he didn’t absolutely fucking love it.

“Well?” Kagome purred and he could feel her warm breath wash over his jaw as she laved the skin with soft kisses. “How ‘bout it, cowboy? Shall we go for a nice hard ride on your stallion, or you gonna make me settle for a boring little pony show?”

Her fingers flitted over the hardening crotch of his jeans again and she felt an answering pulse between her legs, thighs squeezing together to relieve some of the building tension.

With a low growl designed to tell her just what he thought about her cheeky little teasing, Inuyasha surged forward, caught her mouth in a hard, demanding kiss and then suddenly he was on his feet and dragging her toward the employees only backstage entrance. Breathless, aching, and trembling, it was all Kagome could do to keep up with him, shamelessly admiring the flexing muscles of his back and his tight ass in those jeans, but then her back was suddenly against a wall, her hanyou had wedged himself between her legs, and his hand was up her skirt, claws hooking in her damp panties and tearing the fabric completely off.

Kagome gasped but it turned into a moan when her lover hitched her thighs around his hips and then hastily unfastened his jeans, freeing the stallion that was rearing and ready to go from within. He cursed, she laughed, and the next minute he was inside her, grinding her into the wall, swallowing her moans with his mouth and returning them with heated growls of pleasure.

He fucked her against the wall, in a rarely used dark hallway somewhere behind the stage, and as Kagome clung to his shoulders and begged him for more, harder, faster, please, Inuyasha snarled and complied as her naughty little confession rang in his ears over and over, fanning the flames of his passion, his hunger for this woman all-consuming and never ending.

“I want your full cocked, large and in charge stallion inside me in the next thirty seconds and it had better be longer than any eight second ride.”

i want you all to know hat i could not. stop. laughing. as i was writing Inuyasha’s sexy little speech and that i am very proud with how it turned out rofl also yes i did make Inuyasha line dance anD I’M NOT SORRY 

on another note, i didn’t put as much detail into the dancing this time because one it’s a fucking pain in the ass to write out detailed choreography; two, the actual dancing wasn’t a huge part of the plot, and three, i’m a lazy piece of shit and just wanted this done. also yes i’m aware that last line is kinda lime and anti climatic but i couldn’t think of anything else lmao 

for anyone curious, the eight second thing references bull riding. a cowboy must stay on a bucking bull for eight seconds without touching any part of the bull or yourself or using any spurs, ropes, ect.  

[fallintosanity]

one of these days cloud is going to regret jumping to conclusions about sephiroth’s intentions

that day is coming sooner than he thinks

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

Noctis readily handed over the keys to his van for Angeal and Sephiroth to drive back to Midgar, and spent the ride in the back seat of the other van, sound asleep despite Genesis's apparent determination to hit every pothole along the way. Cloud had to shake him awake when they got back to the ShinRa building, and even then he only woke up enough to stagger in the direction of the Third Class bunks. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow at Cloud as the rest of them headed inside, but Cloud shook his head - since Noctis had been out cold the whole ride, Cloud hadn’t been able to ask him about any possible accomplices.

Sephiroth’s mouth thinned, but all he said was, “I’ll brief Lazard. The rest of you, get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Genesis opened his mouth with the gleam in his eye that meant he was about to complain dramatically and pointlessly, so Cloud made a quick exit down the hall toward the Training Room. The mad rush out to the wastes to supposedly save Noctis, combined with the unsettling maybe-hallucination after, had left him with too much nervous energy in his veins, and he wanted to burn some of it off before trying to sleep. He spent the next few hours fighting holographic mako mutants until his muscles burned with a comfortable weariness, then headed to his new apartment to sleep.

But the physical exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares at bay: black-cloaked men and the dead of Nibelheim, static in his mind and pain in his memories as he struggled to sort out what was real. Until something shifted, and the nightmares settled into vague, uneasy dreams. He woke up feeling unsettled and restless, Sephiroth’s presence on the same floor an unscratchable itch at the back of his mind. He was almost glad to see the message on his PHS that Lazard had rescheduled yesterday’s interrupted meeting for this morning.

Cloud showered, dressed, headed out of his apartment, and nearly tripped over Sephiroth, who was sitting cross-legged with his back against Cloud’s door. He swore and caught his balance against the doorframe. Sephiroth twitched, looking for all the world like a startled cat as he blinked up at Cloud for a bleary moment. Then he seemed to come fully awake, rolling to his feet with most of his usual grace.

“My apologies,” Sephiroth said, as calm as though he’d merely stepped too close in front of Cloud. “I had hoped that being on the same floor—” with a tilt of his head toward his own apartment at the far end of the hall— “would be enough to avoid needing to intrude on your sleep. But it seems the range on that particular aspect of our connection is shorter than that.”

Cloud scowled at him. “I refuse to believe that sitting on the floor in the hall all night is better than seeing my nightmares.”

“I’m not the only one they're disturbing,” Sephiroth said. He didn't put any particular emotion in the words, his tone as maddeningly even as always, but Cloud still felt a spike of rage.

“I don't need your pity,” he hissed. “You of all people—” He bit off the rest of the words.

Sephiroth didn't reply, which was almost as aggravating as anything he could have said. He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement and turned to leave.

Abruptly Cloud remembered how Genesis had reacted to seeing Kunsel leave Cloud’s room the other day. “You know if Genesis sees you there, he’s going to throw a fit.”

“I can handle Genesis,” Sephiroth said, amused.

“I don't want to handle Genesis,” Cloud snapped, then sighed. Honestly, at this point, he wanted less to deal with Genesis's clinginess than he did with Sephiroth watching him sleep, if only because he wouldn’t feel guilty about killing Sephiroth when it got to be too much. “If you're going to do this, just come inside next time.”

Sephiroth gave a quiet chuckle. “I appreciate the offer, but Commander Kunsel impressed on me that I was not to enter your apartment for any reason.”

Cloud’s eyebrows shot up. Kunsel still got nervous just being around Sephiroth; Cloud couldn’t imagine him confronting Sephiroth like that.

Sephiroth smiled, a faint twitch of his lips. “He cares about you a great deal.”

Cloud turned away, his cheeks burning, not sure why that statement annoyed him so much. “Everyone knows you do what you want anyway.”

Silence for a moment. Sephiroth said quietly, “That’s why I won’t go into your apartment.” He turned away again, striding up the hall. “We’re meeting with Lazard in an hour. I’ll see you there.”

*    *    *

“Hey! Cloud!” Zack yelled. Cloud turned in time to see Zack jog up the hall, a wide grin on his face and Kunsel a few steps behind. “Tseng said you guys had an interesting time yesterday. Is that why Lazard rescheduled?”

“Something like that,” Cloud said. After the conversation with Sephiroth, Cloud hadn’t been up for dealing with the noisy, crowded mess hall, and had gone straight to Lazard’s office instead. The door was unlocked, but when Cloud had nudged it, he’d spotted Lazard hunched over his desk, sound asleep, his head resting on his arm and a damp spot on the paper beneath his mouth. Cloud had closed the door again and sat on the bench outside, waiting for the others to arrive. “Did Tseng tell you what happened?”

Zack shook his head, but Kunsel said, “I heard Noctis took on a First Class mission and survived.”

Cloud sensed Sephiroth’s presence a moment before the general rounded the corner, looking no worse the wear for having spent the night on the floor. Angeal and Genesis trailed after him, Genesis cradling a mug of coffee as though it was the most precious thing in the world. “You wouldn’t know anything about Noctis being assigned that mission, would you, Commander Fair?” Sephiroth asked.

“No,” Zack said, looking puzzled. “Why would I? We just got back from Junon an hour ago.”

Sephiroth made a noncommittal noise and stepped past Cloud, knocking on the door to his office. Cloud’s mako-enhanced hearing picked up Lazard’s startled snort, then his curse as he realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk and hastily tried to compose himself. “Come in,” Lazard called finally.

Sephiroth pushed open the door, and the other Firsts followed him inside. Lazard had straightened his hair and his suit, though there was a noticeable imprint on his cheek from a crease in his sleeve. “Director,” Sephiroth said blandly.

“General, Commanders,” Lazard answered. “Thank you for agreeing to meet on a Saturday.”

“Of course, Director,” Kunsel said. “This is about Noctis, isn’t it? Promoting him, I mean.”

Lazard nodded. “He’s been with the company for nearly a month now, and has shown incredible promise.”

“Promise alone doesn’t make a SOLDIER,” Angeal said.  

“It does not,” the director answered. “But all the same, we’re considering a promotion to Second Class. Tseng should be here any moment, then we can get started.”

The six SOLDIERs arranged themselves around the cramped office as Lazard straightened the papers on his desk, and thankfully for Cloud’s rapidly-diminishing ability to tolerate Sephiroth’s presence, Tseng arrived only a minute later. “Apologies for the delay,” he said smoothly. “The Vice President requested my attention on an internal matter.”

Something tugged at the edge of Cloud’s mind and he glanced up in time to see Sephiroth and Genesis trade a significant look. Tseng gave a subtle shake of his head in answer, and the SOLDIERs subsided. Cloud narrowed his eyes. What internal matter had Tseng, Genesis, and Sephiroth involved?

“No problem at all,” Lazard said to Tseng. He tapped his sheaf of papers on the desk, a little signal to draw the meeting to order. “Again, thank you all for your flexibility with the last-minute schedule change. We’re short-handed enough that I’d like to get Caelum promoted to Second Class as soon as possible.”

Genesis folded his arms and looked down his nose at Lazard. “You wouldn’t have called us all here if Caelum’s promotion was routine, though.”

“No,” Lazard agreed. His gaze settled on Cloud for a moment before flicking away, to Tseng and then Sephiroth. “Caelum is not our first… unusual recruit, but his situation is quite different from Commander Strife’s. Given the short-handedness I mentioned, I’m hesitant to make snap decisions that could end up costing us more than we’d gain. So I’d like to have a candid discussion - not to leave this room - about your thoughts regarding Caelum and whether he would be a good candidate for Second.”

Cloud glanced at Kunsel, then Genesis, and saw his own thoughts reflected in their eyes. He didn’t need to look at Sephiroth to know the general was thinking along the same lines: they couldn’t tell Lazard everything. Not yet, not when too many of Noctis’s mysteries were unsolved. If they weren’t careful, Noctis would be whisked away to a ShinRa holding cell - or worse, to a Science Department tank. Hojo and Hollander might both be dead, but they’d had a great many subordinates between them who were just as invested in continuing their work.

It was Sephiroth who said, “I have no more reservations about promoting Caelum than I did about Cloud. He’s a skilled fighter.”

“He appears to lack discipline,” Angeal said neutrally. “He completes his assigned missions, but doesn’t proactively take on more in order to train.”

“It’s not as though he needs more training,” Genesis scoffed. “And you’re just cranky because he doesn’t remember to call you ‘sir’.”

“Exactly,” Angeal said. “He lacks discipline.”

Zack laughed. “Honor and discipline make a SOLDIER, right?”

“Yes,” Angeal said, and cuffed him lightly in the head. “That includes not mocking your superiors.”

Zack drew breath to retort, and Tseng interjected quickly, “The Turks have not observed Caelum doing anything untoward. In fact, other than his assigned missions, he doesn’t do much of anything except sleep.”

