#i guess this is the first stage of the five stages of grief huh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberry-nugget · 3 years ago

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Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets 's Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night.

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha #bakugou #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader

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basicallywhiterice · 3 years ago

Text

countdown (na jaemin)

pairing: na jaemin x reader

genre: fluff. friends to lovers, college!au

summary: The three times you should have made a move, the two times you tried to, and the one time you didn’t need to.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: cussing

a/n: alternatively titled “haechan being both the best and worst wingman to grace the face of the earth”

i. Three times you should have made a move.

“Hey! Jaemin! Over here,” Haechan shouts, waving at a boy clad in an oversized flannel across the dining hall. He turns, lighting up when he waves back, and all but runs over from the dish drop-off section.

“He’s my roommate,” Haechan introduces once Jaemin is in earshot. “Jaemin, this is y/n. Y/n, Jaemin,” Haechan introduces.

He’s cute, you notice immediately, his floppy hair swept to the side messily. Almost as quickly, you dispel the thought and do your best not to stare, extending a hand for him to shake on instinct. “Nice to meet you, Jaemin. So you’re the roommate who keeps losing his AirPods?”

In the second your hand hangs there, empty, you have enough time to go through all five stages of grief. You blundered in front of Haechan’s unfairly attractive roommate you’ll no doubt see again, about his AirPods? You prepare to draw your hand back and smooth it over your hair to relieve the awkwardness of rejected handshake.

Then Jaemin shakes your hand, eyes crinkling up as he beams. If you thought he was cute before, you’re a goner once his smile is directed at you. “Nice to meet you too, y/n. And yeah, that’s me. Were you the one who convinced him to get me the glow-in-the-dark Among Us case? That was honestly the best housewarming gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Hey, that was all his idea. Besides convincing him to spend an extra dollar on the glow-in-the-dark, I played no part in it.”

“I’m sure. In any case, you have excellent taste. Thank you for picking it out.” He turns to converse with Haechan, but you don’t hear the rest of what he says over the sound of you putting your foot in your mouth.

As soon as he walks away, you collapse into a heap of regret on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me your new roommate was hot before we got the gag gift?” you groan. “God, how am I supposed to flirt with him after that?”

“You just met the guy, relax,” Haechan reassures, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “Stop overreacting,” he mumbles around a mouthful of his BLT.

You raise your head to glare at him for being your voice of reason, and he wiggles his eyebrows.

“You like him already, huh? Don’t worry, he actually thought the case was funny. You’re fine.”

You bury your face in your hands in lieu of responding.

Jaemin is in your Algorithms class, you come to learn, likes useless trinkets more than you do, and vehemently opposes your dislike of coffee.

“Just try it,” he coaxes when he orders his second americano in an hour. “Haechan likes it, and you trust him, right?”

“With my life,” you deadpan as you both glance across the library to observe his attempts to flirt with the junior making his Starbucks order. He drops his straw when he gestures with his right hand, and you both snicker when he bends down to pick it up. “Actually, I think I’ll pass.”

Jaemin shrugs, taking a short sip from his cup before wincing and fanning his tongue. “Maybe you’re right. Anyways, which block did you want me to read?”

You show him, making edits as he comments on your code, and thank him once the block is fixed.

“No problem,” he grins. “Let me know if anything else is confusing. I’m happy to help.”

Just as you open your mouth to start the ritual of asking for his number, Haechan interrupts. “I got their number,” he announces, setting his phone down firmly between you and Jaemin and holding out his hands for a high five.

You sigh and half-heartedly slap his right hand despite your annoyance. At least one of you can be lucky in love, even if it comes at the expense of the other person.

“What’s the most common fear you have?” you ask Jaemin, tracing the outline of a cloud against the pale blue sky with your finger.

“What do you mean?” he asks, turning to lie on his side. You drop your hand to rest on his beige blanket and meet his questioning glance.

“Like spiders, public speaking, dying single… what’re your fears that are common?”

He squints as a strong gust of wind blows his hair into his face. “I think you’re overexaggerating how common the intense fear of dying single is.”

“Why?” you ask, not entirely sure why you’re pressing him about this. “Are you not afraid of it?”

“Hm, I guess I’m a lot more scared of dying alone than dying single. What are your thoughts?”

A fleeting semblance of a pickup line involving the two of you and not being single surfaces in your brain, but it never reaches coherence. Instead, you respond, “Heights, probably.”

And rejection, you sadly add in your head. Definitely rejection.

ii. Two times you tried to make a move.

“Hey, did I spell this right?”

When you lean over to read Jaemin’s meticulously written flashcard, your knee bumps into his. He mumbles an apology but makes no move to shift his leg. You stay like that, reviewing your notes for your last midterm together, until Haechan opens the door to his dorm and you scoot to different places on the couch.

“Hey Jaemin!” Haechan calls when he’s halfway in the bathroom. “Don’t forget about the trash,” he reminds, closing the door.

“Oh shit, one sec!” Jaemin hollers back. You wince at the volume, and he sheepishly turns toward you. “Sorry. Gotta take out the trash once he’s done,” he gestures, hand sweeping outwards before he knocks a couch pillow over.

Before he can fix it, you blurt, “Take me out while you’re at it too,” without missing a beat.

He doesn’t have time to react before you start laughing it off awkwardly. You don’t want to—damn it, why can’t you just be direct—but the fear of rejection overrides your confidence.

“Funny, right? Because of how ‘take out’ has different meanings? I’m hilarious, I know.”

He stares at you for a second too long before letting out a delayed chuckle. Haechan spares you the awkwardness of hearing his reply when he exits the bathroom and sits down between both of you, though, and Jaemin leaves with the trash soon after.

“Nice save, Casanova,” Haechan grins as soon as Jaemin steps out, reclining back into the couch. His Cheshire-Cat-esque smirk only grows when you reach over to smack him with the knocked-over pillow. “Wanna get take out once he gets back?”

You throw the pillow in his face this time. “I’m never coming back here again.”

You find yourself waiting outside their dorm exactly twelve days later when your code won’t run after two hours of debugging and neither of them will answer your texts.

“Asshole,” you shoot at Haechan when he opens the door. “Please help me.”

“Tough luck. I’ve got a date tonight,” he says, smug.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve helped you pick a better outfit than that,” you critique, glancing at his plain button-up shirt.

“Chill, I haven’t layered anything yet. And Jaemin picked it out, so good luck convincing him to help you debug. And getting a date with him. Coward.”

“You say that like you didn’t interrupt us the first time I was trying to get his number,” you whisper.

“And you act like you would’ve met him without me.”

“Touché.”

“Who’s getting a date with me?” Jaemin calls from his desk, pushing up his glasses and frowning at his computer.

“Me,” you call back, and he glances up, eyes widening when he sees it’s you. Ignoring Haechan’s impressed “damn,” you walk over to the chair next to Jaemin. “I’ll help you debug if you help me?”

“You want me to—help you debug? No way,” he says, and for a moment, you regret your boldness. “How’d you know I was dying over coding too?” he continues, and your worries disappear.

“Just a hunch,” you shrug. Haechan leaves when the two of you are hunched over your laptops, elbows brushing gently enough to make it look like an accident.

iii. One time you didn’t need to make a move.

“Y/n?”

You look up, halting your check of Jaemin’s backpack to make sure he hasn’t forgotten his AirPods again. “Yeah?”

His ears are tinged with pink and he can’t quite meet your eyes, but he looks like he’s trying his best to do so anyways. “Would… you… like to go out with me on Thursday? Maybe for dinner if you have time?”

You blink, holding your breath for three seconds just in case you misheard or he’s joking. Neither seems to be the case. “On a date?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Yes, a date.” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. You smile, and he stops.

Silently, you count down from three before answering to avoid blurting out your answer, but it comes out with the same level of enthusiasm nonetheless.

“I’d love to.”

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years ago

Note

*claps*

So, sequel ideas. Specifically for Wormman shenanigans. What if he goes to scout out the Evil X shop to see exactly what’s going on, and he spots the exploiter himself and just tackles him because friends

Also I can imagine Zed is literally the only one who knows that they’re different people, so EX just thinks it’s Zedaph and won’t show any weakness, so he pushes WM off and Helsaph is just like “Dude we’re friends :DDD, what the hels”

i love Raven ideas :D

this is a sequel to this one

...

Helsaph has absolutely no trouble finding the right building. After all, it’s got a giant statue of his old friend atop it, towering over the surrounding area. As he approaches, he’s delighted to see his friend themself just leaving the building. “Evil X!” he calls, picking up speed. “Hi!”

EX turns but their impassive expression doesn’t change. “Uh… Hello. Can I help you?”

Helsaph grabs them in a hug, delighted to see his friend again. “It’s been so long! How’s it going?”

“Um…” Clearing their throat awkwardly, EX detaches themself from Helsaph and pushes him away. “Sorry, I’m a bit busy right now. If you want to buy some derpcoin, there’s signs inside instructing you how to do that.”

“Why are you being so weird?” demands Helsaph. “I thought you’d be happy to see me again. It’s been years.”

“Years?” EX stares at him as if he’s crazy. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to go.”

As EX turns to walk away, Helsaph suddenly realises exactly what’s going on. “Oh, wait, no I- EX, wait!”

They pause, glancing back at Helsaph with a slightly suspicious look. “What?”

“You think I’m Zedaph, don’t you?”

EX blinks. “Who else would I think you are?”

Helsaph quickly digs the pink mask out of his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

EX’s own eyes widen and they quickly drag Helsaph into the building. After locking the door, they pull Helsaph up some stairs and into an office overlooking the rest of the interior.

They stand in front of the closed door and cross their arms. “Explain.”

Suddenly put on the spot, Helsaph stammers over his words. “I’m, um… I’m Ze-Zedaph’s Hels counterpart. He recruited me to be Wormman back in Season 5. The “Zedaph” you befriended and battled was me.”

EX stares at Helsaph. “You’re NOT a helsmit.”

Not expecting this reaction, Helsaph frowns. “I am.”

“Helsmits are evil,” says EX. “Helsmits don’t run around in pink spandex and yellow underwear pretending to fight a quasi-evil clone.”

“I AM a helsmit,” Helsaph insists. I’m not sure if I can prove it but I am. My name is Helsaph.”

EX scrutinises Helsaph closely, causing him to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I can’t go get Zedaph to prove that there’s two of us because I’m not actually supposed to be on this server so only one of us can leave the base at a time.” He hesitates. “I could take you there if you wanted? To prove that there’s two of us?”

“Oh I believe there’s two of you,” responds EX. “Knowing Zedaph, I’m not surprised in the slightest that he’s managed to clone himself. I just don’t quite believe that YOU are a helsmit.”

“Not sure I like the way you said “you” there but okay,” Helsaph says slowly. “How can I prove to you that I’m a helsmit?”

EX doesn’t even hesitate in their answer. “Kill me.”

Helsaph considers this for a moment. “Will you respawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Helsaph draws his sword and slices it straight through EX, killing them immediately.

He nearly has a heart attack as he suddenly remembers that his name might show up in chat. But when he hastily checks the communicator Zedaph lent him, he sees something entirely different.

EvilXisuma was slain by [Entity]

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

Imagine if my WHOLE existence on this server was exposed and ended by me killing EX just because they asked me to.

It takes less than a minute for EX to appear back in the office and start to collect their items.

“It occurred to me about half a second after I did it that my name might’ve shown up in chat killing you,” Helsaph says, watching them. “Went through the five stages of grief in less than three seconds.”

EX chuckles, straightening up. “I’m guessing you were reduced to [Entity] because you’re not registered to any server so it didn’t recognise your code. Well anyway, I’m impressed. Now why did you kill me?”

“WH-?!” Helsaph yelps. “Because you asked me to!! What the frick is this?!”

“You could’ve refused,” EX points out. “Why did you actually do it?”

Helsaph stares at them for a moment, then sighs. “Because I want to prove I am who I say I am and I knew the real Zedaph would never in a million years kill you like that.”

“You’re right,” responds EX, nodding approvingly. “I believe you. So what on earth persuaded a helsmit to dress up in the world’s most ridiculous superhero outfit and chase me around for several months?”

“Honestly, just the fact that the prospect of THAT was better than my current life at the time,” says Helsaph honestly. “Which really says something about how I was living back then, doesn’t it?”

EX scoffs. “Oh boy, it sure does. Where’ve you been since Season 5?”

For the briefest of seconds, EX thinks they see a flash of red in Helsaph’s eyes. But it’s over so quickly that they can’t be sure of what they saw.

Helsaph clears his throat. “Not really something I want to get into now. The point is I’m back and I heard on the grapevine that you’ve been running a little scam.”

“S-Scam?!” splutters EX.

“I’m guessing that this derpcoin thing is that.” Helsaph points down at the shop floor. “I came over to find out if it really is a scam but I’m not really sure how to do that.”

EX crosses their arms. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Okay,” says Helsaph. “Is it a scam?”

“No.”

A pause follows this.

“I’m really not sure what I expected there.”

EX lets out a chuckle. “Heh. Witty, goofy, gullible. You really are Wormman, aren’t you?”

Helsaph frowns. “Why does that feel suspiciously like an insult?”

“It wasn’t really. You know, I actually kinda missed having you chase me around all day.”

Helsaph’s frown clears into a smile. “Aww, you missed me?”

“Nope!” EX says quickly. “I said I KINDA missed you chasing me around. It was kinda fun.”

“That means you missed me,” responds Helsaph sweetly, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“It really doesn’t.”

“You said you missed ME chasing you around. Not BEING chased around. Therefore, you missed me.”

EX rolls their eyes. “Add “annoying” to that list too.”

Helsaph beams innocently. “That’s something we helsmits have in common.”

“I’m not a helsmit,” EX responds.

Helsaph opens his mouth to respond that he had meant helsmits in general when he properly registers what EX just said. “Wait… y-you’re not?”

EX shakes their head. “Nope. Xisuma’s hels counterpart is Helsuma. I don’t actually remember how or why or when or where I was brought into this universe.”

Silence follows their words as Helsaph’s gaze flickers to the ground. EX isn’t a helsmit. What are they then? Are they a clone? Where did they come from? How did they come into being? What are they made of? Helsaph’s mind is racing with all sorts of experiments he could perform on his friend to find out the answers to these questions.

“...Helsaph?” EX prompts after a moment. “You still with me?”

“Huh?” Helsaph blinks himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sorry. That’s cool. Anyway, I’m gonna need to investigate your little not-a-scam. Mind showing me around?”

Still a little shaken by the sudden darkness they had seen in his eyes, EX nods. “Sure.”

…

EX finishes up the tour back at the front door. “-so that’s pretty much it. Any questions?”

Helsaph nods. “Yeah. How is this not a scam?”

EX gives a chuckle. “Tell you what, since you’re clearly still not convinced, how about you take this premium derpcoin for free?”

They hand Helsaph a coin the size of their palm.

“I gotta head out now but take a look around for yourself, read the signs and books, then decide what you wanna do. Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Helsaph watches EX leave, before turning his attention back to the coin they gave him. He can’t stop staring at it, turning it over in his hands, admiring the way it glistens. There’s no way he’s going to spend this. Not because this is a scam - because obviously it is. For a different reason.

This is the first gift EX has ever given him.

#hermitcraft #evil xisuma #helsaph #worm man #vaunna’s requests

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shuahoonie · 4 years ago

Text

holidays with tom [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader

SUMMARY: life isn’t exactly back to normal. with another lockdown in place and the holiday season is vastly approaching, you and tom are stuck in quarantine with each other the problem? there was supposed to be at least 5 of you in that house and tom is the last person you want to be with. shouldn’t be too bad right?

WARNINGS: in no particular order swearing—err foul language lmao, sexual innuendos, things get heated but not that much??? exuding sexual tension but also fluff??? alcohol consumption, a series of bad decisions??? idk writing this made me experience the 5 stages of grief tbh lmao it’s not that bad I promise lmao

WORD COUNT: 6.9k!

A/N: hello and happy new year! I was supposed to post this during Christmas Day but guess who got into a writing rut—yet again. I didn’t want to abandon this because I actually had fun writing it. I hope you all had a festive and safe holiday. I know things have been hard but I still hope you guys enjoyed the holiday.

2020 has finally came to an end and we’re all ending it the same way when the pandemic started—staying at home, hopefully following the appropriate health measures. I can only hope that 2021 is a brighter and hopeful year for all of us.

stay safe, sending u all my love.

gif credits: @underoos-shield

vanessa’s masterlist | taglist form

Two hours. It’s been two hours since you found out that you were going to spend your holidays alone. You were aware that you weren’t going to spend your holidays with your family as you normally would, embracing the fact that working in a different country whilst in the middle of a pandemic was going to be challenging.

Working in the film industry, constantly visiting sets while still living in a pandemic means that you threw away your chances of being home for the holidays. However, you weren’t entirely the only one who shares a similar struggle.

“We should still do something for Christmas, you know,” Tom muttered as he watched you lay down on the sofa, your head is supported by the armrest.

See—it should’ve been you, Ophelia, Alex, William, and Tom in that AirBnB, not just you and Tom.