“I don’t know how he does it,” Genesis grumbled. “How can one man spend so much time asleep?”

“He might just be bored,” Cloud suggested. “The Third Class missions he’s been doing are too easy for him.”

“It’s possible,” Tseng said. “We’ve also had no luck trying to determine his origins. No one in Wutai will admit to knowledge of him, other than his recent trip with Commander Strife. There are no records of anyone by any combination of his three names, or any of the aliases he used prior to joining ShinRa, in any system we have access to. We even risked tapping our informants in the terrorist group AVALANCHE, but they’ve never heard of him, either. Whoever he is, it’s as though he didn’t exist until this year.” Tseng didn’t bother to hide the pointed look he shot Cloud, but Cloud pointedly ignored him right back. He’d be happiest if the Turks never learned the whole truth of Cloud’s own origins.

“AVALANCHE? You think he might be a sleeper agent of some kind?” Angeal asked Tseng.

“I think the timing and circumstances of his appearance are incredibly suspicious,” Tseng said. “But we also have no evidence that he is up to anything.”

Genesis rolled his eyes. “So do we promote him or not?”

“I see no reason not to,” Angeal admitted reluctantly. “We can keep drilling discipline into him, and I think Cloud’s right that Caelum is behaving the way he is due to boredom.”

Zack and Kunsel both nodded in agreement. Lazard looked to Cloud and Genesis, a question in the lift of his eyebrows. Cloud shrugged. He didn’t really care - Noctis was certainly talented enough to be Second, or even First, but he understood Tseng and Lazard’s unease. Genesis just said, “I don’t see why not.”

Lazard turned to Sephiroth next. “General?”

Cloud glanced at Sephiroth, who wore the pensive expression that meant he was deep in thought. Finally Sephiroth said, “We promote him. If he is a sleeper agent for some hostile entity, he’s not going to take action until he believes he has more freedom and trust. If he’s not a hostile agent, it’s a waste to leave him a Third.”

“All right, then,” Lazard said. “It’s settled. I’ll file the paperwork and get it to you by this afternoon,” he added to Sephiroth. To the others, he said, “I appreciate your candor and your discretion in this matter. ShinRa has had too many upsets in the past year - let’s try to keep from rocking the boat further.”

*    *    *

“Maybe he’s an Ancient,” Kunsel said suddenly.

Half asleep, Cloud didn’t process the words right away. “What?”

“Noctis,” Kunsel said. He glanced around furtively, then continued in a low voice, “You said that in your timeline, Zack’s girlfriend was an Ancient and had a lot of strange powers. Maybe Noctis is, too.”

After the meeting with Lazard, everyone had scattered: Sephiroth to his office to catch up on some paperwork, Genesis and Angeal to the Training Room to spar, and Cloud and Kunsel to the First Class break room. Zack had tried to join them, but Lazard had called him back. Since Tseng was still in the room, Cloud had suspected Zack was about to get a stern talking-to about the concept of need to know and the intended uses of his First Class access code.

But that was for Zack to worry about. Cloud and Kunsel had sprawled out on the big couch in the break room, Cloud’s head pillowed on Kunsel’s leg while he told him what had happened yesterday with Noctis. When he’d finished, Kunsel had seemed to be lost in thought, and Cloud had started to doze off.

But Kunsel’s words jolted him awake. “He can’t be an Ancient,” Cloud said. “Everyone was really clear that Aeris was the last one.”

“The last one in your timeline,” Kunsel pointed out. “We’ve thought before that Noctis is someone who died in your timeline but survived in this one. Maybe she isn’t the last one anymore.”

Cloud opened his mouth to deny it again, but then stopped. Aeris had thought that she and her birth mother Ifalna had been the last true Ancients, but Aeris had been trapped in Hojo’s lab and then the Midgar slums for most of her life. It wasn’t impossible that another Ancient had been out there somewhere - maybe one who’d died young for whatever reason, long before Aeris came into her power enough to become aware of his existence. “Maybe,” he admitted finally.

He heard footsteps in the hall a moment before Zack trudged into view, his shoulders slumped as though Lazard and Tseng had kicked his puppy. He made a beeline for the couch, flopping down to perch dejectedly on the edge of the cushion by Cloud’s feet.

“Next time, don’t go around telling everyone your private access code,” Kunsel said dryly.

Zack moaned. “They deleted my code, and almost didn’t even give me another one,” he admitted. “I thought they were gonna demote me.”

Cloud winced in sympathy. Zack heaved a great sigh, then straightened, his shoulders squaring as though he was tossing away the weight of the admonishment. “Anyway, what were you guys talking about? Maybe what?”

Cloud and Kunsel traded a quick glance. As far as Cloud knew, Zack had never known Aeris was an Ancient, and Cloud didn’t want to be the one to give away her secret. Kunsel only knew because Cloud had told him everything when they’d been trapped together in Hojo’s lab. Finally Kunsel said carefully, “We thought Noctis might be an Ancient.”

“An Ancient?” Zack repeated. “You mean, the weird mythical people Hojo and Hollander were trying to recreate with the whole Jenova thing?”

“They’re not mythical,” Cloud said. “I met one in my timeline. Noctis doesn’t have exactly the same abilities the one I met did, but I don’t know everything they could do, either.”

“Huh.” Zack bounced to his feet and started doing squats, almost absently. “He doesn’t seem all that ancient, though.”

Cloud shrugged. Kunsel said, “It’s just a theory.”

“Can we test it?” Zack asked. “Is there a test for being an Ancient?”

“Ancients know they’re Ancients,” Cloud said. “But I don’t think Noctis would tell us if he was.”

“Probably not,” Kunsel agreed. His fingers drummed thoughtfully on Cloud’s chest. “I don’t like digging this back up, but we know Hojo and Hollander were both doing research into Ancients.”

“What they thought was an Ancient,” Cloud corrected, then frowned. Hojo had known about Aeris and Ifalna, and had tried to experiment on Aeris independently of his work with Jenova. “No, you’re right.” He tilted his head back on Kunsel’s thigh to look up at him. “You think they might have had a way to identify an Ancient?”

“It’s worth looking into,” Kunsel admitted reluctantly. “Sephiroth burned all of Hojo’s research notes when he burned down the mansion in Nibelheim, but others in the Science Department might still have copies. And both Hojo and Hollander had lab assistants who might know something.” He sighed, the corners of his mouth tightening - he didn’t like bringing up the mad scientists’ work any more than Cloud did. “I’ll ask around.”

“Great,” Zack said. He clapped his hands together, clearly deciding the matter settled. “Lazard said I could tell Noctis he’s promoted. I’m going to do that once he wakes up, and take him out to Mog’s for drinks. You guys wanna come?”

Cloud glanced up at Kunsel, who said, “Sure, should be fun.”

“Great!” Zack said again, and headed for the break room door. “I’ll message you when we’re ready to go.” He tossed them a wave and vanished into the hallway.

[victory-cookies]

Devon

A/N: Here’s Devon! She’s the demon character I promised y’all so very long ago. 

She’s sort of a weird mix between Transcendence AU demon mechanics and Good Omens-style enby demons that choose to present one way normally but can and will use different pronouns or dress differently if they so choose and my own bullshit imagination. 

So yeah, here’s Devon (aka Casia, which is her “demonic title” and translates to lavender, which is why Jonas calls her Purp), my polygender, pansexual demon that uses she/her pronouns and is a fucking bastard of a memelord. Enjoy.

@obsidiancreates @a-humble-narcissus and ask if you want to be tagged in my ocs stuff!

(Story under the cut)

Devon had never been a fan of summonings.

She stood in the middle of her circle, her eyes burning indigo on black. The hooded members of the cult that had summoned her were organized in a ring around her, still humming a faint chant that made her head buzz.

“Who dares summon me?” she boomed, conjuring a burst of purple flame around the rim of the circle. She tried to ignore the still-detectable tang of the blood that had been used to paint it on the rock floor of the abandoned quarry that the cultists had convened in. She also tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head, telling her exactly where that blood had come from.

One of the cultists stepped forward, his orange and yellow robe flowing behind him. “Your Terribleness, we assemble before you today to humbly ask your service. We are in awe of your presence, m’lord— er, lady. Casia, we know of the terror you have wrought, of the chaos you incur, of the—”

Yeesh, she thought, rolling her eyes. “Alright, I know, I’m pretty fucking amazing. Get on with it, Candy Corn. I can’t take you seriously in that getup.”

The cultist paused in confusion, and Devon bit back the urge to smirk.

After a second, he collected himself enough to continue. “We would like to make a bargain. We want influence. We want to be the ones really in charge, the ones pulling the strings, the ones who have the real power, controlling the government and the higher-ups from behind the scenes.”

Devon nodded. She always loved a good shadowy figure in the background, the sweet taste of the chaos it caused when just enough of its corruption bled through for the public to see… she could work with this.

She grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharp fangs. “That’s a pretty big ask, Corn Boy. What will you be offering me in return?” She leaned in closer to him. “Your souls?”

She sensed the cultist smile behind the shadow of his hood. “We have sacrifices.”

With a clap of his hands, three struggling figures were shoved forward by other cultists. They collapsed to the ground in front of her.

She felt the memory of bile rise in her throat. Three children, bound and gagged, looked up at her in terror, tears running down their bloody, grime-covered faces. Her body went cold with rage.

“Okay, woah, are you shitting me? No. Fucking. Deal,” she growled, pushing up against the bindings of the circle. “How dare you offer up something that doesn’t belong to you? If you want your prize, you need to offer up something of yours, not the lives of innocent kids. I’m not some sort of mildness killer. I only take what’s mine to take.”

“I don’t know if you have much of a choice,” the cultist chuckled. “You and I both know that you won’t be able to escape those bindings until a deal is made and we let you leave.”

Devon growled at him, but she knew he was right. Whatever circle they had used was more powerful than she was used to dealing with (she pushed back the voice in her head telling her that they shouldn’t know how to do anything like that, that no one should. She didn’t have time for that.).

She was trapped.

“Oh yeah?” she said anyway, mustering a strained smirk. “I could be out of these in a snap.”

The cultist tsked. “These bindings could hold a demon far more powerful than you could ever aspire to be and you know it. So do we have a deal or not?”

“You’ll regret this.”

“Oh, but we won’t. These bindings are unbreakable, and you have to do what we want, or you’ll be stuck here forever. No regrets there, my friend. Now, let’s—”

“Hey, Corn Boy, sorry to, well, break it to you, but bindings can always be broken.”

Devon and the cultist turned to see two of the cult members with their hoods pulled down. One was a young Asian guy with pink hair, holding an imposing sword, and the other… well, Devon couldn’t quite tell what they looked like, because at that second, they transformed into a rather smug-looking panther.

The pink-haired kid winked and disappeared, and the panther charged.

The cultists scattered as they attempted to get away from the cat, which growled and began to take swipes at anyone nearby. The cult leader dove out of the way as it turned to pounce at him, and quickly scrambled away.

Devon gave a small snort, feeling the beginnings of mass chaos. She had no idea who or what the hell those kids were or what they were doing, but as she watched the panther roar and then smoothly transform into a fucking dragon, she knew she definitely appreciated the theatrics.

“Hey, Purp, how do you break a binding circle?”

Devon turned around to see the pink-haired kid suddenly standing behind her. He was staring at the intricate circle in confusion.