The five of you reside abroad, however, you all had to fly to Los Angeles for work. You all collectively knew that it would be irresponsible to fly home for the holidays and it wouldn’t make any sense as you would all fly back for work anyway.

The five of you had a brilliant idea of renting an AirBnB for the holidays since you were all in each other’s personal and work bubble anyway. Obviously, the three of them bailed as they’ve decided to stay with their partners instead, leaving you and Tom alone—which is the last thing you’ve wanted.

“There’s just us two, Tom,” You replied as you sent a lengthy text to Ophelia, telling and reminding them about what happened between you and Tom. “I’m not entirely sure if it’s worth anything if we did plan on doing something remotely festive.”

There are four more days till Christmas and if you were being honest, the last time you felt festive was on the 18th of December...of 2019.

“Surely there’s something we can do, right?” Tom’s optimism still shined beneath him. “This year has already been shitty enough, we don’t need to feed more into that.”

The three dots bubble immediately popped up on your message thread with Ophelia as soon as you sent your passive-aggressive rant. Your focus was now on your phone.

Suddenly, Tom’s face appeared on top of yours—his face was definitely close enough that it’s not CDC approved. He was standing on side of the sofa, both of his palms planted against the armrest as he loomed over you.

“What do you and your family do during Christmas?” He dared to ask as if he wasn’t towering over you.

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Uh—give each other personal space?” You answered out of sheer reflex. You always had a problem with keeping your mouth shut, especially when it sounds rude to other people. In your defence, being unable to do so has helped you put people back in place.

To be fair, you were used to people standing at least 6 ft away from you ever since the pandemic started.

Tom’s cheeks went bright red. “’m sorry,” He apologized, giving you a shy smile and scratched the back of his neck. You muttered a quick apology too, for acting so rashly.

You rose from your position and sat upright instead. “Well, we never do anything special during Christmas,” You said as you threw your hair into a bun. “We usually just go to the movies on Christmas Day because that’s the only thing you can do back when life was normal.”

Tom nodded understandingly as if he was taking this into account. Now you were curious.

“Do you guys do anything special for Christmas?” You asked him.

“Well, on Christmas Day, we would usually just lounge around the house and use it as a chance for me and my family to catch up,” Tom replied. “However, on Christmas Eve, my mum always made sure my brothers and I would have this scavenger hunt to look for our gifts—It’s really fun, actually.” Tom smiled sadly.

You could easily see how Tom was genuinely broken about not being able to be around his family over the holidays. Heck—he really just misses his family. But who wouldn’t? Britney Spears didn’t sing the line “my loneliness is killing me” for nothing.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say. Aside from biting your tongue, being able to easily comfort people was one of your weaknesses too.

“Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry about, darling.” Tom quickly dismissed the genuine heartbreak he was trying to hide. “We’re all making sacrifices and we chose to be responsible for the benefit of other people.”

“Yeah, I know.” You said softly. “We’ll just try our best to make something out of this holiday season. I mean—we have to or else we’ll welcome 2021 with a fresh face of misery.”

“I’m sorry!” Ophelia pouted at the screen as they mindlessly walked around their partner’s place, something that most people do when they’re on the phone with someone. “I genuinely forgot about what happened between you and Tom.”

“Well, Ollie, it seems like you weren’t the only one.” You replied, adjusting your glasses. Tom seems to be genuinely fine around you, no awkward tensions or anything. If anything, it’s just you who feels weird around him. “But I guess that’s a good thing right?”

Ophelia forced a smile but they couldn’t, for the life of them, say anything about it.

“Oh my god,” You sighed “Seriously, Ollie?”

“It’s just—how could he forget?! You were literally on top of him as I recall and that very much left a permanent image on my mind. I—You know, I really tried my best to forget that ever existing in my mind. So really, if anything, it’s your fault.” Ophelia rambled on.

“I—I wasn’t on top of him. That’s absurd! I was merely pressed against him” You said defensively, in which Ophelia just laughed atrociously. “Why am I friends with you again?!” You asked rhetorically, bewildered by the fact that you two lasted this long.

“First of all, that is a hate crime. Second, I’m cool—like everyone wants to be my friend and you should be glad that I gave you the privilege to be even on a nickname basis as me.”

You rolled your eyes at them. Despite the never-ending banter, you were grateful to have Ophelia as your friend.

“But seriously, Y/N,” Ophelia said, “You can always just stay with me and Ericka. She’ll be glad to have you over for the holidays.”

“Ollie, as much as I love spending time with you two—I can’t stand being a third-wheel, especially when it comes to the both of you. You two are inseparable when you’re together.” You replied. “I appreciate the offer though.” You smiled at her.

“I’m just saying—” Ophelia replied, shrugging her shoulder. “Unless you and Tom really want to have the house by yourselves.” They sang teasingly.

“Ophelia!” You gasped.

“What?” They feigned innocence. “I gave you an option to stay with us! Plus, I know Alex and Will are would’ve asked you to stay with them if they had any idea what happened between you two.”

“I can’t leave him!” You started to whisper “Tom seems genuinely bummed being here. I can’t just do that to him.”

It’s as if a light came on inside them. Ophelia started to smirk and you recognized that smirk from anywhere. For christ’s sake, their eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. It drove you nuts. “I fucking knew it.”

“What?”

“You like him don’t you?!” They teased, but all you could do was blush.

“I do not!” You denied it as you could still feel the burning heat emitting from your cheeks.

“His tongue is that good huh?” Ophelia decided to pry even further. They clearly find enjoyment as you squirmed your way out of this conversation.

“Bitch, I am ending this call.” That was all you could say. Even if you did find a smart retort, it was no use, especially with Ophelia. They can see right through you and there’s no point in trying to hide it.

“Honestly, Y/N, we’re living through a pandemic. If there’s any time to make any rash decisions, it’s now. Go get that dick, bih—”

You drowned out whatever Ophelia was trying to say with your goodbyes and proceeded to end the call. The one time you asked your friend to be serious and they come up with this.

So—what really happened with you and Tom?

It was two years ago. You were at a party that you didn’t even plan on attending. However, you were dragged by Ophelia and their partner, Ericka—your new friends in the area. You couldn’t say no to them, they were your first friend in LA!

You thought about it though, saying no. But when you got a message from your friend back in Canada sending a photo of your boyfriend ex-boyfriend (the same guy who had ghosted you ever since you moved to LA), swapping spits with another girl, you suddenly had the strong urge to drink until you die of alcohol poisoning.

You were burning with anger that you really felt tears pricking your eyes. You were so close to crying or punching someone—whichever comes first.

One thing’s for sure, though, you weren’t going to cry over a man. So what did you do? “Ophelia, where’s the booze?!” You asked your friend whose eyes nearly popped out of their head.

Well, you weren’t really going to punch a stranger. Though you felt this burning sense of violence, it’d be much more satisfying to punch the living daylights out on your ex.

“Y/N, honey, are you alright?” That line always puts on the waterworks, no? Ophelia was clearly concerned about your newfound thirst for alcohol.

You furiously wiped the tears off your face. “Um just found out my boyfriend—er ex-boyfriend, who stopped talking to me as soon as I moved here, is seeing someone else now? I don’t know, am I allowed to feel angry when I don’t even know if we’re still together as soon I moved? Fuck—” You tried to explain as you wiped every tear that left your eyes.

“Oh—of course, hon.” Ericka who handed you a drink. You weren’t exactly sure what it is, but you knew it has alcohol in it and that’s all that matters. You gulped the entire thing and you wanted more. “Y/N, you need to slow down.”

“Are you sure you want to stay? I mean we can crash at our place, eat take-outs, watch movies and be totally disconnected from the world.” Ophelia suggested, but you shook your head furiously.

“No, I—I’m ok.” You answered “I can’t let the both of you be stuck in misery with me. I need this. I’ll get drunk and if I'm up for it, I’ll hook up with someone. It’s not a healthy coping method but I really want this night to be a series of bad decisions. I don’t want to be myself, even just tonight.”

So that’s what you did. You were going from one drink to another in record time. Both Ophelia and Ericka kept an eye on you, just in case someone tried to take advantage of your drunken state.

You were talking to some guy you met in the kitchen, one thing led to another and next thing you knew, you were making out with this dude in someone’s bathroom. Ophelia and Ericka were drunk enough to pester the guy you were making out with but not drunk

As you were propped on top of the sink and your legs wrapped around his waist, you felt every bit of his lips explore the side of your neck as his hands explored every inch of your body. With his hand under your shirt and his fingers tracing every part of your skin, it just reminded you of how lonely you were.

Here you were, a thousand miles away from home, all alone just so you could do the one thing you really love. Your family would sometimes call to check up on you but it just wasn’t the same. Your ex tried to guilt you into staying in Canada, but you couldn’t do that. You love what you do and you love yourself too.

You were willing to risk everything, even if happiness came at a price.

Now you were crying, and the guy you were making out with definitely noticed.

“I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked as he pulled down your shirt.

“No—no, I’m just—” You tried to calm yourself down. “I’m not sure if I want to do this anymore.”

“That’s alright,” He mumbled wiping the tears off your face. “Do you want to talk about it? You seem rattled.”

“It’s just I’m so tired of pretending everything is alright—that I’m okay being alone, that I don’t need anyone. But it’s just so hard because I’m—” You sobbed “I’m so fucking lonely. I’m so tired of being alone.”

The guy tucked the stray piece of hair behind your ears as he carefully wiped your tears with his thumb. He was just silent as he listened to you sob.

“I’m sorry, I know you definitely didn’t come to this party to watch a complete stranger cry over something stupid.” You couldn’t even look him in the eye, you were embarrassed as this was the first time you felt really vulnerable—especially in front of a stranger.

“No, you’re alright.” He tried to console you “I think that’s the beauty in strangers, no? You can act and do whatever you want in front of them because there’s a slim chance you’ll ever see them again.”

You were definitely drunk enough that trying to make sense of who the person was a struggle enough of itself. You tried your best to look at the guy but your vision was getting hazy and you could feel your head thumping that focusing made you feel like you want to crack your head in half.

A loud knock on the door caused you two to jump. “I’m coming in,” Ophelia yelled and opened the door. Ophelia looked at the guy for a while, trying to make sense of who he was before their eyes widened. “I remember now—You’re Tom Holland.”

Imagine your surprise when you found out that you were going to work with Tom Holland for a while. You tried your best to avoid Tom at work but of course, that didn’t work out. He never brought up what happened between you two and you assumed he probably forgot all about it.

You tried to rationalize that he meets a lot of people every day. Surely, one failed hook-up wasn’t worth remembering (especially with alcohol involved) and you held on to that.

At least that’s what makes you sleep at night and also one of the reasons why you considered spending the holidays with him. However, you were also expecting your crew friends to stay with you and not just Tom.

“Y/N, did you like the gift? It’s from me and Ericka!” Ophelia asked. It was the next day and you two were just chatting on FaceTime. You were sorting out your closet out of sheer boredom. You figured if you were going to stay here for three weeks, the least you could do was sort your clothes out.

You stared at the neatly wrapped box that Ophelia and Ericka dropped off earlier this morning. “I haven’t opened it yet.” You said as you showed them the box. “I wanna open it till Christmas.”

“Oh my god, just open it. Christmas doesn’t exist this year, babe.” Ophelia waved their hand, encouraging you to open it.

“Fine,” You gave in. You opened the box and saw a very lush and well-made lingerie set. “Ophelia, what the fuck” You gasped. You held out the lingerie in front of the camera.

“Y/N, I definitely outdid myself this time.” Ophelia sighed happily, staring at the screen. “Try it on!”

“Ollie, this is gorgeous but when am I ever going to use this?” You asked holding it out on your body and looking at the mirror.

“Uh—you’re stuck at home with your failed but also potential hookup,” Ollie suggested, wiggling their eyebrows. “Who knows what might happen?”

You rolled your eyes at them. “Bold of you assume that something might happen.”

“Something won’t happen if you don’t try that one,” Ophelia said. “C’mon, I wanna see.”

You shook your head and went out of frame in order to strip off your clothes. You tried on the lingerie—it’s a black lace teddy with a very exposing back. IT fit you perfectly—it accentuated your figure and definitely showed off your boobs. You weren’t really fond of showing off your body but you still tried your best to show it to your friend.

“What do you think?” You asked, stepping back to the frame.

“You look gorgeous, babe!” Ophelia squealed. “I knew I made the right choice with black.”

“I still don’t know where I should wear this though—” You were stopped mid-sentence when your door swung open.

“I know what we’re doing this—Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” Tom stood there, frozen, his eyes widened and immediately shut the door.

You couldn’t even say anything. You were frozen in shock.

“Was that Tom?” Ophelia asked from the call, briefly forgetting that you were talking to them through FaceTime.

You nodded slowly, unable to talk.

“What did he think?” Ophelia asked excitedly.

You snapped out of this haze. “Ollie,” you groaned. “I think he was mentally scarred.

“What do you mean scarred? You look great!” Ophelia said, appalled. “If he doesn’t think you look banging in that lingerie then it’s his loss.”

“I gotta go, I need to change.” You said, bidding Ophelia goodbye. “Thanks for the gift, Ollie. Tell Ericka thanks too.”

You ended the call and changed into comfier clothes. You couldn’t help but wonder how on earth you’re going to face Tom now that he’s seen you practically naked. Well, it’s not like that’s a new sight. He did see you with your bra on when you were making out in the bathroom that one time. But still!

Are you actually going to spend your Christmas in your room?

It was the next day and there are only two more days till Christmas. You spent the entirety of last night in your room after the incident between you and Tom.

You were about to make yourself some coffee when you found Tom in the kitchen, making tea for himself. You stood there frozen, wondering if you were going to proceed to the kitchen or just run back to your room since Tom hasn’t noticed you—

“Oh—good morning, Y/N.” So close.

You smiled at Tom and said, “Good morning, Tom.”

You grabbed a coffee pod and waited for the Keurig to make your coffee. You leaned back against the counter and fiddled with your phone—all in the hopes that things move quickly and for this awkward tension to be over.

Honestly, why were you so worked up about it? People have seen you in a bikini before and that’s no different from lingerie. If anything, lingerie is itchier and has lace. You should be able to feel confident in your own body and you shouldn’t have to mind what other people think of it. It’s yours alone and it’s your opinion that should matter—

“I’m terribly sorry about last night, Y/N.” Tom apologized, sincerity was written all over his face. “I should’ve knocked and I just got so bloody excited about what we can do over Christmas—but that’s no excuse for what I’ve done. What I did was incredibly intrusive and you deserve a proper apology.”

“Tom, I—”

“I wanted to apologize last night—over dinner—but you didn’t come down to eat, so I figured you didn’t want to talk. “ He rambled on.

“Tom—”

“But even then I should’ve asked you to come down and eat dinner because that’s what any decent human would do! And yet I didn’t. God—I’m just doing one wrong thing after another—”

“Tom, listen to me.”

“Hm?” He finally snapped out and looked at you in the eyes.

“It’s okay. It was an honest mistake and you sincerely apologized, and for me, that’s enough.” You smiled softly at him. “So—what’s this thing you planned over Christmas?”

“I was thinking we could do both our family traditions over the next two days. My family and I usually do a roast dinner and open our Christmas stockings on Christmas Eve. Then on the 25th, we can watch movies all day just like you do with your family.” Tom grinned, clearly satisfied with his plan. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” You smiled “However, I don’t think we have any ingredients for a roast dinner and we don’t really have Christmas stockings. Well—I don’t have any Christmas stockings and stocking stuffers.”

“That’s true,” Tom mumbled “But I have to do the food shopping anyway. We’re running low on food and I couldn't really book one of those online delivery things that most groceries now offer.”

You nodded. “Okay, so I guess I have to get the house sorted then.”

When you two first arrived in this AirBnB a few days ago, it had already been decorated for Christmas. It had a massive tree in the living room decorated with stunning and intricately-themed ornaments. Christmas garlands were wrapped around the stair-bannisters and foliages were placed by the fireplace and the tables.

All you really had to do was clean the place—do a bit of vacuuming and get things nice and neat for Christmas. It didn’t take you too long to do it too. It had only been a couple of minutes since Tom left to do the food shopping and you prayed to the gods that he doesn’t get too much attention whilst out.

You figured you might as well do some last-minute shopping while Tom was out, so you can grab gifts for him as well. After all, this whole thing was orchestrated by Tom and you don’t even have anything to give him for his stockings.

You arrived at your AirBnB a tad later than Tom. He was in the kitchen putting things away when he saw you walk through the door.

“Ah, I was wondering whether I spooked you with my plan,” Tom commented, making you chuckle and roll your eyes.

“Trust me, I would’ve made it very obvious if you did.” You replied, earning a laugh from Tom. “I went out to do my last-minute shopping. Granted, it’s not ideal since we’re still living through a pandemic, but there’s not actually that many people where I went to considering it’s the Christmas rush.”

You made sure to hide the stuff you bought using the handmade tote bags that a friend gave you for your birthday. No retail bags, no clue. “How did you survive the groceries? I bet it’s busy out there.”

“Yeah, it was.” Tom chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Remind me to never do that again for Christmas.”

“Sure,” You said, “That is if I spend another Christmas with you.” You said jokingly, hoping that Tom didn’t find that rude.

“You’ll never know,” Tom shrugged. “What if you liked our Christmas this year and you’d be begging to spend Christmas with me and my family in London,” Tom smirked, playing along.

“Yeah, right.” You scoffed playfully, crossing your arms. “If anyone’s begging, it’s going to be you.”

Tom stepped closer, “Wanna bet?” He whispered, a teasing look in his eyes. “Whoever has the most fun during our respective holiday traditions would have to spend the holidays with them next year.”

“Oh, you’re on, Holland.” You took a step closer. “We will both film our holidays for the entire two days and then we’ll ask Ophelia, Alex, and Will to vote whoever looks like they had the most fun.”

“Okay,” Tom nodded “But no editing! We’ll give them raw footage so there are no chances of tampering.”

You laughed but you agreed anyway. “Of course, we’ll give them hours of footage. The least we could do is make them sit through hours of content after they ditched us all alone on the holidays.”

Tom gave a broad smile. “Let the festivities begin.”

It was the 24th of December—Christmas Eve. You spent the entirety of last night wrapping Tom’s presents for later. Not that you despise Christmas, but it’s been a while since you were actually excited to celebrate it. It was pretty clear that the magic of Christmas dies once you grow up.

Today was different; you were looking forward to whatever Tom has installed for tonight.

You went downstairs to make some breakfast only to be greeted by Tom blasting Christmas music and preparing some ingredients for breakfast in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Y/N, happy Christmas Eve,” Tom greeted with a huge grin. “Say, hi to the camera.”

“Oh, we’re starting this early, huh?” You asked, putting your hair into a loose ponytail.

“Why of course, we have to make the best out of this,” Tom said, holding the camera to your face. “I made you coffee.” Tom handed you a cup of coffee.

“Are you using my love for coffee as an advantage?” You tried to hide your smile while drinking your coffee.

“Obviously not,” Tom feigned his innocence. “I obviously did not know you were obsessed with coffee—it’s not like I don’t see you on set without one.” He mumbled in which you definitely heard, giving him a smack on the head. “Ow! I’m kidding.” He laughed.

You rolled your eyes at him. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“We’re going to make french crèpes,” Tom replied and propped the camera on the kitchen island, facing the two of you.

“Do you know how to make french crèpes?” You asked, washing your hands.

Tom blinked, almost trying to decide whether he wants to be honest or impressive. “Do you know how to make french crèpes?” He returned the question.

“Oh honey, my mom resents me in the kitchen.” You replied, taking a sip from your coffee. “But you know, I manage.” You murmured.

“That’s giving me a lot of hope, darling, thank you.” He said half-heartedly.

“Shut up,” You nudged him playfully, rolling your eyes. “Tom, honestly, most of the footage is just us bantering for 20 minutes.”

“To be fair, that’s part of the fun.” Tom smiled. “Okay, I think you just mix all of these in a bowl. Start with the dry ingredients first.” He said, looking at the recipe on his phone.

“Okay, that shouldn’t be too hard,” You commented pouring the ingredients into the bowl. As you started all of the ingredients together, you noticed small lumps forming in the batter. “Tom, did you sift the dry ingredients by chance?”

“You were supposed to sift it?” He asked, completely clueless.

You nodded slowly. Panic was now clearly painted on his face. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him.

It was not fine. The first time you two tried to pour the batter in the pan, you burnt the entire thing. It’s not even the cute, lightly burnt crepe. It was activating the smoke alarm-burnt crepe.

The next one was pancake-like. The next one after that had pocket flours on the crepes because you two didn’t sift your dry ingredients beforehand. You ran out of the batter when you two finally got the consistency right—you managed to get one proper crepe from the entire batter.

“I feel like Sam would probably curse me out as soon as he finds out I fucked up a simple crepe,” Tom said, delicately filling the crepe with creme and berries. “My brother’s done so well in culinary school.” He cut a piece with his fork and brought it to your mouth.

“Well, you can’t have everything.” You said taking a bite out of the crepe. “This is better than the last one.”

Tom nodded, taking a bite of it himself. “It’s not as tasty as Sam’s but I’ll take it.”

“Now, I’m curious as to what your brother’s cooking tastes like.” You commented taking another bite from the crepe.

“I guess I’ll just take you home to London to find out,” Tom teased with an annoying grin.

“As long as I’m being fed, I’m fine with it.” You remarked. What in god’s name are you are you two playing?!

The day rolled by very quickly. It was already evening when you finished wrapping the presents for your friends. You plan on dropping it off tomorrow before you persuade Tom to glue yourselves on the couch for the entire day.

You grabbed all of Tom’s gifts—Christmas stocking included— when you went downstairs, only to be greeted by someone yelling at Tom through his phone.

“I did everything right, Sam. I don’t know why you’re yelling.” Tom yelled back at his phone. His back was turned against you as he was putting away the pots and pans that he used.

You quietly walked up behind him and said calmly, “Why are you yelling?”

Tom probably jumped six feet away from you, making you laugh. You always forget that he gets scared easily. “Holy shit, don’t scare me like that, Y/N.” Tom breathed out, putting a hand over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” You said whilst laughing. “I promise I won’t do it again.” Tom rolled his eyes, murmuring something about you being insincere about it.

“Please do it again!” You heard, whom you assume is Sam, say from the background. You looked at Tom’s phone that’s propped on the island and saw his brothers on FaceTime.

You beamed at them. “Any recommendations?” You asked, hearing Tom groan behind you.

“Well, he hates—”

“This is the last thing I want in 2020, for my brothers and Y/N to conspire against me,” Tom said loudly on purpose, drowning his brothers' voices.

“Tom, don’t be rude. Let your brothers finish—” Tom put his hand against your mouth.

“I’ll call you guys later,” Tom said “Wave goodbye, Y/N.” He used his free hand to grab your hand and forced a wave towards his brothers. The call soon came to an end and you could only roll your eyes at Tom. You seem to do that a lot around him. You also do a lot of that when you try to hide your feelings towards a person you like but that’s beside the point.

“So are we going to have dinner first or are we going to do presents first?” You asked fixing your Christmas sweater, a gift from your parents since you and your family usually wear matching sweaters for Christmas. “Or are you the type to wait until Christmas Day to open presents?”

“We can do the Christmas stockings after dinner tonight, then do the presents tomorrow, if you’d like,” Tom answered with his arms crossed.

You shrugged, telling him it doesn’t matter since you don’t really go all out on Christmas. Your family on the other hand—the house is always full of people, especially since most of your extended family are usually around during the holidays. You had this ongoing game you made for yourself whether or not you’ll be able to greet everyone with the number of people in the house.

You could only guess how quiet your family’s Christmas is going to be. You definitely needed to call your parents later.

“Is the sweater that itchy, Y/N?” You heard Tom ask, breaking away from your thoughts.

“Huh?” You asked, confused. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been scratching yourself subconsciously.

“You’ve been scratching yourself since I saw you.” Tom said, chuckling. “It’s a cute sweater on you.”

You smirked. “That reminds me—I got something for you, Tom.” Tom raised his brow as you grabbed the bag you stashed behind the tree. “Actually my parents got this for you. A little thank you gift apparently for having the tolerance to stay with me over the holidays—as if you had a choice.” You mumbled the last part.

Tom curiously opened the bag and there revealed a matching sweater such as yours. This year’s sweater was green and had red tinsel all over it, probably the reason why you’re itchy. The real kicker is that—

“No way,” Tom gasped “It lights up?!” He asked laughing. It lights up.

“Yeah, I don’t recommend turning that on. I did it earlier and I’m pretty sure I was about to combust—it’s a real fire hazard.” You replied, enjoying the genuine joy that Tom is showing on his face.

“Oh but we have to turn the lights on when we take pictures,” He commented as he put on the sweater. “Thanks, Y/N.” He said softly, surprising you with a hug.

It’s the first real physical contact that you two had ever since that night when you made out and you were pretty adamant that people were just making up this notion of having butterflies in their stomach—they weren’t.

Tom’s roast dinner went surprisingly well. You kept teasing him that it’s Sam that you had to thank because you knew that Tom wouldn’t last in the kitchen without his brother’s instructions. Tom pouted the whole time. You eventually had to tell him

“It was sweet.” You told him as you helped him clear out the plates.

Tom was confused.

“I don’t think I’ve known someone that went through hell and back just to make a great effort Christmas dinner —even if it means getting yelled at by your brother.” You said, smiling softly at him. “I mean it’s just us two, really. We don’t even have to do this.”

“Think that’s the reason why I wanted to do it,” Tom replied. Now you’re confused. “It’s because it’s the two of us—that’s why I wanted to do it.”

As soon as you heard those words come out of Tom’s lips, you tried your best to stay calm. To say that you weren’t overwhelmed with emotions would be a huge lie. For someone who couldn’t hold their tongue, you were speechless. Tom’s giving you a run for your money and you weren’t exactly thrilled about it.

After dinner, you and Tom opened your stocking presents. The presents were pretty tame at the start—you both got each other socks, which was hilarious but greatly appreciated. You love socks, especially comfy and cushiony ones. You came to learn that Tom does too, which prompted you two to wear the socks immediately.

You got him candy canes, he got you chocolates. You also snuck in those small, in-flight alcohol bottles in there too—which he ended up loving. He got you those 10-pack skincare face masks, in which you let out a huge gasp, making him laugh.

“Oh, we have to use this at some point!” You exclaimed happily “Like, we need to have a spa night—where we just watch movies, doing face masks, eating takeouts. Oh, that’s the dream!” You sighed happily.

“We still have two weeks left till we go back to work, I'm sure we can find the time to do that,” Tom said with a permanent smile on his face, watching you with pure joy made him feel like he accomplished something big.

You got him one of those Instax polaroid cameras—true, it was a bit too much for a stocking stuffer especially since the box definitely stood out against the stocking, but you figured he’ll like it.

“Darling, this is too much but I’m thankful,” Tom commented as he took out the camera from the box. “I can’t wait to use this and keep memories using it—why don’t we start right now?! Let’s take a photo of us and our matching sweaters!”

Tom took a lot of photos of you two, in the end. A couple of overexposed photos, one with the matching sweaters, one with your faces pressed against each other, one with your faces way too close to the camera, and one where he gave you a kiss on your cheek (he asked if that’s okay, of course, you said yes. it’s not like he hasn’t kissed you before— still no conversations about that, by the way). It was a good thing you got him at least 3 boxes of those 20 pack films in his stockings as well.

The real kicker was Tom’s “small” stocking present for you. He got you this dainty, gold necklace with a crescent moon charm. You were pretty sure it was expensive because of the teal box it came with.

“Stop,” You gasped “Tom, now this—this is too much.” You stressed out. “I can’t have this. Nope, you have to return this.”

Tom shrugged as if it was nothing. “You deserve it. Darling, you deserve something nice after this shitty year.”

“Tom, I’m serious. This is too much.”

“I’m serious too, Y/N. Keep it, please. I’d be offended if you don’t.”

After the roller coaster of emotions due to the stocking presents, you gave your parents a call to wish them a merry Christmas. They insisted to do a video call because they wanted to see Tom in the family sweater—which your mom wouldn’t stop gushing about.

“I think your mum loves me,” Tom whispered closely in your ear. He didn't have to try too hard. With the laptop propped up on top of the coffee table, you two were sitting close together on the living room floor—knees touching, maximum close skin contact. CDC would never approve.

“Yeah, I think it’s the accent,” You mumbled jokingly.

Tom moved his head to take a good look at you, smiling. You could feel his eyes burning your skin. Why does he have to look at you like that? Why does he have to be this close?

The initial video call with your parents turned into a whole family reunion when you found out they set up a group call with your extended family. Imagine the dread and fear in your eyes when you heard your one aunt ask,

“Finally, Y/N, is that your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widened as you stuttered to say your defence, making Tom chuckle. You frowned at him and nudged him saying, “Don’t laugh, tell them no or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“No, unfortunately, I’m not,” Tom replied, laughing. “However, I do believe we make a cute couple, don’t we?” He teased, earning an earnest yes from your mom.

You could only wish for the floor to swallow you whole.

As the clocks rolled to twelve, it was officially Christmas. You and Tom figured you might as well start opening gifts again because Christmas Day is going to be a drag for the two of you.

“Okay, start with this.” You said as you handed him a gift bag. You didn’t give him a lot of gifts for the actual Christmas Day because you went all out on the stuffers.

“Pyjamas?” He asked with a grin. You made a signal for him to give you a minute. You ran to your room and changed into pyjamas.

“Not just pyjamas, Tom, but matching pyjamas!” You exclaimed, laughing. “I saw it and figured we should do this for my day.”

“Sick!” Tom laughed. Tom got into his pair of pyjamas as well and of course, he didn’t forget to pull out his new polaroid camera to take a photo of you two. “Shit, I forgot to film our entire Christmas Eve.” He said as he saw the camera that was still sitting on the kitchen island from earlier that morning.

You shrugged. “I’m pretty sure you’ll win either way. Just that content from the breakfast crepes was enough to secure your place.” You said jokingly.

“All I’m hearing is that you’re going to spend Christmas with me in London next year.” Tom sang teasingly.

“Yeah, maybe bringing you to our big Christmas holidays is a bad idea.” You wondered out loud.

“I like your family,” Tom commented with a smile “and I think they will love having me there for the holidays.”

“That would be a nightmare.” You mumbled to yourself.

The rest of the night dragged on. You and Tom finished the rest of your gifts—you got him a watch, he got you a vinyl player. You two managed to watch the first Harry Potter film before you called it a night.

You were about to head into your room when you heard Tom say, “Mistletoe.”

“Hm?” You hummed, confused. He placed a finger under your chin and gently tilted your head. There you saw a mistletoe hanging by one of the light fixtures.

“How did that even—”

“Can I kiss you?” Tom asked, cupping the sides of your face.

“Hm?” Tom was definitely giving you a run for your money. How can a girl with a speech turn speechless?

“Can I kiss you?” He asked more softly. All you could do was nod. For if you even dare to open your mouth, all of this would cease to exist.

His lips gently touched yours and then soon moulded into one. It was soft, sweet—familiar. His lips were something you never thought about—at least not a lot but you craved it. You crave his lips, his touch, him. You were riding a new high and you thanked every single god that you were sober to remember this—because this, this is something you want to cherish.

“You told me you’re tired of being alone,” Tom whispered against your lips. “You don’t have to be anymore. Not when you have me, not ever.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11 @tomshufflepuff @spider-babe @goodgirlgonetom

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland blurb #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland angst #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au #tom holland and y/n #tom holland x you #the girl writes i guess #txmhoellandwrites

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vermillioncrown · 3 years ago

Note

The idea of jzx trying to wingman for MianLin has taken me out. Good luck to all parties. Although would that be worse than him trying to wingman for non Mianmians? I am biding my time, but I think I am leaning towards non sect leaders, particularly if you are planning to do the Wenhui AU. Let each ZYX experience their own mortifying ordeals! NHS might be fun, I think all he schemes at this point is how to get out of saber practice and increase his allowance, I don't think hes a born mastermind

jzx has to go through the five stages of grief learn about the five stages of grief before going through them, and then he will do what he must (this is only the case if he discovers these romantic entanglements after his own marriage)

him trying to wing for non-mianlin would kill him. and probably piss zyx off at the same time

"dashao-ye stop fucking with this one's room assignment" (during discussion conferences at lanling jin, jzx taking over for jgy in pushing zyx and their potential li in rooms next to each other)

and zyx knows jzx is up to something, just not what, and it drives them bonkers bc it's the one time (barring the friendship makeup arc) that jzx is refusing to speak/give in

(it does give them a great opportunity to look at [love interest] first and last thing of the day, the only indulgence zyx allows with their stupid fucking crush)

^ mini-spoiler alert, i guess ^

(yeah i worked w a mutual to hash out a loose plotline/structure to eventually writing out the LWH au)

(y'all just see a clown and think 'man i love fucking with em', huh)

there hasn't been much opportunity to hang w nhs yet (and i agree w your points), but think about it. a guy who doesn't like fighting the nie way, would prefer arts and beauty and painting his fans... what will he think given the opportunity to see zyx take on a crowd of mooks with bajiao?

#inquiry #Anonymous #dbd love shack #sigh you know if we just stuck w low-stakes school life #zyx is such a boring bitch that doesn't hang around for shit #there wouldn't be further opportunities to interact with other characters unless they go out their way to interact w zyx #the first three months at CR were anomalous #+ boosted by 'new kid' aura as a drama multiplier #but otherwise in like... the university au #besides the circumstances that drew wangxian's attention zyx is quite unremarkable outside her obnoxiously dyed hair #which is why it is taking forever to see other people in dbd #and i am very sorry

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forsworned · 3 years ago

Text

[♥] collegeau! unintentionally roommates {renguko kyoujurou x reader}

Genre: Comedy, Slight Fluff(?)

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Renguko Kyoujorou/Reader

Word count: 1,096

a/n: ,,requests are open part 2 here

➽────────────── ────────────── ──────────── ❥

Admittedly, it was a little heartbreaking saying your goodbye's to your family as they dropped you off at campus for your first year at college. Your mom couldn't help but sob and give you the old "you were just a baby in my arms and now you're going to college" spiel. And well your dad, he was trying his hardest not to sob as he helped you unload your baggage. You kissed and hugged them before sending them back off on the road.