She blinked. “You’ll, uh, you’ll have to destroy some of the runes. In order. Or you may get killed by energy blowback.”

The kid looked up at her. “Well, that would be... bad. I assume you could tell me which runes to destroy?”

Devon nodded. “You can use that, uh, that sword you have to scratch them out… may I ask, though, why you have a sword? And why you're in a cult? You're, like, twelve.”

“Sixteen,” he corrected her, looking offended. “And I’m not actually in this cult. I’ll explain stuff… after. Poet can only buy us so much time, y’know.” He hefted his sword. “Now, what’s up first?”

Devon quickly glanced behind her to see the cult still in mass confusion, the dragon— Poet, she assumed— roaring loudly and setting robes on fire.

She turned back to the kid… er, teenager. “Alright, first do that squiggly one— no, the other one. Yeah.” She then pointed at another rune across from the first one. “Hit that one next. Also, what’s your name, kid?”

He began scratching at the dried blood. “Hey, I may be trying to save your life, which I'll admit does seem ill-advised, but I’m no idiot. I’m not telling my name to a demon.”

“Now the triangle one there...” Devon rolled her eyes. “You told me your friend’s name.”

“Shit, I did,” he mumbled, and Devon laughed. He huffed, chipping away the last of the rune. “Fine. I’m Jonas.”

“Jonas…” she purred, taking another glance behind her. “Well, Jonas, you might want to hurry up there, because I think we’re about to get some company.”

On queue, one of the cultists turned to face them, their eyes widening in surprise. "Hey, he's trying to free the demon!" they shouted once they realized what was happening. A few cult members began to run towards them.

"Fuck, fuck, what's the next rune, Purp?"

Devon clapped her hands together. "The round one with the line right there," she said before taking a deep breath. "Alright, once you do it brace yourself, kid. The circle will be unstable as hell, and, well—" she made an explosion noise and wiggled her claws.

Jonas nodded. "You got it." He touched his sword to the rune. "Let's do this."

He drove the blade down into the symbol.

The binding circle exploded, sending a shockwave across the quarry. It sent cultists flying into the air, and the dragon stumbled back in shock before transforming back into a person.

Devon cackled, feeling her full power rush back into her fingers.

"NO ONE FUCKING BINDS ME!" she boomed, her voice echoey and filled with static. She threw out her hands, and a wave of lavender fire swept out towards the cultists. "I WILL TASTE YOUR BLOOD AND YOUR SOULS."

Jonas let the barrier he had put up around himself drop and stood up, rolling his eyes as their green glow began to dissipate. "Well, that seems a little much, but—"

Devon pounced at the cultists, hands flaming, ignoring him.

He shrugged, lifted his sword, and charged.

***

The cultists didn’t stand a chance. Devon was a ball of rage, tearing people apart left and right, hellbent on vengeance. She grinned wickedly, feeling the fear she was creating roll down the spines of every cultist in the area, screams echoing through the quarry.

(And credit where credit was due, she could see the two kids going to town as well, bashing their own little group of cult members. How sweet of them.)

After only a few minutes of fighting, the quarry floor was littered with bodies. The leader of the cult knelt on the ground in front of Devon, holding a gash in his shoulder. Devon growled at him, contemplating the merit of eating his soul right then and there.

The cultist took a laboured breath and looked up at her, defiance lacing his expression despite the fear she could smell radiating off of him. “I thought you didn’t do killing.”

She grabbed the front of his robe and jerked him into the air. “I’m not in the business of killing innocent people. I like myself a nice, healthy dose of chaos and panic, kid, and I’m always down for some righteous vengeance. Not pointless, sadistic bloodshed. To be completely honest, I wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She pulled the man closer, her fangs inches away from his face, and grinned. “You, however,” she hissed. “I would maim.”

***

It, admittedly, wasn’t the first time Jonas or Poet has seen someone’s soul get eaten, but it still made their stomachs turn as the demon reached into the cultist’s chest and pulled out the shimmery mist that comprised his being and shoved it into her mouth.

After a few seconds, she appeared beside them, smiling concerningly widely. “Thanks for the help there,” she said.

Jonas nodded slowly. “Yeah, no problem. This cult’s been making trouble for a while now, so it’s nice to be done with them…” He looked around her to see the bodies scattered over the ground, blood pooling beneath them. “... although I may have gone with a less-bloody option, y’know?”

Devon shrugged. “Take what you can get, kid. I’m assuming that that’s why you were dressed up as cultists? To thwart them or some shit?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it…” Poet said, raising an eyebrow.

Devon smiled wider, revealing wickedly sharp fangs. “You did a good job of it.” She paused and clicked her tongue. “We don’t get a lot of supernatural beings around here anymore. A telekinetic and a shapeshifter, huh? Must be nice to be from a universe where that’s normal.”

“Yeah, it’s—” Jonas’ eyes widened. “Wait, how did you know we’re not—”

“Demonic omniscience, kid. Also, you smell weird.”

He blinked a couple of times, and Poet chuckled.

Devon sighed and inspected her claws. “Well, I suppose I ought to be going. It’s been nice meeting you two. If you ever need some help, just holler.” She looked up at them. “I’m usually known as Casia, terror the Dark Forest or some other dumb title like that, but that’s bullshit. You can call me Devon. Anyway, hasta la vista, kids!” She winked and disappeared in a flash of purple fire.

“Well…” Jonas started.

Poet snorted. “I like her. Now, c’mon, Park. We have more cults to bash.”

[goldenchildkatsuki]

‘POISON ME DADDY’

a kacchako drabble, but also not really

Summary:  Uraraka, an aspiring musical enthusiast, runs away from home to chase her dreams and audition for one of the biggest musicals in the country. As she takes one of the first buses to out of town she meets Bakugou, a drummer who has recently left his band and is on his way to somewhere.

Writers note: I'm back from vacation! Though it was really nice meeting two of my best internet friends I did miss writing every day. Whilst I was in Paris, my favorite band The 1975, decided to drop a new song called: Love It If We Made It. Amazing song, I would recommend you to listen to it, especially when reading this fic.

Anyways when I heard this I immediately felt something and I knew I had to write something that suited the vibe it gave me. Very self-insert I know. But it's been a while since I wrote anything I really wanted to write. So yeah, I've gone and did it and I decided to title this work to a line from my favorite verse from the song:

“And poison me daddy I got the Jones right through my bones Write it on a piece of stone A beach of drowning 3 year olds Rest in peace Lil Peep The poetry is in the streets Jesus save us! Modernity has failed us”

(see the end for notes)

Word count: 6.848

AO3 link: (x)

Uraraka couldn't believe she was hungry already. She had hoped getting a ticket for so early in the morning would stall her stomach demanding for food so early on in the trip. But alas, her stomach had started twisting in knots and let out noises of frustration just after checking-in.

She couldn't exactly blame her stomach for asking for food only six hours into the day. At this hour Uraraka would usually be woken up by the smell of a widespread breakfast being cooked by her father. In the early morning, he would prepare himself a bulky breakfast before heading off to a long day of work and leaving most of it for his wife and daughter to enjoy as soon as they woke up. It was hard to stay in bed when the smell of the well-known ‘Uraraka Omelette' seeped through her door and she would find herself at the kitchen table with her dad, trying to fight off sleep as they enjoyed their food together.  

But today her breakfast was a granola bar she found at the bottom of her travel bag. Something she most likely shouldn't eat, since she had no indication of how long it had been laying there. Being extremely hungry was undoubtedly better than throwing up the small content of her stomach that would consist of a granola bar gone bad.

Near the check-in was a shop, a small market or some sorts. Uraraka had peeked inside and saw that besides the usual travel necessities, crisps and sweets they also had something that actually could serve as breakfast. She watched freshly baked chocolate rolls being handed over the counter like it was the new big thing. The scent flew out of the shop into the open and was starting to dominate the brisk morning air. It had her watering at the mouth and smacking her lips.

The longer she stood staring the more upset her stomach got. Uraraka put a hand over it, rubbing it in small circles in an attempt to calm it down. As someone walked right past her nose with yet another chocolate roll, she clenched her fist.

It would be really nice to get one. But that would mean she would have to look for a different hostel, essentially downgrading. And that would practically mean sleeping in a box on the street. With a huff, she turned around on her heels and walked away from the shop. Who knew she would already be angry with herself? Already beating herself up over the decision to leave home as soon as she just had enough money. Had she focused more on money instead of practicing she wouldn't even have to think twice about buying a stupid pastry.

In the end, it wasn't worth digging nails in the skin over. Uraraka could have seen this coming from the moment she decided on the date. But she had to leave the place. Staying there for more than a second would have made her feel sicker than this empty stomach of hers. She hated it so much. How her home made her feel empty as a shell. It made her feel so unhappy to the point she was willing to do the thing she feared the most; being on her own.

Uraraka didn't tell her mother, she didn't tell her father. She didn't tell a single soul. Without a single goodbye, she walked herself to a bus stop out of town and bought a bus ticket. With a boarding pass and a bag with a couple of clothes and other necessities in her hand, she stood among a few tourists. Close as she could be, she stood next to them, trying to avoid the mischievous looks from the homeless that had been circling the area.

She tried to tell herself to not be scared. She had no right to be scared. This is what she wanted. This is what she actively decided to do. And who was she to judge those people anyway? She had been raised better. Not every stranger roaming around the street was out to get you. Though they kept making eye contact with her and winking, flashing their dangling yellow teeth at her, it didn't have to mean anything.

She didn't have to zip up her coat or hide behind one of the largest men among the group of tourists. Uraraka didn't have to, but she still did.

Uraraka practically cradled against the man's back as a homeless man made his way onto the sidewalk, trying to whistle at her. The broken notes of a wolf whistle she tried to block out by squeezing one eye shut. If she didn't move, if she didn't show how shaky her breath was then maybe the homeless man would back down. Or maybe if she pushed into the tourist's back, he would say something about it, which seemed more likely.

At first.

Like a kid, huddling to their parent when meeting a stranger she stayed close to the man but he didn't say a thing. A few times he turned around and he did not have the friendliest of faces on. If he wasn't going to speak up, was anyone going to? Was no one seeing this? Was no one worried for the obvious youngest woman in the group?

She had no right to be scared. This is what she wanted. Yes. But Uraraka would've appreciated a little bit of empathy, an ounce of concern.

If someone would just speak up, she would have some faith for the rest of the journey. That she wasn't only going to encounter people that gave less than two shits about her. That she would be fine. The chances of her getting hurt were smaller than she thought because there would always be at least someone…

Right?

The whistling came closer and closer and right before she tugged at the strap of the man's shoulder bag a bus pulled up to the stop. The girl jolted and immediately she made her way to the bus. Almost standing on the parking spot Uraraka waited for the bus the park. The other travelers started gathering behind her. At last, she could let go of her breath as she saw the homeless scatter away from the enormous vehicle.

Uraraka shuffled away from the big, bright headlights and trickled in front of the door, waiting for it to open. A loud puff of air escaped the bus and it leveled with the sidewalk. The bus driver opened the door and without saying a word he opened the luggage room. Confused the non-native speakers walked towards the room and waited for someone to help them with the luggage. The bus driver just stood in front of his door and yawned at the people, with no indication whatsoever to help anyone with their bag.