An audible sigh of relief and smile tugged at your lips as you carried your things and headed towards your assigned dorm. It was absolutely surreal watching as students filed in and out of buildings. Most of them scrambling to get to their destinations and settle in their spaces, although you were a bit more prepared than most. You were already familiar with campus, which dorm you'd be in and even met and exchanged messages with your soon to be roommate.

As you headed into the dorm building, you went straight to the elevator and hit the number 3. And as it was about to close, a hand shot right through the crevice of the elevator where the doors were about to meet. You flinched at the swiftness.

How annoying. You grit your teeth. That is until you saw how captivating the person behind the platform doors were. It was like the sun had erupted when the barrier opened and you could've sworn you heard angels singing. Tresses of fiery hair and eyes to match enveloped your vision in a blazing fashion. The fact that someone could pull off hair as good as him just simply had to be a sin.

"Sorry about that." He beamed. His smile was enough to spread warmth across your cheeks, yet send a shiver up your spine.

Oblivious to your being moonstruck, he glanced over at the elevator buttons to get to his destination. "Oh, you're living on the same floor as me?"

You could've sworn your heart stopped in that moment. "Y-yeah, you're dorming on level 3, too?"

Yes, please [name]. Please choke on your words some more while you're at it.

The elevator dinged and you both simultaneously stepped out. "Yeah, I'm at Room," He fished out his key card and caught a glimspe of the number. "302."

ROOM 302?!

He was already a short distance ahead of you and you clambered over to him as he watched the keycard do its magic, going from red to green. Your thoughts were absolutely racing as he stepped inside and dropped his bags to the floor. It couldn't be--it literally can't be.

"Huh?" He peeped over his shoulder to see you there gawking at him. "Oh, hey. I never got your name."

"Y-you're dorming...here?" You uttered in disbelief.

"Yup." He smiled at you again with such intense warmth, but it faltered when he saw you absolutely crumble to the ground. Yup, you definitely just passed out on the ground in front of rank S hottie. Nice one, [name].

╰ ☼ ╮

The sensation of mellowness hugged at your body and you felt the corners of your lips turn into a pleased expression as you opened your eyes and stretched. But were in for a rude or rather splendidly unexpected awakening.

"Oh, [name] you're awake."

Your body completely froze in place. It couldn't be.

Your head slowly rotated in the sound of the voice that you were already aware of who it belonged to. Low and behold, the glorious hottie that was seated in the bed that was, by now, completely furnished across from where you laid. Your body jolted awake, stiff to the bone as you, once again, stare stupidly and vacant at him.

"How do you know my name and where is my roommate?" It was more of a demand than it was a question. He chuckled at your sudden abruptness. Was it warranted? Most definitely. Was it everyday that a girl dormed with guy? Most definitely not.

"Well," He handed you your card and school ID. "You dropped this when you passed on the floor."

Your cheeks flushed red in embarassment. You what?!

"I--passed out?" Thousands of thoughts cascaded through your head as you sat there blank faced. Oh, you were a big idiot [name]. Huge idiot.

"B-but, you--and I--" Your brain felt like it was absolutely fried and scrambled. Distressed, you hurriedly pulled out your phone and scrolled through you emails.

╔ ——————————————— ╗

2 weeks ago at 2:20am

from: vivenne freecs

hey [name], i know this is probably

going to suck when i say this...

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You clicked the lock button on your phone. There was no need for you to read the rest because you knew what it was going to say. It wasn't a mistake. This was your dorm and he was your roommate.

"Hey, are you alright?" His face was contorted with worry as he took a seat next to you. You looked up and smiled weakly at him.

"Yeah, I can see now that this wasn't a mistake."

"Well, yeah, it's a co-ed dormitory."

"Co-ed?!" You shrieked. That was almost enough to make you pass out again. If your parents found out about this they would totally freak at you. They weren't crazy strict or anything, but living with a boy who wasn't even blood related or that you knew for that matter. Oh, yeah you were totally dead [name].

The sound of chuckling made your ears perk up and you saw the man who's name you still didn't know trying not to make light at you snickering in the palm of his hand.

"I'm sorry. It's just that it was on the applications when you were signing up for what dorm you wanted to be in, so I thought every one knew." His expression just merely amused watching how you went through the five staged of grief in a span of 5 minutes.

Slowly, you felt the acceptance embrace the inner corners of your brain. Your parents just might kill you if they found out that you were sleeping in the same room as another boy, but fuck it I guess. There was no turning back now.

"It is what it is." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Well, since we're going to be roommates. I should at least know your name."

His eyes twinkled as he spoke and held his hand out."Kyoujorou. Kyoujorou Renguko."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you shook his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Kyoujorou."

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #rengoku kyoujurou #kyoujurou x reader #college au #renguko kyoujurou x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu rengoku #writing #anime #manga #kny x you #kny #kny x y/n #kny reader insert #kny x reader

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

Text

The War Gone Wrong (Obviously) - Stark! Reader x Steve Rogers

This is written for @rogersrogers334.

3rd Person POV

Tony and (Y/n) Stark, the father-daughter duo, stand in the shadows as a projection shows Maria, Howard, and a Younger Tony talking.

After the projected scene is over, both Tony and (Y/n) walk out, side by side, to the front of the stage.

"That's how I wished it happened," Tony says softly into the microphone. "Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, or BARF."

"You really need a better acronym," (Y/n) teases which makes the crowd laugh for a minute or so before the attention turns to the two Avengers. "An extremely costly method of hijacking the hippocampus to . . . clear traumatic memories."

Tony blows out a candle, "Huh." The whole scene around Tony and (Y/n) dissolves. "It doesn't change the fact that my parents never made it to the airport . . . or all the things I did to avoid processing my grief, but . . ." Tony takes off his glasses. "Plus, six hundred eleven million dollars for my little therapeutic experiment? No one in their right mind would've ever funded it.

"Help me out, what's the MIT mission statement?" (Y/n)'s voice echoes through the hall now. "'To generate, disseminate, and preserve knowledge.' And work with others," she adds, "to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges."

"Well, you are the others," Tony picks up (Y/n)'s words - the two having rehearsed this. "And, quiet as it's kept . . . the challenges facing you are the greatest mankind's ever known."

"Plus," (Y/n) says, amusement lighting in her eyes, her voice taking on a teasing tone, "most of you are broke."

The crowd chuckles again and after a moment, Tony says, "Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were. As of this moment . . . every student has been made an equal recipient of the Inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in . . . all of your projects have just been approved and funded."

The crowd of college students breaks out in applause and cheers.

"No strings, no takes . . . just reframe the future!" (Y/n) says over the cheering. "Starting now!"

Above the audience, the teleprompter now reads: Tony: Now I would like to introduce the head of the Foundation, Pepper Potts

Tony stares at the words sadly and then says, "Go break some eggs."

The two exit the stage, side by side.

Ignoring one of the teaches and one of her father's assistants, (Y/n) walks over to the bathroom and changes into a pair of casual clothes for the mission she was supposed to be on.

Approaching her father, (Y/n) says a quick goodbye, and the twenty-four-year-old woman closes her eyes and disappears, arriving in Lagos, Nigeria.

(Y/n), like her mother, was a mutant. (Y/n) had the powers of teleportation, absorption, and the ability to control elements, as well as the ability to shape-shift.

Glancing around for a moment, (Y/n) pulls on a pair of sunglasses, places her COM set in her ear, and walks over to the Black Widow, who is sitting by herself with a tea in her hands.

"Morning, ma'am," (Y/n) greets Natasha Romanoff, "you mind if I sit here? There are no more open tables."

"Sure, go right ahead," Natasha says, hiding a smile at the sight of her best friend. Natasha and (Y/n) had been friends since Natasha had joined SHIELD, as (Y/n) and their partner, Clint, had recruited her.

A waitress walks over and (Y/n) orders a coffee, listening in on the conversation between Natasha, Wanda, Steve, and Sam going on.

"All right, what do you see?" Steve asks.

"Standard beat cops," Wanda murmurs around her cup of coffee in her hand. "Small station. Quiet street. It's a good target."

"There's an ATM in the south corner, which means . . ." Steve begins but Wanda cuts him off.

"Cameras," Wanda says.

"Nice Wanda," (Y/n) murmurs, and Wanda smiles softly at the approval in the older woman's voice.

"Both cross streets are one way," Steve says into the COMs.

"So, compromised escape routes," Wanda guesses.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out," (Y/n) says softly.

"She's right," Steve says and (Y/n)'s cheeks dust a slightly darker color. "See that Range Rover halfway up the block?"

"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda asks. "It's cute."

"Looks like my first car," (Y/n) says with a soft laugh.

"Not the point," Natasha says and (Y/n) grins. "The point is, is that it's bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guys, which means more headaches for somebody."

"Probably us," (Y/n) adds. "I should have stayed with Dad.”

Wanda laughs but then says, her voice more serious, “You know I can move things with my mind, right?”

“You know I can set things on fire, or freeze them, or throw them at people?” (Y/n) says.

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature,” Natasha and (Y/n) say in unison.

“Anybody ever told the two of you that you’re a little paranoid?” Sam asks.

“Not to my face,” Natasha scoffs, exchanging an amused glance with (Y/n) for a moment.

“Nor mine, probably cause my Dad could sue anyone for some odd reason, but, you know, whatever,” (Y/n) says. “Anyway, why?”

“Did you hear something?” Natasha asks.

“Anybody tell you that you two are perfect together?” Sam asks and (Y/n) holds back a fit of laughter and from the expression on Natasha’s face, she was doing the same.

“Eyes on the target, folks,” Steve says, keeping Sam from saying anything else. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Oh, that’s why we’re here,” (Y/n) says. “Watch me get deaded by Rumlow if he’s here.”

“Okay Crazy,” Wanda says, holding back a laugh as the sound of Natasha smacking (Y/n)’s arm sounds through the COMs.

Unknown to everyone but Steve, a garbage truck begins pushing its way through traffic, showing no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles.

“Sam, see that garbage truck?” Steve asks. “Tag it.”

There is a moment of silence before Sam speaks, “That truck is loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

“It’s a battering ram,” Natasha realizes and (Y/n) sets a twenty on the table and stands up, heading for the alleyway where she’d teleported from MIT.

(Y/n) teleports on top of the truck then just outside the Institute for Infectious Diseases Ward.

Soldiers in black armor emerge from two trucks that had driven through the entrance to the Institution.

“Go now!” Steve orders, readying his shield.

“What?” Wanda asks.

“He’s not hitting the police,” Steve says.

“Yeah, no kidding,” (Y/n) grumbles as one of the soldiers shoots where she’d been standing a few moments before, while some of the soldiers shoot gas bombs into the building above (Y/n).

Her fists lighting on fire, (Y/n) knocks out a few of the soldiers before Steve shows up.

“Nice of you to show up,” (Y/n) says with a warm smile towards the super-soldier.

Steve smiles and says into the COMs, “Body armor, AR-15s. We make seven hostiles.”

Sam flies in and up to a rooftop, spinning and using his wings to block the gunfire, taking out two soldiers in the process.

“I make that five,” Sam says.

Wanda arrives and flies over a rooftop into the courtyard, blocking bullets with her powers. She takes control of a soldier and lifts him upwards. “Sam,” she calls, and the Falcon flies down and catches the soldier with one of his wings.

“Four,” Sam says with a grin.

One of Sam’s drones flies by, scanning the inside of the building. “Rumlow’s on the third floor.”

“Aye Wanda,” (Y/n) says, running towards the girl. “Just like we practiced.”

“What about the gas?” comes Wanda’s questioning voice, her Sokovian accent thick at the moment.

“Get it out,” (Y/n) says.

Wanda uses her powers to lift (Y/n) up and through a window.

(Y/n) grabs one of the soldiers and pulls off their gas mask.

(Y/n) advances, taking out about five solders before making her way to the Bio-Hazard area.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon,” (Y/n) warns.

“I’m on it,” Natasha tells her, riding in on a motorcycle. She turns it on its side and skids it towards a soldier, taking out a few more in hand-to-hand combat. Rumlow comes up behind her, dragging her onto an armored vehicle. Natasha tries to electrocute Rumlow but it doesn’t work.

“I don’t work like that no more,” Rumlow taunts. He throws her through a roof hatch into an armored vehicle, drops in a grenade, and shuts the hatch. “Fire in the hole!”

“Get out of there Nat!” (Y/n) calls, moving to stand on a balcony.

Rumlow catches sight of her and sends a bomb her way and (Y/n) gets blasted back into a wall.

Scrambling her feet, (Y/n) presses a hand to her bleeding forehead and breaks into a run as another blast shakes the building behind her.

Another blast sends (Y/n) through a window and she falls over the side of the balcony, onto a metal container, and down onto the concrete below.

(Y/n) groans, rolling over and staggering to her feet, her arm pressed tightly to her ribs, guessing some had broken. “Oh man, those are broken,” (Y/n) grumbles and Wanda rushes over, throwing an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulders, taking some of her weight. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wanda says.

Steve, Sam, and Natasha rush after Rumlow and the soldiers, Steve finally pinning Rumlow to the ground.

“Something’s about to happen,” (Y/n) says, her eyes widening, hearing the conversation between Steve and Rumlow over the COMs. Then she turns to Wanda, “You gotta trust me? All right?” Wanda nods and (Y/n) teleports them to where Steve and Rumlow are.

(Y/n) wraps her arms around Rumlow and nods to Wanda, who shoots the two into the air, not a moment too soon it seemed, because Rumlow explodes, (Y/n) screaming as she absorbs half the blast. The remaining energy hits the side of the building, shattering glass windows and setting the building on fire.

(Y/n) drops back towards the ground, her eyes blurring slightly and Wanda shoots her arms up, catching (Y/n) and lightly lowering her to the ground before the Scarlet Witch looks up at the building in flames and covers her mouth with her hand.

“Oh my . . .” Steve’s bright blue eyes, wide with shock, his mouth hanging open murmurs, “Sam . . . we need . . . Fire and Rescue . . . and a MedEvac team . . . on the south side of the building. We gotta get up there.”

Wanda glances down at (Y/n), whose forehead was bleeding, her right arm resting on her stomach, and the side of her face slightly burned, the woman’s (E/c) eyes fluttering shut.

Natasha and Sam show up a few moments later and Natasha stares wide-eyed at her best friend’s unconscious body resting in Wanda’s lap.

Natasha rushes over and helps some of the medical workers lift (Y/n)’s body onto a stretcher.

The next day finds Natasha and Steve fussing over (Y/n) as she sits up in the Med Bay in the Avengers’ Compound.

“I love all of you, but stop fussing over me,” (Y/n) says, getting to her feet and shrugging off Natasha’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m injured, not dead.”

Steve smiles at the thought, the same words as he had said to Natasha and (Y/n) a few years back when they were on the run from SHIELD, well, HYDRA.

“Steve,” (Y/n) stops the super-soldier as she, Steve, and Natasha walk out of the Med Bay together. “Would you check up on Wanda? She probably feels responsible for what happened.”

Natasha turns to (Y/n) as Steve walks away, towards Wanda’s room, (Y/n) guesses. “Don’t you ever do anything that stupid ever again,” Natasha scolds her friend. “You did it in DC and Sokovia before now. You’re going to kill yourself by the time you die.”

“That’s incredibly strange wording there Miss Romanoff,” (Y/n) says with a smile.

Natasha goes to say something but Sam walks up and leads Natasha down to the briefing room.

A few minutes later, after (Y/n) had changed into a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, she makes her way down to the briefing room, leaning on the doorway as she listens to Thunderbolt Ross, the Secretary of State, speak.

“Five years ago,” Ross begins. “I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass . . . I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives . . . but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” asks Natasha in a falsely respectful voice.

“How about "dangerous"? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?“ Ross says and (Y/n) steps forward into the room from the shadows.

“You don’t think we’re unconcerned about what we leave behind, Secretary?” (Y/n) says in a soft voice, which still carries through the silent room. “I think the Avengers, above all others, know what it’s like to lose the ones they care about and the wreckage left behind.”

Steve and Natasha look over to see (Y/n) standing behind Sam’s chair at the back of the room.

“But,” (Y/n) smiles with a look of disgust in her eyes, “if you must, please, continue.”

“Thank you, Miss Stark,” Ross says, rolling his eyes and pressing a button on a remote in his hands.

News footage from past Avengers and SHIELD matters flash on the screen as he speaks, “New York.” A Chitauri leviathan. Terrified citizens. A soldier firing a gun. The Hulk smashing into buildings, sending dust clouds engulfing the camera.

Rhodey’s expression turns regretful and he glances over his shoulder at Natasha.

“Washington DC,” Ross continues. Three Insight helecarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashes into the Potomac throwing up a massive wave while in the background, (Y/n)’s body hits the river below.

Sam is the one who looks down this time, and Steve spares a glance at (Y/n), whose expression had hardened into one of carefully controlled anger.

“Sokovia,” Ross says, pressing yet another button on his controller. Terrified citizens running. The city rising. A building falling over. Wanda and Tony continue to look at the screen, Wanda swallowing thickly at the sight of her former home behind destroyed.

“Lagos,” The burning building. Paramedics moving bodies. A dead girl. An unconscious (Y/n) being lifted into an ambulance.

Wanda looks particularly affected by the footage from Lagos and (Y/n) steps forward to place a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Steve also sees how discomforted Wanda seems and intervenes.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Ross nods to an aide and the images disappear.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross receives a thick book from one of his aides and slides it across the table to Wanda. She picks it up and then slides it to Rhodey.

“The Sokovia Accords,” Ross tells the Avengers. “Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries . . . it states that the Avengers should no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary. You say that it's enough to be a man. But there are gods. And the rest of us, what are we? They’re giants, we’re what they step on.”

The conversation has (Y/n) remembering what Phil Coulson had told Mike Peterson before he had become DeathLok.

“The good ones, the real deal,” comes (Y/n)’s voice and everyone turns to look at her once again. “They’re, we’re, not heroes because of what we have that you don’t. It’s what we do with it that matters.”

Steve nods and sends (Y/n) an admiring glance. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that,” Steve adds to (Y/n)’s words.

“Tell me, Captain, Miss Stark, do you two know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Ross asks, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“I have a guess,” (Y/n) says, meeting Natasha’s green gaze. “Asgard.”

Ross ignores (Y/n) and says, “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” Rhodey guesses.

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve glances at Tony as Ross heads for the door.

“Talk it over,” Ross finally says.

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Natasha asks.

“Then you retire,” Ross says and Natasha stifles a smile.

A few minutes later, (Y/n) finds herself sitting at the counter in the briefing room, her fingers pressed to her temples as Sam and Rhodey argue behind her.

“I have an equation,” Vision interrupts.

“Oh, this will clear it up,” Sam says, turning to listen to Vision.

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark and Miss Stark announced themselves as IronMan and Phoenix respectively, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve asks his eyes remaining on (Y/n), whose fingers had begun tapping lightly on the countertop in front of her.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict . . . breeds catastrophe. Oversight . . . oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey says.

(Y/n) glances over at her father, who was lying on one of the couches, one hand on his face.

When Natasha speaks, he removes his hand to look at her. “Tony,” Natasha prompts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve guesses.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony gets up, wincing, rubbing the back of his head. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

He walks over towards the kitchen and grabs a mug. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal” Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Despite the negative thoughts running through her head, (Y/n) cracks a smile at her father’s question.

Tony sets his phone in a basket and taps it. The phone projects an image of a smiling young ham. Tony looks down, then back up, and pretends to notice the picture for the first time. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where Sokovia.”

(Y/n) swallows thickly and glancing at her teammates, she can tell that the others are also affected by this.

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose,” Tony says softly. “I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” Tony takes a pill with some coffee, then faces the others. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

“Well said,” comes (Y/n)’s quiet voice, though everyone in the room heard it.

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve says.

“Who said we’re giving up?” Tony asks.

“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blames.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) says softly and the others turn to her once again. “Steve,” she pauses for a moment. “That’s dangerously arrogant,” there is an apologetic undertone to her words and now Rhodey speaks.

“This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change,” Steve argues.

“That’s good,” Tony presses. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty,” Tony says, shooting an apologetic glance towards his daughter.

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda’s gaze flickers to the others.

“Us,” (Y/n) corrects, meeting Wanda’s fearful green gaze.

“We would protect you,” Vision says.

“Maybe Tony’s right,” Natasha says, shooting a glance at (Y/n), then Wanda.

Tony looks at the former assassin, surprised.

“If we have one had on the wheel, we can steer. If we take it off -” Sam interupts Natasha.

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kick her ass a few years ago?” Sam asks as (Y/n) rises from her place slumped against the countertop and walks over to sit by her friend.

Natasha looks over at (Y/n) and sends her a comforting smile.

“I’m just . . .” Natasha begins but (Y/n) continues for her.

“She’s reading the terrain,” (Y/n) explains. “We have made . . . some -”

“Very public mistakes. We need to win everyone’s trust back,” Natasha finishes.

“Focus up,” Tony says, still staring at Natasha in disbelief. “I’m sorry, did I mishear you or did you agree with me?”

(Y/n) cracks another smile as Natasha replies, “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no,” Tony argues. “You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed--I win.“

Steve’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out to check it. (Y/n) glances over at Steve, a question in her eyes.

(Y/n) knew that Steve had feelings for her - and (Y/n) did as well - and judging by the look on Steve’s face, she knew it had to be about Peggy. (Y/n) knew that, deep down, Steve still loved Peggy.

“I have to go,” Steve says abruptly, dropping the Accords onto the coffee table and going downstairs.

The others in the room glance at each other for a moment before Wanda stands up from her place next to Vision and (Y/n) stands up, following her.

(Y/n) jogs after Wanda, catching up with the young brunette. “Wanda,” (Y/n) places a hand on her shoulder, but the girl continues to walk. “Wanda, stop.”

“What?” Wanda snaps, turning on (Y/n).

“What are you going to do?” (Y/n) asks softly, her hand remaining on Wanda’s shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks in return.

“I’m going to sign,” (Y/n) says softly. “I think you should too. Like my dad said, if we don’t do this now, it’s going to happen later.”

(Y/n) gives Wanda’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before she turns, walking away.

A few days later, (Y/n) and Natasha walk into the cathedral where Steve had just been mourning the death of Peggy Carter.

(Y/n) smiles nervously at Steve as he speaks, “When I came out of the ice, I thought everyone I had known was gone. Then I found out that she was alive. I was just lucky to have her.”

“She had you back, too,” Natasha says, shooting (Y/n) - who was standing at her shoulder - a glance.

“Who else signed?” Steve asks.

“Tony. Rhodey. Vision.” (Y/n) answers.

“Clint?” Steve asks.

“Say’s he’s retired,” Natasha says, and (Y/n) and the redhead share an amused smile.

“Wanda?”

“TBD,” Natasha answers.

“We’re, well, off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords,” (Y/n) says. “There’s plenty of room on the jet,” she offers, hoping with all her heart that Steve would come.

Steve sighs and bows his head and (Y/n)’s composer seems to fall.

“Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” Natasha tells Steve.

(Y/n) had the feeling that her best friend was trying to convince herself as well.

“What are we giving up to do it?” Steve asks, avoiding meeting (Y/n)’s eyes.

Natasha sighs and Steve shakes his head, unconvinced.

“I’m sorry, Nat, (Y/n),” Steve says softly. “I can’t sign it.”

“We know,” (Y/n) says softly.

"Then what are you doing here?" Steve asks.

"I didn't want you to be alone," (Y/n) says, stepping forward to wrap the super soldier in a hug.

(Y/n) pulls back after a moment, holding back tears as she says, "Good luck, Steve."

Natasha puts a comforting hand on (Y/n)'s arm and the two walk out of the cathedral.

A few hours later, (Y/n) and Natasha are standing in the UN building signing papers for the Accords.

"Excuse me, Miss Romanoff, Miss Stark?" asks a UN staffer.

"Yes?" Natasha responds.

"We need your signatures," the staffer says. (Y/n) and Natasha sign the papers.

"I suppose neither of us are used to the spotlight," comes a voice and the two women turn to see Prince T'Challa standing in front of them. "Though, Miss Stark, it seems to follow you everywhere."

"Well, it's not always so flattering," Natasha answers with a smile.

"You seem to be going alright so far. Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill . . . I wouldn't think you would be particularly comfortable in this company."

"Well, I'm not," Natasha replies.

"That alone makes me glad you're here, Miss Romanoff," T'Challa continues.

"Why? You don't approve of all this?" (Y/n) asks.

"The Accords, yes," T'Challa answers. "The politics, not really. Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred."

"Unless you need to move a piano," comes King T'Chaka's voice.

"Father."

"Son. Miss Romanoff. Miss Stark," T'Chaka's says in return, nodding to his son.

"King T'Chaka," (Y/n) says, nodding respectfully to the king. "Please let us apologize for what happened in Nigeria."

"Thank you. Thank you for agreeing to all this. I'm sad to hear that Captain Rogers will not be joining us today."

(Y/n) and Natasha share a glance. "Us as well," (Y/n) answers.

"If it is okay, I would like to have a word with Miss Stark," T'Challa says and (Y/n) nods.

Smiling at Natasha, then nodding to the king, (Y/n) follows T'Challa to the window.

Before T'Challa can say anything, T'Chaka begins to speak. "When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon, we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows. We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative." (Y/n) spots something outside and she nudges T'Challa, pointing to a news van outside where several officers were milling around the back. "Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace."

"Everybody get down!" (Y/n) and T'Challa yell, sprinting towards where the king was still standing, giving his speech.

An enormous explosion goes off between the two buildings sending (Y/n) and T'Challa flying back.

(Y/n) staggers to her feet, her hand wrapped around her bleeding forearm, and watches, horrified as T'Challa finds his father lying on the floor with his eyes closed. The Prince grabs his father's wrist and feels for a pulse, but King T'Chaka lies still. Devastated, T'Challa lies across his father, then lifting him and rocking him.

Natasha darts forward and pulls her friend down onto the floor and rips off part of her sleeve to wrap around (Y/n)'s arm, (Y/n)'s eyes wide with shock.

The survivors are evacuated from the buildings and fire crews begin to hose them down.

Natasha and (Y/n) sit on the bench beside T'Challa's.

"I'm very sorry," Natasha says softly.

T'Challa glances at the two, holding a silver ornate ring which he toys with between his fingers. "In my culture, death is not the end. It's more of a . . . stepping-off point. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where . . . you can run forever."

"That sounds very peaceful," Natasha replies, her voice still soft.

"My father thought so," T'Challa answers, placing the ring on his finger. "But I am not my father."

"T'Challa. Task forces will decide who brings in Barnes."

T'Challa clenches his fists, "Don't bother, Miss Romanoff. I'll kill him myself."

3rd Person POV

Steve - in his uniform - strides through an underpass, then jogs onto a private runway, heading for a grounded chopper. An electro-disabler slams onto the chopper and Steve looks up.

Above him, Tony and Rhodey descend, landing on the ground.

"Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?" Tony asks, his helmet retracting.

"Definitely weird," Rhodey answers.

"Hear me out, Tony," Steve says. "That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this."

T'Challa, clad in his Black Panther uniform, leaps over a truck. "Captain."

"Your highness."

"Anyway," Tony says, walking behind Rhodey. "Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve answers calmly.

"Your judgment is askew," Tony replies, some of his anger showing now. "Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.

"And there are five more soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't."

"Steve . . ." It was Natasha's voice now. ". . . you know what's about to happen. Do you want to punch your way out of this one?"

"All right I've run out of patience. Underoos!" Tony calls.

A figure in blue and red spandex shoots what looks like a web, stealing Steve's shield and binding his hands, landing on a car.

"Good job, kid," Tony praises.

"Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you," Peter stumbles over his words.

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation."

"Okay. Cap . . . Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man."

"Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just . . ."

"Hey, everyone."

" . . . Good job."

"You've been busy," Steve interrupts.

"And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart," Tony finishes.

“You did that when you signed,” Steve answers calmly.

“Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys . . . with no compunction about being impolite,” Tony scowls at Steve.

Steve holds up his hands and Clint shoots the web off with an arrow. “Alright, Lang.”

“Hey, guys, something . . .” Peter says.

He gets kicked back and a full sized man is now standing beside Steve, holding out his shield.

“Oh great,” Tony says. “There’s two in the parking garage. One of them’s Maximoff I’m going to grab her.” Tony flies off in his suit. “Rhodey, you wanna take Cap?

“Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes,” Rhodey answers.

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa shouts.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. What should I do?” Peter asks.

“What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web ‘em up,” Tony answers.

“Okay, copy that!” Peter uses his webs to swing away.

Scott Lang - Ant Man - faces Natasha. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Natasha replies. She kicks him in the groin and he miniaturizes, throwing her head over heels. She zaps him off her wrist and he slams into a nearby truck, leaving a small dent.

Tony is now hovering over Wanda and Clint. “Wanda, I think you hurt Visions’s feelings.”

“You locked me in my room,” Wanda retorts.

“Okay first, that’s an exaggeration. Second, (Y/n) wanted me to protect you. Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, man,” Clint answers, readying his bow.

“Clearly, retirement doesn’t suit you. You get tired of shooting golf?”

“Well, I played eightteen, I shot eightteen. Just can’t seem to miss,” Clint fires an arrow which Tony deflects.

“First time for everything,” Tony replies.

“Made you look,” Clint smirks.

“Suddenly a sar slams past Tony and he looks up as dozens more come crashing down. Wanda moves her glowing red hands until Tony is burried under a pile of cars.

Tony flies over to Natasha once he unburries himself and helps her up.

“Is this part of the plan?” the redhead asks.

“Well, my plan was to go easy on them. You wanna switch it up?” the billionare asks.

Clint spots the Quinjet. “There’s our ride.”

“Come on!” Steve calls.

Steve’s team runs towards the Quinjet but they are stopped by a fizzing stream of energy slicking across the runway and they stop. Looking up they see Vision hovering overhead.

“Captain Rogers,” Vision begins. “I know what you believe what your doing is right. But for the collective good you must surrender now.” As he speaks, the rest of Tony’s team arrives.

“What’d we do, Cap?” Sam asks.

“We fight,” Steve answers.

“This is gonna end well,” Natasha says.

The two teams stride towards each other with grim determination etched on their faces.

“They’re not stopping,” Peter says.

“Neither are we,” Tony replies grimly.

Steve blocks a punch with his shield from Tony as he lands. Clint fires an arrow at Vision as Rhodey flies after Sam and and Bucky, trading blows with T’Challa.

An explosive arrow hit Tony.

Natasha throws Scott as Peter wings through the air, struggling to evade flying vehicles.

Bucky lands punches on T’Challa.

Clint and Natasha battle with batons and eventually, Clint pins her down with his bow.

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks.

“Depends on how hard you hit me,” Clint answers.

Natasha spins the archer with her legs and jumps to her feet. As she’s about to kick his head, her foot stops and glows bright red. With a wave of her hand, Wanda throws Natasha back. “You were pulling your punches.

As Natasha’s thrown back, someone catches her before she can hit the ground.

“Nice to see you,” the figure says with a ghost of a smile as she sets the redhead back on her feet.

“(Y/n)! What are you doing here?” the redhead asks.

“I’m making sure nobody dies today!” (Y/n) yells over her shoulder, running to where Steve was talking to Peter.

“Look kid,” Steve says as (Y/n) comes up behind him. “There’s a lot here that you don’t understand.

“Mr. Stark said you’d say that,” Peter replies. “Wow.” He fires webs which stick to Steve’s leg and shield. He pulls and Steve slides towards him. Peter kicks him backwards and then rolls clear. “He also said to go for you legs.” As Steve runs to get his shield, Peter webs his hands and pulls. Steve grits his teeth, spins and somersaults, propelling Peter through the air.

Steve catches one of Peter’s webs and tugs the boy near him, knocking him down with the shield. Peter recovers and pull himself on top of a gangway. “Stark tell you anything else?” Steve asks.

“How about don’t beat up kids?” (Y/n) asks teleporting in between the kid and Steve.

“Go,” (Y/n) tells the kid, then readies her fists at Steve.

Growling with frustration, Steve throws his shield at (Y/n) but (Y/n) stops it with a jet of water.

(Y/n) charges at Steve but is stopped by Bucky, who had launched himself at her and pinned her to the ground.

Bucky goes to punch his metal fist into her face but (Y/n) teleports away. “What the!” Bucky exclaims.

Vision had just shot a shining beam of energy at the control tower and it collapses towards the entrance of the hangar. Wanda holds other hands, keeping the tower from collapsing, letting Steve and Bucky run through it. Rhodey descends behind her and fires a sonic disruptor and Wanda holds her head and screams. The tower falls around Steve and Bucky but they make it into the hanger.

Natasha, who was in the hangar, catches sight of the tower falling on top of another figure. The two had made eye contact before the tower had collapsed on top of her, (E/c) on green.

“Tony!” Natasha yells, running past, completely ignoring Steve and Bucky, who run past her into the Quinjet. “We’ve got a big problem!”

“Romanoff, what is it?” Tony asks.

“(Y/n) . . .” the redhead trails off.

“What happened?” Tony asks frantically.

“The control tower, it collapsed on top of her,” Natasha breathes. “We need somebody who can lift heave things.”

Tony, Rhodey, Wanda, and Clint show up soon and the five dig through the rubble and Natasha heaves one chunk of rock, moving it.

(Y/n) raises up her arm, her hand trembling and everyone rushes over to move the rest of the rock. Her hand falls, palm facing up, and she exhales, her breath ragged.

“I hope one of y-you can c-carry me,” (Y/n) stammers. “Cause I think my leg’s b-broken.”

The last slab of rock is removed and everyone looks at each other. A sheet of metal was stuck in her abdomen, and blood was pooling under her.

“Y-you’re gonna have t-to c-carry me.”

Tony comes out of his suit and takes his daughter’s hand in his own. Natasha moves to take the other. (Y/n)’s eyes close in pain for a moment and then she opens them again.