She watched along with him, how the people slowly started understanding what was going on. Grumbling and spouting unknown curses under their breath whilst they shove their luggage under the bus.

"This doesn't really need to be under there, can I just get in?" Uraraka asked the bus driver.

His eyes shifted from her to the bag, slowly he closed them and nodded. The girl let out a relieved sigh and handed the boarding pass to him before heading in.

It was more crowded than she expected it to be. Almost every seat at the front of the bus was filled. Sleepy heads leaning against curtains or shoulders. Open mouths and light snores.

Scared to wake anyone up Uraraka shuffled past the first couple of rows. The travelers were either traveling with someone or didn't want to and made it clear by putting all their belongings on the seat next to them.

Surely, the company couldn't have made a mistake? Sold tickets for seats that didn't exist?

As Uraraka started approaching the back of the bus she got nervous. But then in the faint yellow lighting, she spotted two seats. She picked up the pace, as people were starting to walk up behind her and would without a doubt push past her if she wasted their time. Careful to not get her bag caught she rushed up to the seats and saw that it was

A seat.

The window seat she was hoping to get was occupied by a guy slouched over in his seat. With his arms crossed and his head hanging forward he lightly snored. Uraraka tried to make herself light as feathers when placing herself next to him. She put her bag between her feet and took off her coat. Every now and then she would check on the guy, and every time she checked he would still be in a deep slumber. After making herself a little more comfortable Uraraka couldn't help but snicker a little at the passenger next to her.

Wearing an oversized denim jacket, over a hoodie that he propped up and tied tightly around his neck. His butt so close to the edge of his seat it made her a little nervous, neck in a worrying position. The boy looked rough. The shadows that cast on his face didn't reveal much, but you could just tell he had one hell of a night behind him.

Uraraka pushed herself closer to the middle armrest as the tourist passed her with their arms full of bags. She could feel the rhythm of the boy's breath against her arm. It was so slow. What had he been through before he got on this bus? It must be a hell of a journey because if you didn't pay proper attention to him, you would think he was dead.

When everyone was seated a loud sound of static filled the room, followed by white noise. Around the bus, heads started lifting up and turning around. After a moment of radio silence, the voice of the bus driver sounded through the intercom. Louder than anyone anticipated, louder than favored at this hour.

It woke the boy next to her up it was that roaring. He shot up cursing and grabbed onto the window curtain and his seat, lifting himself back up his chair. With the back of his hand, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and then slid it over his squinting eye. After he calmed himself down, he looked over to his right and looked her right in the eye.

"That seat is taken." He mumbled in a low voice.

Uraraka frowned. "Excuse me?"

"It's taken." He repeated.

The heart rate of Uraraka sped up and she looked around the bus that was full and already on the move.

"I-is there someone on the t-toilet that's supposed to be sitting here?" She asks as she peers at where the toilet is located.

The guy rubs his other with his thumbs and groans. "Lift your ass."

"Erm?"

"Just stand up!" he raised his voice at her.

With a throat thick with saliva she couldn't bring it to defend herself against the sudden rude manner of the passenger. With no real aim, she moved. Did what she was told and lifted herself off the seat. As she tried to swallow down the thickness in her throat, she grabbed her coat from the seat. She wanted to move away to the back of the bus, see if she could squeeze herself in between people but Uraraka was held back by a tug at the sleeve of her coat.

"Where the fuck are my drumsticks?"

"Your what?"

The guy stared at the empty seat and then back at her. When he saw that she really didn't have a clue what he was talking about he ran his hands over his head. Pulling down the hood he revealed his sand blond, spiky hairdo that managed to stay contained inside of there.

"Fuck! I knew I couldn't trust anyone in this fucking bus. Those were expensive sticks as well. I just got those motherfuckers. I swear to God I will-"

The blond guy went on a tangent, completely ignoring Uraraka who awkwardly stood the hallway, and the people in the bus, who were all trying to get some sleep. Not sure what to do, Uraraka crouched next to her chair and placed her hands on the floor.

"-shake every bastard around until I get back what's mine. They could kick me off the fucking bus if they wanted to, I don't care. No one messes with-!"

"Your sticks?"

Uraraka took her head from beneath the seat in front of them and stuck a pair of drumsticks in the air. She made her way out of the tiny space and sat back down next to him.

"They must've slid off the seat when the bus made a sharp turn or something."

The boy who had fallen silent the moment he saw the wooden sticks, looked at her with wide eyes. Like a child that had been surprised with something he long wished for he looked at the pair. Uraraka stretched her hand out further towards him and gestured for him to take them. His lit up face, slowly turned sour as he also started realizing that was more commotion than needed. He yanked the drumsticks from her hand and sank back in his seat.

"You shouldn't leave you sticks on an empty seat in a crowded bus like that next time."

"And you should ask if a seat is taken instead of just sitting down." He said whilst putting his sticks in the pouch of his hoodie.

Uraraka perked up in offense and turned to him. "Hey! You were sleeping, so was I just suppo-!"

Before she could finish her sentence she was abruptly interrupted by a loud shush coming from the split in between the seats in front of them. Angry eyes went back and forth between the teens. Whilst the boy rolled his eyes at the bothered traveler, Uraraka held on to her jacket and hid her face in the fur attached to the hood.

Both of them didn't say a word for a while, the guy had even turned himself away from her and leaned against the window. Uraraka could've done the same, turned towards the aisle and listened to music for four hours straight, but he bugged her. Words that were no longer relevant wanted to come out and waited in the starting blocks of the tip of her tongue. Strongly she bit down, trying to hold back the thought. But before she knew it she was already lifting her lips from each other. Sliding her feet and pointing them to the left, turning her head and taking in a deep breath.

"You should take better care of your instruments." She whispered.

The guy lifted his chin from the palm of his hand and snorted.

"Oh please, what the fuck do you know about taking care of instruments?"

Uraraka laid a hand on her throat. "I'm doing it right now." She continued to whisper.

The blond that had stuck himself to the wall slowly came off of it and gave her a once-over with his eyebrows raised. He snorted again.

"Wouldn't take you for a singer." He said cockily.

She's not exactly surprised that the boy told her that. As harsh as it was, it wasn't the first timer Uraraka has heard that. Not many people knew she could sing. The few that did were very encouraging of her talent. Told her her voice was one of the best they had ever heard, that they could listen to her forever, that anyone would be lucky to have her voice. But as soon as Uraraka started to talk about auditioning for musicals and getting into art schools, their compliments would revert. The people around her would tell her that it was a stretch, that you needed more than a ‘nice voice' to make it in that branch, that she shouldn't even bother getting in that branch anyway since the income wasn't the best. Genuinely hurtful things they would tell her and they would mask it with laughter and a deceiving sweet tone of voice.

Even her parents, the only two people on this entire bright, blue planet she hoped would understand her passion, dismissed what she had dreamed of since she hit her first clear note. Obsessed with the idea of a stable income, they were less than happy when they found out Uraraka was auditioning for plays instead of looking at college's like she told them.

‘You can't make money with a stupid hobby!'

Her dad told her in a heated argument, right in front of the theatre he had caught her leaving.

‘The only way you can do that is investing a lot of money in it, which we don't have!'

‘We don't have money to buy you new clothes and get your hair done for every audition. We don't have the money to get you singing classes and piano lessons. And we definitely don't have the money to keep you in those prestige schools!'

‘So please do your us a favor and let it go.'

He continued to rage on.

Her dad wasn't angry, he was hurt.

It was like she betrayed him.

And though she understood his concern.

It was more upsetting to hear that he doubted her than hearing that she hurt him.

To think that her dad, who was the reason she started singing in the first place, believed she didn't have enough skill and drive to get to the point where she could do what she loved and earn a decent living of it.

It broke her heart.

After that mess of an afternoon, everything Uraraka did other than sing and dance was a waste of time, an attempt to hold her back. The people that loved to hear her sing but doubted her, her parents that kept a close eye on her and everything related to school. They didn't help her. They didn't help her focus on one of the biggest auditions of her life.

Uraraka wanted to raise her voice. She wanted to go into the audition, with all she had to offer, even if it was little and belt her god damn heart out. To think that she considered slowly ‘letting it go' and staying silent. Those were the most unbearable days of her life.

It was so boring, so quiet, so empty.

So now she was here, on a bus to her audition, talking to whoever that guy may be, about the usual.

"Didn't take your for a drummer." She replied.

"What?" The boy said whilst poking one of his sticks out his pocket.

"I don't know why I said that you put me on the spot and this is the only comeback I could come up with. Even though I heard this many times I still can't come up with a good-" She spoke fast.

"Wow, that was pretty fucking horrible." He chuckled at her and continued to look at her.

As if he was still trying to see the singer in her. It was kind of embarrassing that he was looking at her that long. Was it really that hard to make out? What would he even be looking for? Not wanting to make herself seem little to someone who she suddenly felt the need to prove herself so she didn't turn away. Even when Uraraka felt the warmth rushing to her cheeks, she tried to remain calm.  

Suddenly he locked eyes with her and stared right into her. What an intimidating eye he had. He really was scoping her out, wasn't he?

After apparently have seen enough of her, the boy leaned back in his chair and took out the sticks from his pouch.

"Bakugou." He simply introduced himself.

She nodded. "Uraraka."

"I do take you for a drummer actually…Not just because of the sticks! You have that whole punk rock look going on." Uraraka said in an attempt to spark more conversation.

Bakugou looked down at himself and pulled at the buttons pinned to the chest of his denim jacket.

"You look like you should be in a band."

Bakugou sputtered and scowled. "Well, you're off there. Way fucking off. I actually just got fucking booted from a band."

He spun a stick around his fingers and glared to the floor.

That's the last thing Uraraka expected to hear, it did pique her interest though. However, the drummer didn't elaborate on his last sentence. Even when looking at him directly he didn't bother to continue. The longer the silence stretched the more interesting the boy became.

Then Uraraka thought of something. It was not the nicest of things to say. But whoever says A, has to say B.

"Well, it's just a band after all, not something you can really base a career on, so it's not that big of a deal right?" Uraraka divulged.

She tucked the curly baby hair strands behind her ears and stuck her nose in the air in the opposite direction. In the corner of her eye, she could see Bakugou straightening up in his chair.

"Just a band? Just a fucking band? Some musician you are, out of everyone you should know that it's not just…Tch."

Uraraka turned to him and let out a small hum as a response.

"And fuck off with your ‘career bullshit'. Fuck everyone that tells me I can't make it anywhere with my music. No one has any idea what I'm fucking capable of. I'll destroy everyone with my sound. I'll take over the world with these two wooden fuckers alone. Just watch, in a year, you'll see me on billboards and the only thing you'll hear blasting through the car radio is me. You'll be a speechless moron in a year. Just shut up and watch me."

The way he said that it wasn't a threat, but more like a promise. Though he sounded menacing, almost terrifying even, his passion shone through his words more than his anger did. Bakugou said all the things she never dared to voice. He said it with so much pride and confidence she was almost jealous of his attitude. She couldn't imagine how many times he had heard that particular sentence from people. The way he got riled up made her imagine he had heard it more than enough times. Which makes him even more admirable, that he still could essentially give her a big middle finger and speak so passionately about his talent and continue to work on it.