“I-I think i-it’s bad,” (Y/n) voice trembles. “Cause I can’t feel it.”

Her eyes close once more and then she opens them again, looking at her father.

“D-dad? W-when di-id you get h-here?” (Y/n) stutters and Tony squeezes his dying daughter’s hand.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ll always be here.” Tony says, a tear falling from his eyes.

“T-that’s sweet,” (Y/n) slurs. Her head lolls to the side and she sees Natasha and Clint, the archer’s hand placed on his redheaded friend’s shoulder. “Nat. C-clint.” A tear streaks down Natasha’s face. “D-don’t c-cry. I-I’ll be o-okay.”

“Only you could comfort us like this,” Natasha says, tears falling onto her hands.

(Y/n) looks over at Rhodey, and his helmet retracts. “U-uncle R-rhodey?”

The man nods.

“W-watch m-my Dad,” she says. “H-he tends to be r-reckless sometimes.”

“I will,” Rhodey promises.

“Doll, that’s not every nice,” Tony scolds lightly and (Y/n) lets out a soft laugh.

“Wanda,” (Y/n) says, addressing the youngest.

Wanda looks up from her feet.

“Y-you’re so s-smart and t-talented,” (Y/n) tells the young girl. “And d-don’t le-et anyone tell y-you different.”

Wanda chokes down a sob as (Y/n) falls limp against the rocks under her.

Natasha runs her hands gently through her friend’s hair and (Y/n) jolts conscious once again.

“N-nat,” (Y/n) stammers.

“Breathe, just breathe (Y/n/n),” Natasha murmurs.

“N-nat, t-ell St-teve I’m sorry,” (Y/n) slurs.

Then she falls limp . . .

She breathes her last breath . . .

And falls silent, not moving again . . .

Well, this was, well, this made me cry writing it, so . . .

Word Count: 7,164 words

So yeah, I don’t know if this was what @rogersrogers334 was looking for, but here it is.

Anyway, Imma go cry in the safety of my bed now . . .

Love, Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#steve rogers #fem reader #natasha romanoff #steve roger x reader #dad tony stark #wanda maximoff #scott lang #peter parker #pepper potts #@rogersrogers334 #clint barton #best friend natasha romanoff #avengers x stark! reader

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emma-nation · 4 years ago

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Ticker Than Water - Bloodbound AU (Chapter 4)

Summary: When Amy changes the course of the events at the Opera House, she could never imagine the consequences she would have to face. After being by Rheya’s side for five years, she’s finally ready to be reunited with her friends and find a manner to defeat her. But when the time comes, what will prevail? Her love for Kamilah Sayeed and her friends or her family ties with the First Vampire?

Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance

Tag List: @slytherinthoughts7, @lightning-fury, @spacecarrousel, @gavryllo, @kamilah-the-bloodqueen, @whoinvitedalx, @sheyah, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists, @belvoiresqueenbee, @morvengarde, @tephy24, @iam-the-fuckin-queen, @scorpichoices, @leavemeandmyshipsalone, @jen825, @andreear17, @justejuste727, @evexofxtime, @zoe6111, @shanuuh, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @kenna-and-val-are-my-queens, @fal-carrington, @spookyjellyfishlove, @samgtt700, @just-thinking-loudly, @martachm, @masterofbluff, @rice-wifee, @lifeisadance96, @serafinedupontownsme, @hellyeah90sbaby

4 years ago - Japan

The first signs of Winter started showing on the city outside. Kamilah wondered what she'd be doing if she was still living in New York. Working, perhaps. And also planning the next Dark Solstice.

The necklace. She didn't have time to retrieve it from the secret drawer in her office when they ran away. It would be her only memory from something that didn't exist anymore - her relationship with Amy.

"I did it," the penthouse door opened in a slam, making Lily completely lose focus on her video game or Jax stop sharpening his katana. Adrian seemed to be in ecstasy. "I... I managed to grow a seedling from the sample we obtained from the Tree Of Death. This could stop Rheya for good."

"How great," Jax replied with some sarcasm. The last few months turned him into a version of his late master, Takeshi. "And what about the others? Also, how long is it going to take?"

The others. Kamilah's stomach flipped. Amy was one of them, along with Rheya's husband and daughter. And she was so strong as the First Vampire herself.

"It's a start, Jax," Lily added. "It'll be easier to take her down once she becomes a Feral."

"Fine, but I'd like to do the honors."

"Kamilah?" Adrian approached, touching her shoulder briefly. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes," Kamilah told. She was too invested in her own thoughts, reflecting about the part where she'd have to face Amy again. What if they had to kill her? Would she be able to do that? "We will wait. When the time comes, we'll fight again."

Lily suggested a celebration, Jax agreed and so did Adrian. Since their arrival, they barely left that penthouse. Except for the occasions where they attended Kano's training sessions. The psychic vampire taught them how to guard their minds from Rheya. And also Amy.

"You can go. I'll stay here."

"Come on, Kamilah," Lily started dragging her to the door. "You never say no to booze."

"I'm saying this time."

"Lily is right," Adrian said. "You are coming with us. It'll be a good distraction."

"Yeah," Jax agreed. "We must stick together. Remember?"

This manner, the three younger vampires managed to make Kamilah to go out for the first time in months. Still a little insecure about their safety, they decided to visit The Five's nightclub. In the end, it was not terrible. Jax and Akeyo engaged in a singing competition, while Lily attempted to copy The Evolved's robotic dance moves. The female vampire let out a small laugh.

"Finally," Aiko slowly approached her. "Acceptance is the last stage of grief."

"I guess so," Kamilah replied in a dry tone.

"She's not coming back. She made a choice."

"I know."

The reminder of that fact hit Kamilah's heart like applying salt in an open wound. One year had passed. Amy was still doing atrocities together with Rheya. She showed no signs of regret or mercy. Not even a trace of the old Amy still existed in her eyes. The powers had changed her completely.

"I need another shot," she ordered to the bartender. Then she looked at Aiko, who observed her with the same old and seductive smirk. "Two shots actually."

----------

A blow from one of the mythological creatures that surrounded Amy in the mindscape forest threw her hard against a tree. Though the fight was happening inside her mind, the pain felt extremely real, as if her skull had been fractured.

"Ouch..." she moaned in pain. "Can't... back... down..."

A fire blast started to form in the center of her palm. If she could maintain the focus, it should be enough to stop the creature that was about to strike again.

"Ha!" Amy released the fire ball, that disappeared mid-air. "Fuck!" She screamed, punching the floor repeatedly. Noticing her frustration, Kano pulled her back to reality.

"There's something wrong," he spoke in all his wisdom of a 500 years old man, in a 5 years old body.

"Not even when I'm mad - and trust me, I'm really mad - I can make this work."

"You won't be able to do this moved only by anger. You need focus and discipline."

"Kano," Amy squeezed the water bottle she held, "we've been training for hours. I can't conjure one decent blast. I'm focused, I'm doing all the meditation exercises you taught me... I just can't. Maybe she drained my powers while I slept."

"It's not that," Kano handed her another water bottle, that she drank all in one sip. "There's something blocking you from reaching your potential."

"What could it be?"

He forced her to face all the nastiest skeletons in her closet for a second time that day. Starting by the childhood trauma caused by her mother's behavior. Though Amy knew the reason behind her rage outbursts, the marks would always be there.

The child version of herself was drawing in the kitchen when her mother entered, completely disturbed.

"Mommy!" She called. "Look what I've made for you."

"Nice," the woman barely looked. She was too busy inspecting the cabinets for her painkillers. "Where are them?"

She swallowed a couple of pills and little Amy's heart filled with hope that her mother would finally be able to give her some attention and love.

"Can we play teacups now? I missed you. You spend the whole day in the bedroom."

"Can't you see it, Amy?" The woman yelled at the child. "I am sick! Why can you just respect me? Why can you just be quiet, huh?!"

As she slammed the bedroom door, the little sat down on the floor breaking into tears.

"What did I do wrong?" She asked herself.

"Nothing," adult Amy sighed at the scene. "You did nothing wrong."

Then they moved to the Opera House. What else could be there to be seen? Amy did both of her crucial decisions - the one where she decided to tempt the fate and avoid the death of one of her friends, becoming a monster in consequence. And the one where she took the dagger. That was the most painful to watch. She had already seen Lily dying in her arms, as Kamilah plunged a stake in her heart to prevent her from becoming a Feral. She also saw Jax, sacrificing himself to die as the warrior he was, not as a disgusting rotting creature.

This time though, it was Adrian who took the fall to save her life...

"Not her! Never her!"

"Adrian!" The past version of herself screamed, kneeling down on the floor near the male vampire. "W-Why did you do this? Y-You didn't have to..."

"Amy..." he clutched the injury in his abdomen. His skin was already acquiring a grey coloration. "I had to. I was the one to bring you to this world in first place. I swore to protect you."

"But..."

"Shhhh, it's okay. I've had a long and accomplished life. I made a lot of mistakes too and somehow I think this how I must pay for them. I... I'm ready to be reunited with Eleanor and Charles."

She glanced at the rest of the group. Lily was sobbing uncontrollably. Jax punched the wall in anger and denial. Kamilah was also kneeled by Adrian's side. She was trying hard to prevent the tears from falling.

"And Amy?" Adrian said, before handing her a stake. "Take care of Kamilah. She needs you."

"No!" Both versions of herself screamed at the same time, as Adrian forced her hand to stake his heart. She collapsed to the floor before they moved to the next memory.

She and Rheya were terrorizing some citizens in New York City. Those who still refused to bend to their orders and obey their every command.

"I condemn you to be my prisoners," Rheya smiled deviously, staring at the small group of people restrained inside a TV station. They secretly planned to leak information about the Apostolous family to other states, including their ability of controlling and manipulating minds. "You can be my servants after all. You could entertain me, feed me... or even fight for me."

Amy emerged from a door in the back. Her hair was a mess and she had bags under her eyes. She was in a terrible mood, what lead her to slowly approach and start to snap the neck of each one of the victims. One by one.

"Foolish creature! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rheya asked, visibly annoyed. "I wasn't going to kill them yet, they could be useful to my purposes."

"Getting things done faster," Amy told. "I'm starving, I'm tired. I can't wait to get home and feed."

"Of course, you spent the whole night out with Serafine, going to clubs and using your psychic powers for recreational purposes. I told you I needed you in shape this morning. You disappoint me."

"I'm sorry, Rheya. You were going to kill them anyways. They're all useless insects, isn't it what you always say?"

"You're right," the First Vampire approached and touched her chest using her indicator finger. "But I give the orders here. We may have the same blood, the same powers powers but I'm in charge. Do you understand?"

Amy was back to the same mindscape as earlier, surrounded by creatures in a forest. She felt angry at herself, yet she accepted it. She embraced the fact she was weak to resist the darkness inside her. It was part of who she had became. And now she wanted to change and make things right.

"I can do this," she closed her eyes, focusing on conjuring a psychic wave strong enough to push the horde of monsters away from her. When she opened them, ready to hit them... nothing happened.

"What?!" She yelled, back at Kano's office. "This time I did it. I faced the Opera memory and how things should have went. I embraced the fact I did horrible things too."

"There must be something else. Something you're refusing to face and let go."

Amy had no idea what it could be. At Kano's suggestion, they ended the training session for the day and she went back to the hotel to rest and reflect on what could be blocking her powers. After a long bath, she stared at the bed. The same bed she and Kamilah shared an intimate moment in the previous night, before she told her about her engagement with Aiko.

She finally turned on her phone. Iola had been trying to reach her all day.

"You need to return home, immediately. She has lost her mind."

"What is it this time?" Amy asked, getting dressed to meet Lily at the penthouse she lived with the rest of the group.

"She wants to-"

"Amy?!" Rheya seemed to have taken the phone from her daughter's hands. "I wanted to speak to you, darling. Are you finished with The Five yet? I need you to come home."

"Why?"

"I've signed a contract with a TV channel. Next week they'll begin to film our own reality show: 'The Apostolous'. Isn't it wonderful?"

No. It wasn't. Together with her insane ancestor and her family, Amy would be locked in the mansion with Priya, Serafine and Dracula, while every detail their daily routine was registered by the cameras and shown on television to the whole world.

"Rheya..." Amy sighed, thinking of some excuse. "Why don't you wait a few more days? I mean, a party with your new allies would be a great start for the reality show. Wouldn't it?"

"You're right," the First Vampire answered after a pause. "I don't know when you've gotten so smart, but you're having some good ideas lately. Anyways, I must start planning our party then. Talk to you later, darling."

Only a lot of alcohol could make Amy relax with all the latest news. When she arrived, Lily was still the only one in the penthouse. Jax, Adrian and Kamilah were doing some personal businesses.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Amy asked, taking a sip directly from the bottle of sake before aiming her next shot at the pool game.

"I was going to," Lily told, observing as she sank three balls in a row. "I couldn't imagine Kamilah would go straight to your bed in the very first night."

As Lily finished her own turn, Amy noticed she was about to win the game. However, she would never be able to make the right move with that one question bothering her mind.

"Does she love her? Aiko?"

"Do you want the honest truth? No, she doesn't. She only got in that sudden relationship with her to forget you. And if you ask me, I bet Aiko is forcing her to get married."

A hint of a smile appeared on the corners of Amy's mouth. She still had a chance. With the right shot, she could win Kamilah's heart back.

"I win," she grinned as she cued the last ball into the pocket.

"Best of three?" Lily asked, after taking a sip of the sake. "So, now tell me about Rheya going all Kardashian."

Amy rolled her eyes in annoyance. She was about to start talking about Rheya's reality show when the penthouse's door opened, making her heart speed up inside her chest.

"Oh," for her disappointment, it wasn't Kamilah. "Hey, Jax."

"Hello, Lily and..." he glared in her direction, clearly uncomfortable with her presence. "You."

"Jax, come here," Lily called, assuming some alcohol and games would be able to seal the peace between them. "Amy was about to tell me about Rheya's latest bullshit."

"Later, Lil. I gotta... I gotta take a shower. I was training with Akeyo all day."

As soon as he left to the bedroom, Amy sighed:

"He'll never forgive me."

Kamilah arrived right after she finished her sentence. She didn't say a word, she walked directly to the bar, serving herself some expensive whiskey.

"We're not allowed to bring visitors," she scolded Lily. "After five years you should know that."

"I asked Adrian first," Amy told in her defense. "He said I could..."

"Oh, Amy. Congratulations on your new show. It's all over the internet. You must be loving the attention, aren't you?"

"Thank you. By the way, for someone who doesn't care care you're way too updated about my life."

There was a heavy tension between them. Years of unresolved feelings and unsaid words were affecting the whole environment surrounding them, like an earthquake.

"I-I..." Noticing that, Lily started walking away too. "You two must have a lot to talk about. I'll be in my bedroom."

Amy still tried to prevent Lily from leaving, but it was useless. She was alone and under Kamilah's hard cold gaze.

"You shouldn't be here," the female vampire said once again.

"Why?" Amy decided to confront her. "My presence is bothering you?"

"Not really, but it put us at risk. She could come here any second searching for her spawn."

"She won't. Besides, I can fight her."

"Oh really? How's the training going by the way?"

"Good," Amy lied. "I'm... I'm finding myself. Finding a balance between my powers and the darkness they can bring."

As if she still could read her, Kamilah raised an eyebrow and opened a small sadistic smile. Was it so obvious she was failing miserably? Did Kano tell the others how poorly the training session had gone? She swallowed dry.

"About yesterday..." Amy opened her mouth to speak, changing the subject. She had to know how Kamilah felt about the other night.

"Nothing happened yesterday," Kamilah nodded.

Before she could speak again, Adrian emerged from the elevator.

"Amy, good to see you here," he wanted to show her something in a secret Raines Corporation HQ he had built. "Come with me."

She gave Kamilah one last look. It wasn't over. She wasn't going to give up and pretend nothing happened between them. She wasn't going to act like the feelings weren't still there, alive and strong as ever.

"What?" Adrian asked with a smile during their way to the building.

"Nothing," Amy smiled back. She had never been so happy to see him. That vision had struck her really hard. "I'm just glad you still trust me."

The building was highly secured. Adrian guided her to the laboratory in the basement. Some scientists were still working late night, on many different projects.

"Only a few people know about our secret weapon," Adrian told while he typed a password on a keypad, opening a heavy metal door. "Only us and The Five. After all, anyone else could have their minds accessed by Rheya."

After walking through a long corridor, they stopped in front of a glass. Behind it, Amy spotted a small growing tree.

"Is it..."

"The Tree Of Death. I managed to obtain a sample and grow a seedling from it. It's still small and young, its sap is not so poisonous. It won't cause much harm yet."

After Demetrius was brought back to life, the Tree Of Death and the island ceased to exist. With that, there was nothing that could stop Rheya. Until now.

"Adrian..." Amy remembered testing her powers, or when Rheya used to grow different plants and flowers in the backyard, according to the occasions. "I can make it grow faster with my powers."

#bloodbound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #rheya apostolous #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #choices stories you play #thicker than water

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birbleafs · 4 years ago

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[fic] A Much Ado About (PSI)oulmates

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Satou Hiroshi, Akechi Touma, Toritsuka Reita Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Aiura decides to combine her divination abilities with Kusuo’s powers for a super special comedic segment on Affinity Levels. Fic can also be read on AO3 _______

Excerpt taken from clairvoyant Dame Mata-Mata’s advert for Amazing Psychic Services:

99.9% accurate affinity readings and guaranteed life-long happiness! Discover your twin flame with as little 10,000 yen per hour! Some would say it’s foolish to risk your future and wallet on such clandestine offerings, but we assure you, we are no worse than the underhanded brand marketing on children’s television series! Call 1800-TWINFLAMES -1234567 to book a reading today!!

***

Anyone who would believe such clandestine and shady offerings isn’t just a fool but a complete buffoon, Kusuo scoffs impassively at the flyer before him. This is definitely worse than the underhanded brand marketing on children’s TV shows.

“They’re a total noob at it, fer sure!” Aiura says, leaning in too close and posing next to Kusuo as she takes a wefie with her phone. “Like sure, the concept of twin flames and soulmates ain’t new, but to claim everyone has half a soul yearning to get jiggy with its other missing half for life-long bliss is like, a gross oversimplification.” I don’t really care to be honest, Kusuo deadpans. He stares sullenly at how Aiura’s arm is still wrapped around his; she offers him a cheeky grin and a peace sign, snapping yet another wefie before she finally slides away to the opposite seat. “Soulmates just have more natural affinity for each other,” Aiura says, batting her eyelashes at him coyly. “But just like with everything, it doesn’t mean you don’t need to put in any effort to make it work! Hey, speaking of which—the author has a super special birthday tradition where she writes and/or posts up a new story, so this fanfic can totally be about Affinity Meters, right?!” Don’t know what you’re going on about and still don’t actually care, Kusuo retorts, shoving a spoonful of coffee jelly into his mouth as he resolutely tries to enjoy his Sunday afternoon. But Aiura persists, easily breaking the fourth wall to elaborate further: “Just like how Kusuo can use the Affection Meter to quantify a person’s love for another, today we’ll combine Kusuo’s telepathy and my own divination abilities to measure soulmate compatibility via Affinity Levels! So, without further ado, let’s go, let’s goooo!” Aiura, no, Kusuo groans in quiet despair. “Miko-chan, YES!” Aiura whoops, fist-pumping the prologue away as the scene fades out. _______

Satou Hiroshi

Conventional. Moderate. Regular. Behold the quintessential stock background character, the pinnacle of normality—Satou Hiroshi. Standing at a height of 169.9 centimeters and weighing at precisely 61.0 kilograms—the exact national average of a healthy sixteen-year-old Japanese male—he is the gold standard, the epitome of normal. It’s a shame then that few recognize Satou-kun’s remarkable ordinariness, Kusuo muses, watching said background character ambling down the sidewalk with an approving smile. Nevertheless, perhaps that may be to my benefit. Surely our Affinity Levels must be pretty high; after all, we’re both normal and regular high-school teens who do not stand out much— “I don’t think using your powers to make yourself inconspicuous counts though,” Aiura says as she glances over Kusuo’s shoulder, puzzled at his fixation on someone so… well, boring. Kusuo isn’t even listening. We both have regular aspirations and hobbies, seeking only to live peaceful days! “Funnily, I now remember peeking at Normal-kun’s fortune for Hii-chan. And get this, his biggest dream is being on stage as a rock star! Like seriously, how typical can he get?” —So, taking into consideration all of the above, Kusuo presses on, undeterred by Aiura’s commentary, surely we would hit it off as friends with optimal affinity levels! “Uhm, Kusuo?” Aiura nudges him with her elbow, pointing at the meter hovering beside them. “Not to be a wet blanket and all, but the Affinity Meter started running again as you were waxing lyrical earlier, so now it’s showing that Normal-kun and your Affinity Levels are like, really just two stars at best.” She leans forward, squinting at the screen. “Simply because he thinks you’re okay but still a bit of a weirdo. Dayum, the nerve of this twerp!” Kusuo stares wordlessly at her for a beat, slack-jawed. A-Ahyuu…?

Affinity Level: ☆☆ _______

ii.

Akechi Touma

“It pains me to have to do this,” Aiura lets out a dramatic sigh. “But since Childhood Friends is a pretty popular trope in animanga, and therefore in fanfiction, I guess there’s no avoiding it.” Kusuo scowls, not liking where this is heading at all. It can totally be avoided. We can just avoid talking about it altogether. “Is that you, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says as he suddenly appears at Kusuo’s side, curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I see Aiura-san is here as well. I couldn’t help but notice how you two were standing and talking together so I thought I should come say hello, even though I was rather hesitant at first. I didn’t want to abruptly barge into your conversation, you see, as that would have been awfully rude, and I certainly don’t wish for you to think of me as rude, Kusuo-kun.” Yet here you are barging in anyway, blathering on incessantly like a runaway freight train, Kusuo remarks drily. “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear the mention of Affinity Levels,” Akeichi beams as he continues, unfazed by the jibe. “And I can’t say my curiosity isn’t the least bit piqued, even if I have little to no real interest or belief in the notion of soulmates. In fact, the existence of an actual soul remains debatable in scientific circles—” Exasperated, Aiura tries to interject. “Since you ain’t all that interested, mind if you just zip those lips for like five minutes? My hair’s gone all frizzy from the heat of your endless jabbering!” “However, these debates on the existence of the soul had also been instrumental to the understanding of the anatomy and physiology of the human body—” “Oh my God, please just stop yapping for ONE sec—!!” Aiura shrieks, tugging at her curls in frustration. She accidentally kicks the Affinity Meter to start running, and the lights blink and flash in a rapid blur before the meter gradually slows down to display four bright stars upon its screen. There’s a beat; the trio leans forward, staring at the meter in awkward silence. Kusuo’s brows are furrowed at the unexpected results; he shrugs it off as a fluke. Clearly there’s some technical issue with Affinity Meter (never mind that the meter works, in part, based on Aiura’s divination abilities, which have, to date, always been accurate). There’s just no way Akechi could ever beat Satou-kun on that scale, he’s too much of an abnormal— But Aiura is already moving forward, reaching out to grasp Akechi’s hand in a firm handshake. “Aiura-san? Is there something…?” She acknowledges Akechi’s curious gaze with a curt nod. “All right, I can’t deny it any longer. Not with that impressive detective aura of yours and with results like that on both Kusuo and my own Affinity Meter.” Oi, oi. Don’t start spouting weird nonsense now, Miss Abnormal! “All right, Akeinu! I hereby deem you a worthy rival in the fight to stand as Kusuo’s trusted sidekick!” “Oho! You’ve even given me a cutesy nickname as acknowledgment! I must say I’m quite flattered, Aiura-san.” How about I side-kick both of you out of my life right now? Kusuo sighs, mildly perturbed by this unexpected turn of events.

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆ _______

iii.

Toritsuka Reita

…… …… …… What, did you seriously think Toritsuka was getting a proper scene? He’s already way too pathetic. NEXT— “W-wait, did you just cut my scene?!” Toritsuka shrieks from the void like a headless chicken. “Don’t just write me off, Saiki-saaan!!” —Saiki exits stage left, pursuing normalcy. “And don’t just narrate yourself out!!”

Affinity Level: N.A. _______

iv. Aiura Mikoto

“At first glance, you might think we make for an odd couple,” Aiura says with a coquettish smile. “And how it seems absolutely cray that we could get along. Or like, that we don’t mesh just ‘cause our personalities clash way too much or somethin’.” She chuckles at the notion, running perfectly manicured nails through her luscious locks. “I mean, it’s obvs only those inexperienced with the inner workings of the heart would think that. Because opposites attract, y’know? It’s the push-pull dynamism between us that spices things up! Like two tango dancers stirring up a flame on the dance floor—it keeps things refreshing and exciting, but still comforting and familiar in the end, like sharing a nice, warm bath at the end of the day, or cuddling up together at the sofa, feeding each other spoons of dessert…” Aiura pauses, blushing when she catches sight of the Affinity Meter fluttering gently by her shoulder, at the line of stars glowing from the screen, a beacon of reassurance of their status as soulmates. She turns towards Kusuo, suddenly self-conscious as she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Say, Kusuo… How about we head to that nice dessert buffet together and—” Only to realize she had been practically talking to thin air all this time. “H-Huh?! Aww, gimme a break! Where did you run off to this time, Kusuooo?!”

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆☆ _______ v.

Coffee Jelly

Good grief—finally some peace and quiet. Kusuo sighs as he leans back into the leather seat of his booth, in a nondescript cafe far away from his usual annoyances. He dips a spoon into his dessert bowl, lifting a dark sliver of coffee jelly to his mouth, and smiles in absolute contentment. There’s a soft whirr, and then a ping from somewhere below. He flicks a furtive gaze at the Affinity Meter hovering at the empty space beside him, curious despite himself. The endless line of glowing stars are probably a bit much, but he smiles anyway at the screen. Huh. I guess it works after all.

Affinity Level: ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

—End— _______ Notes:

It’s tradition for myself to spend my birthday writing and/or sharing a new fic (happy birthday to me!! lol). I also had this sitting in my draft for way too long and decided to kick myself to finish it. Apologies for any typoes/errors.

Comments and critique are always welcomed for my fics—I'd like to hear what you think, if you've enjoyed this! Thanks for reading :)

#saiki kusuo no psi nan #the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #aiura mikoto #fanfic #psychickers #too lazy to tag all the characters here #but it's basically the pk psychickers + mr. normal-kun lol

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chloebeale · 5 years ago

Photo

UNTIL I’M OKAY (preview)

AUTHORS: @bottombeca & @snowbritt. RATING: M. PAIRING: Bechloe. WORDS: 1,794. ABOUT: Bechloe ‘Dead To Me’ AU.

This is purely a preview of chapter one, the entirety of which will be posted shortly. While this fic is based heavily on the show Dead To Me, it has been altered, adjusted and added to to create a Bechloe story and universe.

We hope you enjoy the below preview of our collaborative baby!

Warnings: Mentions of death and miscarriage.

***

All morning, there have been signs; signs that Beca shouldn’t be here. Firstly, Ryder’s cheeks had looked a little more flushed than usual. No, maybe he didn’t have a fever or anything, but Beca is not a doctor, he totally could be getting sick. Maybe she should’ve kept him home from school for the day, stuck around to take care of him.

Next, the Atlanta traffic, typically insufferable anyway, had been even worse this morning somehow.

It also doesn’t help that this isn’t necessarily voluntary on her part—court-ordered attendance doesn’t care about signs, or so the judge told her the last time she skipped.

And now this: a broken coffee machine. At least, Beca thinks it’s broken… She is positive there is no way anybody would try to pass off what she can only consider the sludge floating around in her styrofoam cup as actual coffee, right? Not that she has tasted it yet. Rather, she simply eyes it with a scrutinizingly raised brow, attention shifting distractedly to the view ahead.

If she has to endure cheap coffee and even cheaper cliches, at least there’s a view. The river will be a nice distraction when everything inevitably starts to get a little too weepy for her tolerance, she supposes.

Perhaps Beca is a little too caught up in the serenity of it all, in fact—the aforementioned view—because she seems to lose herself for the briefest of moments, at least long enough to bring the coffee cup up to her lips.

Instantly, she regrets it.

“Dude, what the—” She doesn’t know if she should choke it down or spit it back in the cup.

“That bad, huh?”

The voice to break into her quiet outburst is an unfamiliar one, though it comes from close enough by to have Beca’s attention drifting toward its owner. She is unfamiliar, too. Beca doesn’t register her own blank expression until the other woman speaks again.

“The coffee…” There is a distinct lightness to the nameless face’s voice, one that Beca really does not have the energy for this morning. “Kind of looks like you’re not enjoying it.”

“Oh, right,” Beca nods, tone disinterested. “Yeah. It tastes like shit.”

The melodic giggle to ring out from the stranger’s lips seems somewhat misplaced, all things considered. “Guess I’ll avoid it then,” she says, tucking a chunk of curled red hair behind her ear. She hesitates for the shortest moment, before pushing a bright, welcoming smile to her lips. “I’m Chloe, by the way. This is…” Chloe motions vaguely around them, “Kind of new to me.”

Beca is not here to make friends. In fact, she doesn’t even want to be here. Regardless, she nods politely in response to Chloe’s introduction—it is really not her fault Beca cannot control her temper, after all. “Beca.”

“Beca…” Chloe repeats in a breezy tone, almost as if trying to commit it to memory. “Pretty.”

Though Beca’s brows tug together slightly, she offers Chloe a small smile, one that definitely does not meet her eyes—then again, when does Beca’s smile meet her eyes these days?

Chloe’s wide gaze seems to be staring at her expectantly, as if awaiting a response. What is she even supposed to say to that?

Fortunately—if anything about this situation can be considered fortunate—a new voice cuts into their conversation.

“Ready to join the circle?”

If Jesse were here, Beca would make a mumbled comment to him about how semi-threatening the request sounds. But, he isn’t… And that is why Beca is even here at all. So, exchanging a brief glance with Chloe, whose subtle amusement appears evident, Beca sets down her cup of lukewarm sludge, before dutifully making her way toward an empty seat.

“Looks like we have a few fresh faces here today,” the previous voice announces cheerfully.

Beca glances up to the blonde wearing the neatly pressed Fallen Leaves t-shirt, taking note of the way she is now looking expectantly between Beca and the redhead seated beside her.

Taking no further prompting, Chloe sends a small wave toward the group, before introducing herself with a polite, “Hi. I’m Chloe.”

Following a brief silence, Beca registers the countless sets of eyes now training on her.

“Oh. Um, hi. I’m Beca,” she says awkwardly to the group, the distinct difference between she and Chloe’s greetings palpable. The way she straightens in her chair seems to display her level of discomfort, if the way the blonde shoots a sympathetic look her way is anything to go by.

“Well, welcome to Fallen Leaves,” she says, evidently taking over, “My name is Aubrey. As some of you know, I like to start out our grief group by sharing the loss that got me into this work.”

Beca braces herself for the first of what she’s sure will be many sob stories to come, though she takes comfort in the focus no longer being on her.

“During an acapella competition in college, under extreme pressure, I violently vomited on stage,” Aubrey begins to explain somberly. “My co-captain slipped in it and fell off the stage, breaking her neck in the process. It happened with the whole crowd watching, not to mention on live television.” She pauses briefly, giving the group a moment to digest the information and evidently ignoring the look of mild horror displayed across Beca’s face. “And I live with that every day.”

Shrinking back into her chair a little bit, Beca is beginning to regret everything that led to her being here today. She doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone—let alone someone who anxiety-puked their way into killing someone.

“Oh, my god,” Chloe murmurs sympathetically.

Aubrey presses her lips together. “Thank you. Is there a loss you’ve had that you’d like to share with us today?” Her gaze moves toward Beca briefly, though Beca is quick to shake her head in response.

“I do,” the voice beside her pipes up. The group’s attention, Beca and Aubrey’s included, moves toward Chloe, and Beca finds that she is grateful to lose the spotlight yet again.

Apparently, Chloe doesn’t share Beca’s disdain for all eyes on her. She looks comfortable enough as she shoots a small smile toward her audience. “Okay,” Chloe begins, straightening slightly in her seat. Just because she seems to be okay with the attention does not mean that whatever she is about to say is something she is comfortable with. In fact, it becomes quickly evident that it is not. “Well, um, my fiancé and I—ex fiancé—were trying to start a family. We tried a bunch of times, in fact,” Chloe explains, settling into her story.

Beca notes the way her gaze lowers, as if she is mentally disappearing somewhere else.

“About eight weeks ago, our baby died. It was sudden. Really sudden. I was…” Chloe’s voice gets small and strained as she wrings her fingers together.

Beca is about the least affectionate woman in all of Atlanta, but something about Chloe’s small voice and shrinking demeanor almost makes her want to reach out and settle a comforting hand against her shoulder. She doesn’t, of course; she just focuses her own sad gaze on Chloe as she continues.

“I was five months along, so we weren’t really expecting it, you know? Maybe we should have been. There were four before this. And the miscarriages… No one prepares you for how hard they really are. But this time, I guess I just thought we’d made it. That I was really going to have a family.”

Chloe is looking down at her hands, folded into each other to keep from fidgeting. “This time we’d set up the nursery. We hadn’t done that before, not since the first…” She clears her throat. “I keep coming back to this baby blanket that I’ll never get to wrap around my baby. Or lift it to my nose and breathe in her smell when I miss her.” She blinks a few times and looks back up, like she is coming back to the present. Beca notes that her eyes are a little harder to look into now. “So, yeah,” Chloe murmurs. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

That same somber expression, already familiar, has returned almost automatically to Aubrey’s face. “We’re here for you, Chloe,” she says, a genuine air to her comforting tone. “Let’s hear it for Chloe, guys.”

Like conditioned robots reading from a brief handed out before Beca’s arrival, everyone except for Beca, who is unintentionally watching Chloe, says in monotone, “We’re here for you, Chloe.”

Beca’s is the lone voice to say, much more personally, “That sucks. I’m really sorry.”