Now, she felt bad for trying to trick him into talking.

Uraraka cracked a soft smile. "That wasn't very nice of me, was it? I was only teasing you, Bakugou. Believe me, I could never say that to another musician. It's the most horrible thing to hear after all."

Bakugou's face slowly softened and he ceased the spinning of the drumstick. She could tell he wasn't fully buying it yet.

"Why do you think I'm on this bus?" She asked.

"Aren't you just a runaway?" he scowled.

"No, well, yes, technically. But I reckon I'm doing the same thing as you."

"So you're saying ‘fuck it' and went off on your own to become a legend."

Uraraka laughed. "I guess you could say that. It sounds a lot cooler than if I said I ran away from home so I could audition for a part in a major musical."

Bakugou shrugged. "Tomato, Tomatoe."

With his sticks, he lightly tapped on the small windowsill. He drummed a soothing rhythm, that wasn't too loud to get shushed at for.

"But musical, huh?" He unexpectedly continued the conversation.

Her heart skipped a beat. The same way it always did when someone showed interest in her passion. She had to refrain herself for not speaking too loudly and rambling until the words were barely understandable. Uraraka kept her breath steady and simply nodded at Bakugou.

He didn't seem like he would be into that plays and that sort of thing at all. They actually looked like opposites of a scale. But still, he gestured for her to continue speaking. Whilst keeping somewhat herself in check she told him everything she had refrained herself from gushing about for so long. Uraraka talked about the musical she was going to audition for, how long she had been preparing herself for that, how hard she tried to perfect her modern dance moves by herself, how many hours she thought she spent behind the piano in school. She could hear herself going from a whisper to a low voice when she started talking about the teachers of the famous art school that would be at the audition, how happy she would be if they recognized her talent and wanted to take her in. How she could finally silence her friends and parents. How amazing it would be if she could make them proud.

During her story, Bakugou kept nodding along and drumming the same rhythm on the windowsill.  Every now and then he would let out a huff of air through his nose or click his tongue against his teeth. He waited until Uraraka got everything out before speaking up.

"So you actually were just teasing me." He said.

"You only starting believing me just then?!"

"Of course. Still trying to figure out why you said that though."

"Because I wanted to know why you got booted from your band!" Uraraka raised her voice at him as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Bakugou sighed. "Again, you should've just fucking asked."

Uraraka wanted to say something back at him, about how he, yet again, didn't exactly look like he was in the mood to be answering any questions. But she stopped herself, as he seemed to be in deep thought, scowling to himself. As if he was in a debate if he should even tell her or not.

"Do you want to tell me why you were kicked out from the band or not?" Uraraka asked straight up, to somewhat help his inner confliction.

"Well, now I have no choice but to say it. Since I already said I would if you just asked."

"Not exactly but…"

Bakugou ran both hands through his hair and then folded his arms.

"Booted, kicked. Both weren't really the fucking case. They threatened to kick me out and then I just left. I have been with those guys for what? Three fucking years? And I bet those guys didn't think I would actually leave. But how could I not? I don't want to be working with idiots that don't plan on doing bigger and better things. When it finally looked like we were going somewhere, they said it was ‘as big as it's going to get'. No fucking way I'm sticking with that."

Uraraka should've seen something like that coming.

"Why did they threaten to kick you out?" She asked.

"Because I was ‘asking too much of them'. I wanted more rehearsals, bigger venues, more recording. And those weaklings didn't seem up for it."

She also would've left if that was the case. Imagine, spending three years with people you thought you were on the same level with only to find out that wasn't the case at all. Though, she could imagine it was hard for him. After three years she imagined they became pretty good friends.

And though Bakugou didn't refer to his bandmates as that, it became pretty clear he shared a special bond with them. He was quick to show her videos they had put on their YouTube channel, showing her small they started and how big the venues were they played at now. He boasted about how much more they could achieve, how they could do so much better.

Uraraka was obviously a musical star at heart but she couldn't say this wasn't something she also wanted. The single earphone Bakugou had handed her she pressed right into her ear and leaned closer to the phone screen. So many people shouting and dancing. So much heart and soul going into performing the songs, that did sound more catchy and pop-y than she thought it would. Their songs were one hundred, no, one thousand percent something that could hold their own in charts. Anyone could sing along to them, but they weren't too generic. Even if the genre wasn't for everyone, you couldn't really hate it.

Bakugou knew that too. That's why he didn't want to give up and keep expanding. Enthusiastically he showed videos of his favorite performances. Pointing out how the lead singer couldn't even see straight during that one performance because she caught the flu but still rocked it. Trying to contain his laugh when looking at the stunned face of the bassist when seeing the large crowd at their first performance.

Quickly Uraraka learned what kind of band they were. What kind of people were in it. A diverse group, she must say, but a rather fun one.

Their personalities especially sparked when Bakugou showed her the older videos on their channel. She could tell that now the drummer was feeling more nostalgic than irritable. Genuinely cracking up at the older days where the band still did covers of songs.

"Look at fucking Kaminari here, you know he could barely play a single note at this point?" Bakugou pointed at the screen.

"Jirou looks so shy here! She's really changed!" Uraraka ogled and bent over the armrest cackling.

Bakugou wiggled his shoulder and she perked up. She only just realized that she had been invading the drummer's space as if it was nothing. Huddled up to him as if wasn't a stranger at all. Uraraka tried to hide her flushed face by pretending to raise one of her tube socks.

Under her seat, she counted from ten back to zero before raising her head again.

When she reached zero, she would regain her cool.

…4…3…2…1…0

She looked up and saw that Bakugou had lifted up the middle armrest between them.  He held the one earphone between his fingers and drew his brows together

"What?"

"Nothing…Just…Socks you know?" The girl couldn't help but stumble over her words.

Avoiding his eyes, she took the earphone from him and focused on the screen. He scooted over to her, well over the barrier that was once between them and started another video.

This one had them cracking up so much, they even got shushed by the people sitting next to them. Bakugou would subtly flip them off and Uraraka would press her hands over her mouth, trying not to make a single sound.

"Tokoyami looks so distraught, I can't stop!"

"Jirou had so much patience trying to teach Kaminari an instrument. Look at how fucking done I looked with them. Yaoyoruzou too, I never heard her sigh this much in my life! She had the roughest time teaching Kaminari how to play the piano though."

He cackled, removed his jacket and raised the sleeves of his hoodie. As he made himself comfortable again something came to Uraraka attention. She took his wrist and turned it to reveal the inside of his arm.

"Er…"

Bakugou had a tattoo at the inside of his arm that said ‘Poison me daddy' in rather big letters.

He looked up at her and groaned.

"Before you say a fucking word. Watch this."

The guy clicked on another video that was titled with the same words as the tattoo had. Apparently, it was some kind of challenge video. Where three members of the band picked out a piece of paper out of a hat, each piece of paper contained a random word and with the words that were picked the band had to make a song from scratch.

After they showed the process of making the song, the final product started playing and Uraraka recognized it. Uraraka looked at the number of views the video had and saw that it had gone viral. She had heard the lyrics being sung around her many times and had even listened to the song herself on repeat for a couple of days. It was quite a comical song, but somehow still so good it could be played at a radio station.

Remembering the lyrics she quietly sang along with them, with the brightest smile on her face she swayed from left to right. She felt the drummer looking down on the crown of her head. For the first time, he didn't commentate over the video. He just stayed silent, not minding her bumping into his shoulder. Bakugou fully paid attention to the sound of her voice.

When the video ended he remained speechless, only when Uraraka moved from beneath him to look at him, he started speaking. But not properly. He got tongue-tied and restless, fumbling with his phone and the cord of the earphone.

As she scanned him, trying to figure out what was going on with him, she noticed the top of his ears. They were flaming red.

Was he actually flustered because he heard her sing for the first time?

Before she could dwell too much about and become an awkward mess like him she continued to talk about the topic they were on.

"So…The tattoo?"

Bakugou immediately took the chance to move on from the horrible state he had put himself in and started explaining.

"We were at our first sold-out show. Naturally, I was fucking excited. In the heat of the moment, my stupid ass said: ‘The first thing I can hear a fan above the crowd shout I will get tattoo'ed on my body.' And I should've known it would be fucking ‘poison me, daddy'. How embarrassing it is, I'm no man to go back on my word, so I did it."

Uraraka stared at his arm and read the line over and over, remembered the melody of the song whilst she read it and looked Bakugou in the eye.

"It's not really embarrassing. It's bound to a good memory. So I think it's quite cool, really."

Now his whole ears had turned red.

"Shut up! Enough about this! You still haven't seen the best shows yet!"

Before she knew it, he had thrown an arm around her and pulled her into his chest. She felt his warm neck, resting against the back of her head and the hot puffs of air blowing on the top of her head.

At first, Uraraka was scared to move. She was tense and tried to make herself somewhat levitate above his body. But Bakugou kept pressing their bodies closer together. He played the next video in the playlist and adjusted himself to the curves of her body.

He really didn't mind having her close to him.

Uraraka's fingers curled around the fabric of his clothes and pressed her ear closer to his chest.

It was going a million miles a minute.

He had such a strong and loud heartbeat, but it was as calming as the rhythm he drummed at the start of the journey.

She couldn't help but focus on the sign of his life than the music that went into the other ear.

The drumming sound of his heart was frankly better than any song he played.

It might be one of her favorite songs.

Uraraka wanted to keep listening to it. But the way he had started to comb her hair behind her ear and scratch her head at the same time, it made it hard to stay awake. Her grip loosened and the heartbeat started fading.

She heard the closing of the curtains, just before she could feel herself doze off.

"Hey." Bakugou poked her cheek with a finger.

"Hm?"

"Do you want to start a band?"

"Hm."

"Awesome."

EPILOGUE

When Uraraka opened her eyes again, it felt like only a single second went by. But when she tried to lift her head she felt the full weight of Bakugou on her. He had fallen asleep too. Now she was careful to move. Practically laid still and looked around her.

Bakugou's phone was on the ground, the fingers of her left hand were loosely intertwined with his. His rough and blistered fingers felt strange against her soft ones. Curiously she shifted her hand closer into his and her stomach felt light upon feeling more of his touch.

The sudden white noise of the intercom made the drummer shoot up again. His grip immediately tightened around Uraraka, which made her stomach even lighter.

"We're taking a 15-minute break before going onto the highway again. Please be back in time."

Static ended the short and brief message and everyone started rising from their seats. Uraraka turned to Bakugou and watched him stretch underneath her body and rub the remaining sleep out of his eyes.

"Want to get some air?" Uraraka asked.

"Sure."

She moved off him, grabbed her coat and her toiletry bag and walked to the nearest exit of the bus. Bakugou was right behind her and mumbling complaints about the bright sky. Once grounded on the gas station's parking lot, she took out her phone. She had avoided touching it since the start of the journey, scared of how blown up it could be.

"I'm going to go take a leak." Bakugou quickly said and he ran in the bathroom's direction.

He watched him disappear into the bathroom before unlocking her phone.

There were a lot more miscalls and texts than she expected. She went through the dozen messages left on her phone and it made her stomach turn from peacefully light to stone heavy. Her dad was pissed, even more, angry than the day he caught her leaving the theatre.

She felt all of that emotion, in the several texts that said the same thing.

"You better be okay, Ochako."

Uraraka swallowed and hovered her thumb above the keys. Tears were starting to swell up in her eyes and she had looked to at the sky. In the corner of her eyes, she noticed someone waving at her. She tried to blink her tears away and looked over to see Bakugou waving her over.

Uraraka put the phone in the pocket of her coat and ran towards the guy who held the door to the toilet open. A little sketched out Uraraka looked around if anyone saw them.

"Come."

He pulled her into the bathroom that was definitely not meant to fit more than one person. Her lower back was pressed against the sink and her arms were mushed against Bakugou's chest. He loomed over her and looked over her head.

"So do you still want to start a band?" He asked sternly.

Uraraka could vaguely remember him asking her that but she hadn't changed her answer.

"Yes."

"Good."

He took her hand that held on to her toiletry bag and zipped it open. Casually he took out one of her lipsticks and held it in front of her face.

"See, if we want to get ourselves out there, we have to make ourselves known. So let's start out by writing the name of our band on a dirty gas station bathroom mirror. You know that's how all legendary bands got known?"

"Really?"

"No, I'm fucking with you, but I did this with my previous band and it worked so, fuck it right?"

Bakugou opened the tube of lipstick and leaned over, making her bend backward over the sink completely.

"But we don't even have a name yet."

"Of course we do, I thought of one when you passed out."

When he was finished he took a few small steps back so Uraraka could turn around. With big red letter he wrote the words;

‘Runaway Rioters'

On the mirror.

"I like it. I like it a lot."

He wrote it down a few more times, not just on the mirror, but also on the walls and on the door. Until the lipstick was smooshed and unusable. Then he opened the door and threw his arm around her.

"Don't even you dare sulk about that damn lipstick because you know I'll get you a new one." He said as they walked out of the bathroom.

"I can get you like fifty when we become famous. You'll fucking nail your audition and I will keep being awesome and then we'll become legends together, got it?"

Damn. The guy was cool. Though this dream of his seemed very child-like, she was willing to go along with him. He was the only one that believed she could become something, a legend of all things. It would be stupid if she didn't pour a least a little bit of faith into him, stranger or not, he was pouring at least some of his faith into her.

She leaned her head against Bakugou's chest and unlocked her phone. She created a new message to her dad.

‘I'm sorry for leaving without telling you. But I can assure you that I am okay.'

Uraraka glanced at Bakugou.

‘More than okay. You'll see me soon. Lots of love.'

Writers note: I've got more ideas for self-insert fics brewing in my head. So stay tuned!

[marypsue]

things that didn't happen (here):

1. 

The portal that crackles open in the middle of the living room is a sickly, sinister red and somehow manages to look seconds away from collapse. Still, it hovers in midair long enough to spit out four people. It takes a moment to recognise most of them; Beth's shaved her head to the scalp, a smudge of something black smeared across both eyes and the bridge of her nose, Jerry's musclebound and sporting an extremely ill-advised moustache, Summer - well, Summer looks pretty much the same, just a little more tattered and a lot more comfortable with that pump-action shotgun she's holding.

"We're here for Titanic on Blu-ray," she says, giving it a pump, "and we're not leaving without it."

The full story comes out over dinner. After being abandoned in a dimension where every other living human had been mutated into Cronenbergian genetic freaks, they'd realised a few things: Beth and Jerry's marriage works best under outside stress from something they can punch; popularity doesn't mean much to Summer when the only people around to get it from are people she doesn't want to impress; and, they were living out their own personal I Am Legend.

"Like, the book," Wasteland Weekend Summer explains. "Not, like, the one with Will Smith."

"Wait, you - you actually read that?" Morty asks. "I - I - I thought the only things you read were Buzzfeed personality quizzes."

Summer shoots him a glare, and Wasteland Weekend Summer puts one hand threateningly on the shotgun leaned against her chair, but the other Beth just says "Summer, no deadly weaponry at the table," without looking up from her mashed potatoes. Both Summers huff out a sigh and fold their arms over their chests.

"Whatever," they say, in eerie unison, and then stare at each other like they've just walked into a fancy party and seen the other wearing the same dress.

"I...don't recall the plot of that one," Jerry says, casting a nervous glance at the person seated beside him.

"It doesn't matter," Wasteland Weekend Summer sighs. "The point was, like, the Cronenbergs are still people."

"Well," the other Beth says, delicately. "Most of them."

"We may have eaten a few before we figured that one out," buff Jerry admits. "And by 'may have', I mean 'definitely'." He shoots a defensive glare around the table. "Like I keep saying, it's not cannibalism if you have a completely different genetic makeup!"

"And like I keep telling you, Dad, that's not how genetics work," Wasteland Weekend Summer mutters, rolling her eyes. "Anyway. It didn't take all that long before we went, like, wait. Who're the real monsters here?"

The lump of misshapen flesh everyone's been trying to avoid eye contact with pulses in agreement, spattering Jerry with some kind of viscous, greenish fluid. He wipes it off with his napkin, shifting his chair away from its seat as surreptitiously as he can manage, which isn't very. 

"Yeah, it's been weird, but once you get used to everyone being some kind of body horror abomination, nothing's really all that different?" the body horror abomination says, in a voice that's surprisingly normal - and familiar. "I actually kind of like things this way. I mean, now that everybody's equally disturbing-looking, at least I know people are actually interested in me as a person, not just because I've got the right flesh-lumps in the right places. Did you even know I was an honour student? Or that I was interested in astrophysics?"

It's hard to tell, since it doesn't exactly have a face, but it sure looks like its stalk-eye is looking pointedly at Morty.

In the end, the wastelanders leave with Jerry's special edition Titanic box set and a Blu-ray player that Wasteland Weekend Summer and Cronenjessica agree they can probably rig up to use solar power. They're gone before anybody remembers to ask if they've got a TV set.

2. 

"Oh, shit," the redhead says, looking from Rick to Morty and back again. "Not you two."

"O-oh, you've, uh, you've heard of us," Morty stammers. "M-maybe you've heard about all those times we, uh, we saved an entire galaxy, o-or..." He stops, trying very hard not to look like he's staring. "Uh, what...what're you -"

"Taking my top off," the redhead says, a little muffled by the fabric she's pulling over her head.

"That much was obvious," Rick says, not sounding at all impressed. Morty can't say he can relate.

"Look," the redhead says, shaking out her hair and tying the shirt around her waist, "you two have a ridiculously high body count when it comes to random innocent bystanders. But hot girls usually manage to escape with only major psychological trauma. Especially if they're redheads." She gives her hair a fluff with both hands and then adjusts her bra. It's lacy, and pink. It looks satiny. "So my best bet for surviving the next twenty-two minutes is to get sexy and let the fourteen-year-old think he's got a shot."

"Aww," Morty sighs, deflating, and the redhead gives him a pitying smile.

"Hey, you've still got the next twenty-two minutes to convince me!"

She starts to turn, and suddenly freezes in place, her eyes half-closed, caught mid-blink with an extremely dopey look on her face. There's a faint, electric-blue aura clinging to her, and when Morty tries to touch it, he gets a zap, like a static shock but longer.

"Come on," Rick says, tucking some weird sci-fi pistol back into his coat. "Befouuurp that wears off."

"Aw geez, Rick! What - what'd you do that for!?" Morty protests, waving both arms in the redhead's direction. Now that she's frozen mid-bounce, it's painfully apparent what Morty's missing out on.

"Because she's a - a - a pain in the ass, Morty! A big - big genre-savvy buzzkill! Did you actually want that tagging along with us?"

"Well, no, okay," Morty admits, with a last, longing look at her bra, so close and yet so completely out of reach. "But -"

"You - you - you didn't actually think she was ever going to fuck you?"

"No, but - but she was gonna act like she was!" Morty yells, hurrying after Rick. "Twenty-two minutes! Rick! You - you just cheated me out of twenty-two minutes of real-life, in-your-face, 3D toplessness here!"

3.

"You know Mom used to say that whenever she was mad at me about something? 'Bethany Ann Sanchez, you are your father's daughter'." Beth breathes out a laugh and shakes her head. "And she wondered why I moved out as soon as I turned sixteen."

"Wow, you sure - sure showed her," her dad says, with what seems like unnecessary sarcasm, not taking his eyes off the TV set.

Beth laughs again, because she's not sure what else there is to do.

"Look. I loved my mom. But - she was right. We were never going to coexist peacefully under one roof." She taps her pencil against the page of the crossword she's working on, takes a breath in. "I'm just too much like - well, like you."

The words fall onto what passes for a conversation like a couple of atom bombs on an unsuspecting atoll. Beth turns all her attention to her crossword to avoid counting the seconds of silence. Possibly no crossword square has ever been filled in with such careful deliberation.

Just great. Really genius, actually. Her long-lost father finally deigns to spend a little time in her company, and she has to go get her feelings all over it like some stupid - teenage - 

"You kept my last name," her dad says, weirdly flat, and Beth breathes out. Okay. She can pretend that it didn't just happen.

"Well, it is on my birth certificate," she says, scribbling down 'EAVES'. "And not every high schooler can truthfully say they share a name with an intergalactic rock star."

For a minute or so, the silence is just silence, filled with the friendly nonsense noise of the TV. It's even, Beth dares to hope, a companionable silence.

Then her dad breaks it with an enormous belch. "If you're really so - so m-much like me, then I gotta wonder why you still - why you haven't dumped the chump yet."

"Dad," Beth sighs.

"Look, life is short and meaningless. I know that maybe - maybe better than anybody. You gotta - you gotta wring everything you can out of it before it's gone, because it - that'll happen sooner than you think."

"Well, that's cheerful," Beth says, turning over her pencil and furiously erasing 'NIETZSCHE'. "Listen, Dad, I really appreciate the advice, but -"

"The universe isn't fair, Beth. It isn't handing out favours to - to nice girls who wait in line." Her dad finally turns away from the TV to look at her, and Beth sets the crossword down on the end table. "If you aren't smart enough to have figured that one out yet, then you - then maybe you and Jerry really do deserve each other."

Beth takes another deep breath, lets it out through her nose, slow. Suddenly, absurdly, thinks of her mother.

"Dad," she says, like it's some kind of charm that will keep his attention until she's finished. "I've always looked up to you. Maybe even idolised you a little, not that there's anything wrong with that, it's a perfectly normal -" 

She stops herself, twists the pencil in her hands. It feels like she's trying to choose each word, carefully, from a set of fridge magnet poetry that doesn't have anywhere near the words she needs to say what she wants to say.

"I saw the mistakes you and Mom made," Beth says, finally, deliberately. "I don't want to make the same ones. I have people in my life I care about. It's important to me to try for them."

"Oh yeah, how's that one wouurrpking out for you?" her dad asks, that deadpan sarcasm again, turning back to the TV.

Beth chews the inside of her lip.

"I didn't say it wasn't a mistake," she admits, finally. "Just not the same mistake. At least my kids won't hate me for abandoning them."

"Nope," her dad says, flat and casual, like he's completely unaffected, not looking at Beth as he pushes himself up off the couch. The tinny sound of a commercial jingle gives his next words a weirdly jaunty air. "Lucky you, they hate you for a - a whole different set of reasons."

The sharpened end of her pencil isn't even, Beth realises. There's much more graphite visible on one side of the point, while the other is almost completely wood.