Despite the sea of eyes trained on Chloe, Chloe’s gaze lifts to meet Beca’s, auburn brows drawn tightly together. They seem to relax a little as she looks at Beca, though. Eventually, she just says, “Thank you,” quietly, a small nod of appreciation accompanying her words.

A moment passes between them before Aubrey speaks. “Thank you for sharing that.” While Beca may not be used to this, to people opening up so deeply and personally, Aubrey evidently is. It seems to be business as usual for her as she continues in a clear voice. “Last week, we started talking about the F-word.”

Instantly, Beca’s eyebrows jump up. She glances around at everyone else, but they don’t seem to find anything strange about this—something Beca finds strange in and of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe’s gaze catches Beca’s, and Beca notes that it looks as though she’s trying to suppress a confused chuckle.

“That’s right. Forgiveness,” Aubrey says. “Forgiveness can be really difficult. It can even take a lifetime. But no matter the circumstances, everyone is deserving of forgiveness.”

Beca can’t keep the indignant scoff from leaving her lips even if she wants to. Aubrey stops talking, her mouth slightly open in offense, while piercing eyes seem to narrow in on Beca directly.

“Do you have anything to share about forgiveness, Beca?”

Beca’s lips purse, armor falling briefly. “Yeah, I do,” she nods. “How do you forgive someone who hits your husband with their car and then drives away, leaving him to bleed to death on the side of the road?” Beca mutters flatly. “How do you forgive the person responsible for you lying awake every night, wondering how your boys are supposed to cope without their father? How do you forgive that?”

Wide eyes stare her way incredulously, but before anyone has the chance to respond, she leans back in her chair, closing herself off to further conversation. “You know what, I actually don’t want to get into it, so someone else can go,” Beca exhales sharply, trying to push her anger back into its usual box, stored up on the highest shelf where it belongs.

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #dead to me #until i'm okay #bottombeca #collab:bottombeca #mine #mine:writing

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sarah-snook · 5 years ago

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Can you rec some of your favorite it fics? Reddie and other pairings too?

i sure can! i have so many SO MANY. here are 15 of my many faves with some recs for other works by these authors sprinkled in!!!!!

i can be your hero by @richietoizer| Reddie | T | 2,205 |an accidental confession fic where eddie finds a college essay richie wrote about him. IT’S CUTE Y’ALL this fic is seriously so slept on. all of ashley’s fics are amazing and literally *chef’s fucking kiss* of course she has her amazing AMTS and SCL fics that everyone should read but this one is just so cute!!! ashley is an amazing writer and i would read anything she contributes to the fandom. she has various WIPs that are amazing as well and that i would HIGHLY recommend you read like the real world and took too many hits off this memory. i love ashley with all my heart and will always be one of her biggest fans but i swear to god, putting my love for her aside, she has a fucking gift for writing. everything she writes is pure fucking gold!

Help Me Remember by @jem-carstairs-is-perfection| Reddie | T | 3,138 |jem carstairs is perfection? more like monse’s writing is perfection! i had a really hard time choosing just one fic of hers because they’re all SO GOOD. she’s literally my fave writer and i love her so much. she’s amazing at prompt fills too! ugh i cannot stop saying good things about mochi she’s just That. Good. in this one, richie gets drunk and makes out with someone and can’t remember who it is the next day so he tries to find out who it is. i highly recommend reading anything by monse because she is a very talented writer. she’s literally a fluff queen but she also knows how to break your heart…but she’ll always put it back together in the end!

Tandem by @s-s-georgie | Steddie | T | 4,413 |“Everyone finds their soulmate… eventually.” a steddie soulmate au…THE fic that got me hooked on steddie in the first place. just like monse, leigh knows how to break your heart…but she’s also amazing at writing the softest and most tender fic. i ALWAYS rec tender and she’s sick of it. (go read that reddie fic i promise you’ll love it) and if bottom richie is your thing, leigh writes some of the best bottom richie fic as well so i would totally read her fics if i was you :’)

your heartbeat is the only sound I wanna hear by @eddiefuckinkaspbrak| Reddie | E | 16,008 |this is a deaf!eddie college au. amy did a lovely job with this fic and it’s one of my faves! amy is talented writer who has various one shots and multi chapter fics to read. she’s a freaking prompt QUEEN! she has so much to offer and i recommend binging her list of ao3 fics! i can’t even name a couple other fics of hers because it’s hard to choose from they’re all so good! just go read all her stuff and see for yourself!!!

relationship status: dumbass by @tozierking| Reddie | E | 10,925 |Eddie turns away, but Richie can still see the blush rise to his cheeks, the color deepening when Richie brushes a finger over his knee. Huh. “You’re thinking about me, aren’t you?” Richie grins, the big, toothy one that he knows makes Eddie snort and loosen up. “You want my dick. I knew it.”Eddie makes one of those special Richie shut the fuck up noises, and mumbles, “Yeah, I guess.” allie is a smut QUEEN and i love all of her work. she is such a great writer and i love her so much!!!

a toast and a spirit by @michelllejones| Reddie | T | 13,348 |This was Richie Tozier, his best friend, the Richie he had known for a little more than half his life, the Richie that lent his Pokémon cards to him after only knowing him for two days, the Richie that watched The Exorcist with him for the very first time and let Eddie cling to him through all the gory parts, that kept spare packs of Little Debbie’s Nutty Bars and S’mores Pop-tarts in his pantry just for him—it was Richie and then It Was Richie, and Eddie didn’t even try to put up a fight. The battle was lost before it had even begun, and maybe Eddie didn’t want to fight anymore. LISTEN i put the entire summarry because it’s perfect. THIS FIC IS PERFECT. i love morgan’s writing so much god she knows how to make me cry, she knows how to make me FEEL. she knows how to make me laugh and smile when she wants to also. morgan is a writer who i def rec y’all should read fics from. her mind: GENIUS.

Bon Appetit by @tinyarmedtrex| Reddie | T | 2,855 |a cute one shot with chef!richie and resturant critic!eddie. amelia is an amazing writer who not only writes reddie, but a lot of other loser rare pairs. all her stuff is great and i highly recommend reading her fics!! she has a lot of one shots and various chapter fics that are AMAZING such as georgie has two daddies and operation: hawaii honeymoon!

A Little Less Romeo & Juliet, A Little More Touch Me by @tozierpunks| Reddie | T | 11,665 |When Eddie has a chance to play a lead role in his theater clubs’ take on Romeo & Juliet, he enlists his best friend, Richie Tozier, to pose as his boyfriend and help him snag the part. The only problem? Richie isn’t acting.

Puppy Love by @richietoaster| Reddie | T | 8,122 |Eddie works at a dog kennel/shelter, and Richie falls for him fast.

Richie Tozier Loses All Hope by @onceyoukaspbrakyouneverkaspback| Reddie | T | 6,127 |Richie Tozier is worried that if his best friend figures out what’s been on his mind lately, everything good in his life will come crashing down.

say what you mean (out loud) by @edsbrak| Reddie | T | 7,404 |Richie can’t help it when something heavy refuses to leave his stomach, something relentless and daunting. He looks at Eddie and can’t help but want, can’t help but need, watching this boy watch the stars and thinking he would be happy to spend the rest of his life just like this, right here standing next to him.[Or, Richie realizes he likes Eddie and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.]

and this is who we are by @lo-v-ers| Reddie | M | 40,763 |In which Eddie and Beverly lie to their friends for five years before finally coming out, much to the surprise of one supposedly straight Richie Tozier.

The Power of Sexting by @eddiesleftarm| Reddie | E | 4,085 |Richie accidentally sends Eddie a shirtless picture. Things escalate from there.Or, Richie and Eddie play Gay Chicken: Sexting Edition.

What’s My Name? by chattrekisses| Reddie | NR | 4,252 |Richie is new in town and finds a number carved next to some suggestive graffiti and decides to call it. Who he finds on the other line is Eddie, a sassy hypochondriac who is done with Richie’s shit.In class, Richie knows Eddie only as Kaspbrak, and they flirt viciously. Eddie makes Richie a deal; if Richie can guess Eddie’s first name within three tries, Eddie will kiss him.

oh, somebody loves you by slytherincosette| Reddie | NR | 12,341|Amortentia is encountered in Potion’s class and everything goes to shit. Basically a romantic comedy set at Hogwarts. Everyone is Bad At Feelings, until they’re not.

#reddie #steddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fics #fic recs #god i love these so much!!!!!#Anonymous #asked and answered

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captain-of-the-historicfuture · 4 years ago

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~hello~ !! For the meta asks!: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, and 25 :))

Hello!! Thank you for sending these; I was really excited to see that ask game and I was hoping somebody would send some in. It still took me a while to actually answer them though, and for that I apologise. But without further ado! Some meta answers (under the cut because they ended up being fairly long, whoops):

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (Consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway.)

I thought of a few examples, but they could basically be grouped together under a common theme: whumpy/angsty scenes that were self-indulgent as all heck. The whole self-indulgent aspect often required the characters to be just the teeniest, tiniest bit OOC and/or necessitated rather unrealistic plot circumstances. So it was simply easier to keep such scenes as maladaptive daydreams, rather than trying to think of explanations for the character/plot issues…or exposing myself to judgement for them LOL.

Receiving permission to write/share one such scene anyway is an opportunity I can’t let slip by though. It might be because I’m writing this while running on zero (0) hours of sleep—let’s hear it for insomnia, y’all!—but I suddenly couldn’t remember any of my newer ideas under this category. However, I did recall a one-shot I had started writing a couple of months ago that sort of counts? “Sort of” because I could actually be arsed to write it since I was, ya know, writing it. Only got about six hundred words down though.

…should I share those six hundred words…?

………nahhh. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet.

But here’s the gist of it: Coulson and May (because of course it’s Philinda) were married for quite some time before the Attack on New York. But then Coulson DiedTM and then got ResurrectedTM. But gasp of horror, he had to lose his memories of his romantic relationship with May because reasons. (I actually did have some ideas for those reasons but sshhhh this is about me yeeting context and setup.)

The first half of S1 still happens as normal (except MayWard doesn’t happen because??? Vows) and it’s now post-E20 “Nothing Personal”. The morning after (or a morning soon after, whatever) the T.A.H.I.T.I. reveal! May’s mom—who doesn’t know about GH.325 and whom May fed a cover story about Coulson divorcing her or something equally as oof, IDK��shows up at the hotel and starts ripping into Coulson for breaking her daughter’s heart, then dragging her back into the field with her ex-husband (him), then accusing her of terrible things and forcing her away again.

Poor guy’s confused as heck, and so is the team, and soon enough so is Lian. The only one who understands what’s going on is May, and she’s freaking dying off to the side like why is this happening to me and eventually everybody’s like! Explain??? (Was thinking about including something from Coulson like, “Are you still keeping things from me?” Just for that extra smidge of angst, yay!)

So yeah then May gives a, like, two-sentence debriefing that elicits more questions than answers. Coulson decides to take May aside and they have a heart-to-heart. Lots of feelings and angst and hurt/comfort and at some point plenty of kissing too. Just! May hiding her feelings for Coulson’s sake but really magnified, plus some actual apologies and consideration of the grief May’s been through on Coulson’s part.

And uhh yeah that’s basically it I dunno hdsjncjshd. I warned y’all it’s OOC, plot-bendy, and very self-indulgent!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

I don’t think I could name a single character for this. I get different things out of taking on different voices, you know? I guess recently I’ve found myself gravitating towards more taciturn and introspective points of view, like JQ from my original novel Rosewood or M. Yisbon from my…other original novel Temple.

Generally, however, I like tackling stories from an outsider’s perspective. That’s why I so rarely write my more “substantial” (serious? demanding? for lack of better words?) projects from the PoV of my “preferred” character. This usually means writing from their love interest’s perspective, but not always. With shorter fanfic, using a more removed/unconventional/niche PoV can be really fun. Like, I once wrote a canon compliant ficlet purely(-ish) about Philinda from Tony Stark’s perspective. That isn’t always sustainable with stories that demand more character development or closer character studies, however, which is why it’s a good thing I like writing drabbles!

9. Are you more of a drabble or a longfic kind of writer? Pantser or plotter? Do you wish you were the other?

My word counts tend to run long, but I usually only write one-shots for fanfic. If I’m even inspired with a novella- or novel-length story idea for a fandom, you already know I’m in deep with them. And if I actually find the motivation to plan and execute that idea? Dangg. That’s only ever happened…twice, maybe thrice, and I’m in a lot of fandoms.

At times, I wish I could go for more of a middle ground ’cause, like, you know what I love to see? An AO3 dashboard with several completed novellas for my ship/character of choice. I mean yes, I hecking love >90k fics, but sometimes I’m in the mood for quick reads…and what am I supposed to do when I burn through all the drabbles and 2k one-shots? (Besides despair and/or reread my faves desperately.) Novellas are basically always safe for me LOL, and I’d hope to be able to give as much as I take.

Ultimately though, I think I’m okay with where I am with regards to that. I wish I could write more in general, but I’d be okay with “writing more” just meaning “writing more one-shots”, ya know? More than okay, really. I have mad respect for fic writers who have, like, a hundred or more one-shots under their belt for this one ship. The fandom ecosystem would be incomplete without them (as well as every other type of writer, but sshhh that’s the type of writer I’m closest to being right now).

I’m definitely a plotter, and I definitely prefer it that way. It’s cool having such a detailed record of my process. I like feeling like a frazzled genius on the brink of a major discovery with all of my different outlines and colour coding and many drafts and various websites.

12. Do you want your writing to be famous?

Not exactly. It might be cool if my original works were recognisable in the world, but I don’t think I’d want to be recognisable. As for fanfic, I’d low-key enjoy gaining a place in that fandom’s community as a fic writer. Like someone who gave and got fic gifts from fic writer friends, who participated in challenges and GCs, who received writing prompts on Tumblr, whose name was known for doing a certain trope/genre a bunch of times… Ya know what I mean?

Unlikely to happen when I’m so hecking hesitant to publicly (i.e., outside of AO3) claim credit for my writing, but fjnskfsjhfjs. A writer can dream, right?

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Of those three, tags are the easiest for me, for I have a reliable system for figuring out those.

Next easiest would probably be titles. For fanfiction, I like to use titles that are a quote from the source material. You should have seen all of my old Hamilton fanfic… I was really proud of some of those titles. And I don’t mean, like, whole lines—usually only two to five words. It’s a unique type of wordplay that I just love dabbling in.

And lastly, summaries. Sometimes inspiration strikes me and a snappy and intriguing synopsis just jumps out—one that I’m quietly pleased with—but most of the time I’ll spend way too long trying to think of such a synopsis and eventually just go with whatever I’d come up with so far. And live with my quiet dissatisfaction for the rest of time.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (Plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations...?) Tell us about them!

Typically, no. If I have deleted scenes, I save and publish them separately, but that’s about it. I sometimes think of AUs for my own work and might talk about them in my author’s notes—might even talk about writing them—but I never really do anything with them.

Although…

It’s not uncommon for me to decide a plotline isn’t working for a certain story or to think of an interesting but undoable arc for a certain character, but what I’ll do is make a whole new story for those ideas. Once I’m done developing the original idea and the branched-off one, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell they grew from the same roots. Does that count?

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as (film, webcomic, animated series, etc.)?

That depends on the story. I’ve actually written stories in other mediums—movie screenplay, musical stageplay, poetry, TV show scripts, play scripts, roleplay—but the novel does tend to be my comfort zone. Sometimes, if I have an idea that I think could work, or would even work better, as another medium, I’ll label it as such in my folder of ideas and decide not to write it as a novel.

Most of the time, my non-book projects are collaborations. I’m working with five different people on six different story ideas: two webcomics, one stage musical, one anime, and two animated TV shows. Little concrete progress has been made in any of those, mind you, but they’re still fun to discuss!

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Absolutely. But I’ve been writing stories since I was five years old, so we would hope so, huh?

I wouldn’t say my writing’s changed completely, though maybe that’s just my insider’s perspective.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Oh gosh, I can’t believe you’d make me choose. Writing is just such a wonderful experience for me; I love just about everything to do with it. Admittedly, not all the time, but. Since that barely qualifies as an answer, however, I’ll give you this—

The endings. Not only that intense feeling of rightness when you wrap up that last sentence, but also the moments before. The adrenaline of knowing you’re almost there but you gotta push just a bit more to actually get there. And also the part right after—the real wrap-up, honestly: the revision and the editing. Heavens, I love revising and editing my work.

Which is not to say I don’t like writing it out for the first time, too—there’s nothing quite like seeing your cursor scroll to the next page, like going from a blank expanse to a Oh man, how many more lines are even going to fit on this page?, like watching that page counter tick up another number. However, there’s something cathartic about finally ironing out those problems I had to force myself to stop worrying about earlier because “just finish the first draft dangit”.

I guess that’s not really the end of the writing process, but whatever. Close enough (as fic writers are wont to say).

Another thank-you for these asks, and feel free to come back with more at any time! ;P

Send in fun meta asks for your friendly neighbourhood writer!

#thou canst not then be false to any man #ask game #invictusmaneo #to write and read comes by nature

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