"At least you - you - you proved your mom wrong," her dad says, as he heads into the kitchen. He doesn't so much as glance behind him.

Maybe it's terrible. Maybe it's just one more sign of how she's broken as a person. But Beth can't help the little smile that forces itself onto her face.

"Yeah," she says, quietly, picking her crossword back up. "Yeah, I guess I did."

4.

Jerry shoves the door open, flips the lightswitch - and nothing happens.

It's the last straw. It's been the last straw for a while now. First losing his job, then the divorce, and everything that came with it. This shitty motel, his own shitty cooking, the misery wolves, the overwhelming, debilitating loneliness, the mold, the bed bugs...and now this.

Jerry’s running out of last straws. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!” he yells, into the empty, hollow darkness. “Is this some kind of - of sick fucking joke? Have I not suffered enough? What, was I some kind of evil dictator in a past life? Does somebody up there just hate me? What did I ever do to deserve this? What do you want from me?”

“Your help, Jerry Smith,” a voice says from somewhere inside the darkness of the motel room.

“Holy shit!” Jerry yells, backpedaling out of the room and slamming the door. He stares at it, breathing hard, like it’ll suddenly come to life and try to eat his face. Hey, stranger - and worse - things have happened. To him. Recently.

He’s just starting to catch his breath, his heart rate gradually ticking back down to normal, when he hears it. A shadow falls across the door as, behind him, out past the balcony, there’s a swoosh and a thunderclap boom, like an enormous bird beating its wings.

Jerry stares at the number on the motel door for what feels like an eternity, frozen in place. He’s never noticed before that two of the digits are black-painted metal, but the middle one is clearly just painted right onto the wood where the metal number clearly fell off. There are still holes from the screws. What a piece of shit motel.

“Don’t be scared,” that same voice from inside the motel room says, behind him. Jerry wishes he knew how she’d gotten behind him. He also wishes he could remember where he knows that voice from. “I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I’m actually trying to help you.”

“I thought you needed my help,” Jerry manages. His feet don’t want to turn him around. He makes them do it anyway.

The person - people, technically, though Jerry isn’t sure how much the term applies to somebody who’s more robot bird than person - standing behind him on the balcony is the last person he’s ever have expected to see.

“Aren’t you that friend of Summer’s?” he asks, and the slight brunette’s eyes narrow. “We went to your wedding, you married some alien - wait. No. You’re -”

The brunette smiles. It is not a very nice smile.

“I think we might be able to help each other,” Tammy says, folding her arms and leaning back against the railing her robot bird husband is perched on. Was he a robot the last time Jerry saw him? Jerry doesn’t think so, but he’d had a few more important things on his mind at the time.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Jerry says, pressing his back flat against the motel room door. “Last time I had anything to do with you, I ended up stranded on a planet smaller than this motel suite.”

“Oh yeah. That. No hard feelings,” Tammy says, examining her nails. “It wasn’t anything personal.”

“Nothing personal? You turned my entire family into intergalactic fugitives!”

“No I didn’t,” Tammy says. “I think you know who did.”

Jerry opens his mouth, and then shuts it, slowly.

“I’m listening,” he says.

Tammy gives him a thoughtful look. The red glow from her robot bird husband’s one eye is casting some very sinister shadows on her face.

“We’ve got more in common than you realise,” she says. “I lost everything when the Federation collapsed. You lost everything after your divorce. And you and I both know the same person was responsible for both.”

“Wait, how do you know about that? And for that matter, how did you know where to find me?” Jerry looks around the balcony. There aren’t any signs saying “Hidden Camera Here” or anything that have sprung up in the last three minutes, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. “Have you been spying on me?”

“Can you please try to focus here,” Tammy snaps. “Rick Sanchez ruined both of our lives. I want the same thing you want.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Jerry says, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”

Tammy smiles that smile again. It’s no nicer than it was the first time.

“Vengeance,” she says.

- and something that did:

“Just stand in the middle of the room, don’t move, don’t breathe, and don’t fucking touch anything,” Morty’s grandpa says, turning his back to rummage through a metal cabinet under the counter.

Jessica turns a slow circle, taking in the garage, strange devices stuffed onto Ikea shelves and hanging next to the weedwhacker.

“I think I’ve been out here once before?” she says. “Somebody threw a party. There were either some really good drugs going around, or aliens were there.” She locks eyes on a glowing blue orb stacked behind a bottle of ant killer and a jug of antifreeze, decides the prohibition against touching is probably a good idea. "If everything you just told me is true, then I'm going to say maybe both?"

“Whatever helps - uurp - you sleep at night,” Morty’s grandpa says. “Thought I told you not to breathe.”

Jessica looks over at him, decides that he’s not joking. She actually does hold her breath for a second before realising just how stupid that is and letting it go.

“There was a galaxy,” she says, slowly, as more memories arrive in bits and pieces. She’d ended up drinking to forget that night. And possibly got her memory wiped, if there really were aliens involved. “A hologram galaxy? Morty brought me out here to show me.” She hugs her own arms, making eye contact with the blinking red light on something that looks like the love child of the Terminator and a sewing machine. “It was beautiful. Almost like really being up there.”

“Yeah, hold that - hold that thought, you can use that,” Morty’s grandpa says, dropping an armful of beeping and whirring machinery on the counter. “And give me your phone.”

Jessica hands it over, with no small amount of trepidation. Morty’s grandpa gives first her ombre teal phone case with its calligraphic-script motto Ad astra per aspera!, then her, a flat, sarcastic look. Jessica crosses her arms over her chest and returns it. 

In the end, the phone case passes without comment. Morty’s grandpa just plugs something flat and silver into the bottom of it, dials Morty’s number, and then hands the phone to Jessica as it’s ringing. She takes it, holds it to her ear, listening to the rings.

“You - you gotta keep him on the line for at least thirty seconds,” Morty’s grandpa says, pulling out a silver box that matches the thing he plugged into Jessica’s phone and flipping up a screen. 

Jessica nods. 

“Is - is he going to be all right?” she asks, the phone still ringing in her ear. “I mean, I barely know him, but -”

Morty’s grandpa shrugs, just as there’s a click on the other end of the line.

[queenofthyme]

November Third (part three)

as always, for @o0o-chibaken-o0o. may her birthday last many days.

bingo l part one l part two l part three l part four l part five l part six l part seven l updates to come...

Draco was furious. First, that wild animal of Hagrid’s had attacked him - and he still had the sling to prove it even if it wasn’t completely necessary - and second, one of the horrid nifflers that same oaf had brought onto school grounds had ambushed Draco and stolen the shiny Malfoy crest pin right off his robes.

If his father found out he had lost the pin, he would be in the deepest pools of absolute shitville. It was an heirloom worth more than Hagrid’s entire life, if the pathetic hut he had followed the niffler into was any indication.

He could hear the stupid creature - it almost sounded like it was laughing at him - but he couldn’t see it. Where was the damn thing? He cast stunning spells around the cabin recklessly, waiting for the stupid noise to stop so he could rescue his pin. But no matter where he cast, the creature’s laughter continued.

Draco hastily tucked his wand away, picking up one of Hagrid’s oversized chairs instead and throwing it across the room for good measure. “This is not happening,” he muttered to himself. “This is absolute - “

“Caught you at a bad time, Malfoy?” Interrupted a very familiar voice from behind Draco.

“Get stuffed, Potter,” Draco responded without even looking around. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you.” Although he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d been trashing Potter’s favourite teacher’s house - it was all too likely the encounter would end in a one-handed duel. For the first time, he regretted insisting Madam Pomfrey put his arm in a sling.

Sure enough. Potter jumped straight into accusations: “What do you think you’re doing in here?” There was anger in his voice of course - Potter’s temper was a precarious thing - but glee too - clearly at the excitement of catching Draco out.

Draco swivelled around and leant back on Hagrid’s table - better to be facing his opponent when the first curse was cast. “One of that half-breed’s nifflers is what - “

“His name is Hagrid,” interrupted Potter in the cold, serious voice he reserved for showing off what a flawless, noble prick he was.

“Whatever,” Draco said dismissively, because he knew better than to fight the point when Potter used that voice. Rage fuelled Potter’s power and Draco did not feel like being on the receiving end of a bombarda disguised as an expelliarmus right now. “One of his nifflers has stolen my Malfoy crest pin and if I - “

“You have a Malfoy crest pin?”

Draco didn’t appreciate Potter’s condescending tone so he bit back. “Of course. You would’t understand since you don’t have a family.”

Potter didn’t even flinch at the quip. He wandering into the hut, assessing the damage Draco had made. “You really need some new material,” he said calmly over his shoulder as he picked up the thrown chair, but Draco could see the white of Potter’s knuckles quite clearly.

“Perhaps if I wasn’t so busy chasing this stupid niffler, I’d have the time to come up with something witty enough for you, Potter,” Draco retorted, mentally preparing himself to pull out his wand if Potter made a move - it seemed imminent. “Now if you don’t mind, I prefer it if you wandered somewhere else.”

Potter turned back to Draco. This was it. Draco edged his free arm towards the pocket of his robes - towards the safety of his wand. “Hagrid’s a good person, you know.”

Draco dropped his arm. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You provoked Buckbeak. I know you know it. And now Hagrid might lose his -“

“Have you not seen my arm, Potter?” Interrupted Draco before he could be guilt-tripped - that was Potter’s speciality. “I was viciously attacked.”

“We both know your arm is completely fine, Malfoy. Stop the act. I’m asking you to have some decency and - “

“Ah,” Draco laughed - Potter was really quite skilled at getting on his noble bloody high horse. “But you seem to have already made up your mind that I have no decency. So why should I bother?”

“What do you care what I think?”

“I don’t,” Draco said quickly. He was just making a point for merlin’s sake - did Potter have to be so…so…urgh.

“You still have time to take it back. Get rid of that stupid sling and apologise.”

“My father already - ”

“Your father is a-

“Not one more word, Potter!” Draco went for his wand instinctively, his arm jerking his sling open as he reached for - the sling! Shit. He froze, realising what he’d done, and looked up to gauge Potter’s reaction.

Potter didn’t look surprised but worse, he just looked unimpressed. He crossed his arms and stared at Draco with that one static look that made Draco want to fall inside himself and disappear. Draco couldn’t move - not even to return his arm back into the sling. Any move he made would be too telling under Potter’s eye. Why couldn’t Potter just stop staring already?

And then something strange happened - Potter sighed, releasing a long drawn out breath - and when he spoke, it appeared his previous anger had vacated in the same air. “Have you tried coaxing it out with something else valuable?”

It took Draco a couple of seconds to process the question. After all that, they were back to the niffler? “Like what?”

Potter silently pulled a golden snitch from his pocket and placed it at his feet.

The combination of the snitch and finding himself alone with Potter, drew up a memory of the previous year, one Draco thought he had successfully erased from his head. But no, the faint sound of Potter’s laughter rang in his ears once more. Draco fought hard not to enjoy it.

A husky sniffling sound brought Draco back to the present - the niffler! It had crawled out from underneath Hagrid’s stove and was shuffling to the snitch, making its greedy little noises as it did. Draco reached for his wand - with his uninjured arm this time - but Potter stopped him with a raised hand. Draco obeyed automatically, but immediately wished he hadn’t. Since when did he follow Harry Potter?

Potter waited until the niffler raised a grubby little paw above the snitch before he dropped to the ground with impressive speed, grabbing it with gentle hands.  He turned it upside down and stroked its belly, all the while making the most revolting cooing sounds Draco had ever heard. Is this what Potter was like around babies?

After far too much cooing, a number of shiny objects began to fall from the niffler’s clutches - galleons, necklaces, something that looked exactly like the hair pin Professor McGonagall wore, and there it was - the Malfoy crest. Potter’s hand shot out and caught it before it hit the ground - now he was just showing off. He placed the niffler lightly on the ground - where it promptly picked up the rest of its valuables and scampered behind the stove again - and walked over to Draco.

“Here,” he said, holding out the pin. Draco was sure to take it with his good arm. He needn’t have bothered - Potter didn’t look away from his face, a steely expression on his own. Oh merlin - Draco already knew there was something preachy coming. And: “You don’t have to be your father, you know. We don’t choose our family.”

Draco blinked back at Potter as his hands closed over the pin. He should have been angry at the audacity of Potter to comment on his family, but he couldn’t work up the energy for a fight. So he just took his family crest back from Potter’s hand silently, an automatic thank you dying before it reached his lips.

Potter waited there a moment as if expecting Draco to reply - but how was he supposed to reply to something like that? When enough time had passed in silence to make the moment truly awkward, Potter shrugged and walked to the door.

“Wait, Potter - “

“Yes?” Potter turned around immediately.

Shit. Malfoy hadn’t meant to say anything. How had that even come out of his mouth? And he certainly hadn’t expected Potter to stop. Shit. Potter was looking at him expectantly. Draco found himself trapped between the way he wanted to act and how he was supposed to act around Harry Potter. He hadn’t felt like that since the day he - wait. “What day is it?”

Potter looked at him strangely.  “Wednesday? November Third? Why do you - “

November Third. The day I beat you. It was a coincidence. It had to be. But still, something seemed off. On every other day, Draco never felt like this. Never felt anything other than hatred towards Potter. They were arch enemies. That was how it should be. This was wrong. Like he’d been cursed. Which didn’t make sense unless -

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Potter, but I’m not having a bar of it.” Draco pushed past Potter and made his own dramatic exit before Potter could continue his.

November Third. It couldn’t have any significance. Really. That was absurd. It was just Potter. Being his usual do-gooder self, trying to get Draco to feel something. Merlin. He needed to stay away from Potter. Every day of the year. Or he was going to lose his mind.

Bingo progress under the cut...

@o0o-chibaken-o0o PLEASE don’t murder me. I HAD to. you KNOW I HAD to. Also it doesn’t look like we’re ever going to hit bingo at this rate. Who even designed this board?

[psychicdinneranon-blog]

Five Times Shou Eats Something He Shouldn’t (And 1 Time He Doesn’t)

This is part 3 of a series based off the MiB AU! From bakanohealthy and qcatter Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 

Speaking of @qcatter HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRIEND!!!!!!! This would not even be a thing without their lovely ideas and allowing me to chat their ear off.

(Third time: In Which Shou Doesn’t Feel Very Good) (Also, in which I get to write Starchildren grooming each other!!!)

Ten year old Shou wondered how he had come to this, curled up on a rafter and clutching for dear life because if he let go he knew he would just drop like a stone. He curled over his gut protectively, making a sound like a fork having gotten stuck in a garbage disposal.

Everything hurt.

Everything hurt and he felt like he was burning from the prickling sensation of a thousand poking hot knives that had developed over his body. His limbs felt stiff and heavy and all he wanted to do was sleep in a patch of sunlight only he was sure that it would hurt too.

That and the clouds, separated only by the thin roof above his head, rumbled above him threatening rain down on all below.

The thing was this hadn’t started out as such a horrible day. He had woken up with the sun and got to watch a particularly colorful sunrise before the clouds overtook it and swallowed the rest of the sky. And then while he had been wandering amongst his father’s employees his father had found him and gave him an red-orange colored tube of neon and had asked him if he wanted to eat it.

Of course Shou said yes.

There was a static spark as the tube passed from father to son and Shou eagerly gobbled it up. Taking only a few seconds for Shou to swallow the tube whole, licking his lips as it went.

But afterwards the day just went downhill from there. Shou felt sluggish and moving began to feel like such a chore. He knew even when he had started climbing up the steel columns to get to the rafter that he was moving at half his normal speed.

And then once the weight settled, the shakes started.

He curled around himself, almost trying himself into a knot like one of those cartoon snakes. It was like he was trying to hold himself together before he fell apart like some factory machine.

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Shou was alternatively frozen and on fire and he couldn’t make his stupid body just pick one.

Was this what being sick was like for a human? No wonder his mother stayed in bed for the whole day when she got sick. If he had woken up like this, he wouldn’t want to move either.

Shou pressed his feverish face against the cool metal of the beam and alternated between keening quietly for comfort and making that same metal in the garbage disposal noise he had earlier.

Surely something he did would make him feel better soon.

Something had to.

---

Serizawa ducked with his umbrella as he walked through the building’s doors. The President didn’t mind when he decided to wander through the grounds. As long as he was careful to keep out of other’s way he was free to do as he chose.

Normally Serizawa would find someplace calm and quiet and settle down for a nice nap. He preferred the dark over the sun anyways, so on this overcast day it would be easy to fall asleep. Or perhaps he could start a calming grooming session. He did think he saw some dusty energy right along that one spot across his shoulders. Again.

Well it’s not as if he didn’t like groom out his energy. It gave him something to do.

However, all of those idle thoughts came to a halt when he heard the grating sound of metal in the garbage disposal. It buzzed loudly for a few moments before softening its pitch into something a little more droning. But loud or soft, something about the sound struck Serizawa as undeniably wrong.

He decided to investigate.

Shifting into his starform and all the while keeping a tight grip on his umbrella with his tail, Serizawa scuttled across the floor in search of the source of the sound.

And once he had gotten as close as he could to the source from the ground, Serizawa stood puzzled for a few moments. He looked around himself and double checked his surroundings for anything, any piece of machinery malfunctioning or something to give him an explanation.

The grating buzzed louder at the same time Serizawa remembered that putting stuff in originally unreachable places for anyone else was actually an option here, encouraged even. So he peered curiously upwards.

And saw the dull swirling reddish oranges and spotty pinks of a Starchild tucked away in a corner, wound around one of the rafters just within sight of a large industrial window.

Shou stopped the noise and started to keen softly as he clutched the rafter beam like a teddy bear, like someone holding onto a life raft for dear life, or like how Serizawa clutched at his umbrella.

Serizawa wasted no time in floating upwards to Shou. He could see the child take a deep breath before the coins in the garbage disposal started up again and now he was worried because Shou looked terrible. His expression was twisted in pain and he was shaking against the bar. As Serizawa moved cautiously closer, he realized could feel no ambient energy radiating off the Starchild.

Shou then gave off a low keening whine, interspersed with soft whimpers. Then he curled further in on himself, hiding what would be his stomach in his human from away under his tail.

While Serizawa had heard the term “sick as a dog” before, it was with Shou’s soft keening and whimpering as he pressed his face once again to the rafter that Serizawa felt that this would be the perfect way to describe the poor Starchild.

“Shou?” He questioned as he emitted soft repetitive sounds of waves crashing in on themselves. “You okay?”

While Serizawa did not particularly like the splattering crash, the first day that Shou had met him the boy had imitated that sound over and over and over. Later on he had even admitted that it was his favorite noise that he had heard Serizawa make.

Shou keened loudly and pressed himself even more tightly to the rafter. But the sound was cut off as other series of shivers wracked his small form and the grating sound filled Serizawa’s nonexistent ears for several seconds.

Serizawa repeated his question but again there was no answer, only soft whimpering like a dog left out in the rain responded.

It was then that Serizawa noticed he could see some dusty energy clinging to Shou’s starform. It swirled lazily through his system, cloudy and sluggish. And Serizawa knew what that was. He saw it in his own grooming from time to time after a really bad day.

Or a really bad meal. Serizawa knew he could eat several kinds of things, but he preferred human food the best.

Maybe Shou had eaten something he shouldn’t have and was hiding up here until the effects passed through his system.

Serizawa shifted his umbrella and tucked it carefully away behind him, and moved his grip on the handle from his tail to his tail and his feet. Now he could properly groom Shou with his hands rather than trying to make a mess juggling things. He shifted a little closer, making more repetitive crashing noises.

Again and again the waves crashed as Serizawa carefully and methodically began to separate out Shou’s dull red-orange energy from the cloudy greys of whatever had clung to him like static to a balloon.

Shou’s keening and whimpers softened and slowed as Serizawa “brushed” Shou out. Instead what began to replace them was the sound of another soft crashing of waves against rocks, against sand, against water. Serizawa tried to hide his smile as Shou mimicked him, and started to pitch his sounds higher or lower to give Shou something to focus on.

The child was constantly moving, Serizawa supposed that it made sense that it would have taken getting sick like this to make him stop.

And that terrible grating noise did not make a reappearance. ‘Thank goodness.’ He thought as he continued to groom, twisting his own energy just so in order to tug the static cling out of Shou’s energy field. Then he grabbed it in his teeth and threw it away as far as he could. They were both lucky that energy could phase through walls. Serizawa had no doubt that it would dissipate by the drizzling rain.

Said rain continued throughout the grooming session and Serizawa steadfastly ignored the rumbling thunder. Though he did glance up at the sky whenever he caught sight of the lightning. And some distant part of him reminded him of the feeling he got the first time he had seen a wolf hunt on television.

It was steadfastly in search of prey.

The second time he had noticed the lightning he realized that such a laughing, raging, brilliant flash was going to be the last they would see that night. He made his waves louder and gently uncurled his tail from his umbrella, while still clutching at it with his feet. Then he laid it across the part of Shou’s back that had already gotten brushed through.

Shou gave a soft appreciative purr in response to the action.

Serizawa never stopped making the sound of his waves, even throwing a few seagull sounds in just to make Shou crack a smile. All the while, he continued to fastidiously groom.

Meanwhile Shou could not remember the last time he had gotten groomed like this. Any grooming of his own was always a quick brush through and a once over to make sure nothing had gotten stuck to him somehow during the day.

Serizawa was very thorough.

When he looked back on this moment later on, he would not be able to tell you when exactly he had fallen asleep but he knew he had. Because one moment he was listening to the soft grumble thunder and high wild laughter of the lightning and Serizawa’s crashing wave noises…

And the next the warehouse had become dark, with only his and Serizawa’s dim glow and the faint reflective bits and pieces of electric light seeping in from outside.

Shou made a soft purr and nuzzled back into the impromptu cuddle pile with Serizawa.

However when Serizawa woke up; he was alone. He could see the bright rays of the sun trickling through one of the windows across the building. And without another thought he quickly jumped down off the rafter, floating down to the ground gently as he shifted into his human form.

Then he went off to find the President, as it was his job to be by his side.

The next time he saw Shou three days had passed since the night of grooming. Shou mentioned none of his previous encounter with Serizawa, so he just assumed that Shou would much rather forget needing to be groomed by one of his father’s employees.

The next chance encounter after that merely cemented Serizawa’s theory.