#i think its funny how i can draw him looking like a nervous wreck to this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

volleychumps · 4 years ago

Note

Requesting cheating angst with Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Akaashi, and Atsumu? Rip my heart apart please😌😌♥️

oH SHIT let’s do a remix on the fluff for this one post, everybody- I’m in an angsty mood so uh, eskettit :( I couldn’t make it past Akaashi’s scenario and I had so many breaks, so proceed at your own risk, everyone!

Turn and Keep Going. (Kuroo, Iwaizumi, and Akaashi) - angst -

TW: CHEATING, CURSING, ANGST- no fr I ugly cried and I wrote it

Kuroo

“Y/N. Where do you keep the extra towels again?”

You didn’t mean to see it. In fact, if you had the choice on whether or not you did-

you would have chosen not to.

The phone in your hand became tightened in an iron-clad grip as a chuckle with a nervous tinge to it slipped Kuroo’s mouth, and the world seemed to drown out for a moment. As if the world around you submerged into the water of the sea, where everything you could hear was jumbled as a strange heat flooded your vision, choking your lungs with the salt of the ocean.

“Y/N?” The garbled voice was questioning now as your eyes stayed glued to the screen, of the naked set of breasts and invites, even worse-

the accepting replies.

That was all it took for you to flinch away from the hand that Kuroo had carefully set on your back hunched over the device, the towel he had been using to dry off his hair falling to the floor in a heap of material as the raven-haired boy finally entered your bedroom from his post-practice shower.

Still, the phone remained tightened in your hand so tight to the point where your knuckles were turning white.

“Why are you going through my phone?” The accusatory edge to Kuroo’s voice had risen, and so did you to your feet, the device hitting the floor next to the towel as you fight to keep your head afloat.

“How long?” Your voice cracked, no matter how hard you fought the breaking feeling spreading across your chest as Kuroo seemed to still completely, and you didn’t need to look at him fully in the face to know how utterly guilty he looked.

“W-What do you-?”

“Don’t.” Your voice was soft, refusing to meet the captain’s eyes now, not knowing just who was standing in your room.

Not knowing just who was the man now holding your face in his hands, urging you to look at him with his own flood falling on his cheeks as his words remained garbled. Still, you let him.

“Baby. Kitten-fuck. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I love you! I wasn’t completely there when I-”

“Fucked her?” Your voice hadn’t risen, eyes glazed over in a haze as Kuroo’s voice hitched.

“No. Nononono- Y/N, kitten-”

“T-Tetsurou?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as your head finally rose to meet his, willing everything inside you to hold it back as Kuroo held you tighter, as if his arms would salvage what was falling apart.

“Get out.”

“Y/N. Please.” His voice fell to a whisper-

and the dam broke.

“I SAID GET THE HELL OUT.” You screamed, falling to your knees as your arms wrapped around yourself, knowing you were all you had in the world at the moment. You saw his legs approach you, before hesitating and turning the other way, clenched fists creating bloody marks in his hands from his fingernails as he complied.

“And Tetsurou.” You spat just as his legs stall in the doorway, watching as Kuroo’s feral and playful eyes that once painted every edge of your universe seemed to be fighting to remain stable. The captain heard those words, and couldn’t fight the sobs beginning to wreck his body as the voice he loved echoed in his ears with parting words-

Your voice didn’t crack this time.

“Don’t come back.”

Iwaizumi

“She’s a nobody.”

You jump at the sound of the voice, humorless chuckle slipping your lips as Iwa steps to your side, dark eyes looking tired and void of any light that might had once lit up his dark irises. You look out at the landscape, still looking straight forward as the ace settles next to you, hanging his forearm across his bent knee.

“How did you find me?”

“It’s been two years. I know you, Y/N.” Iwaizumi’s eyes bore into your side profile, and more sarcastic giggles make their way past your lips as you hug your knees to your chest, jabbing him where it hurts.

“Funny. I really thought I knew you, Hajime-”

“Don’t you start with that shit.”

You lazily finally meet Iwa’s eyes, causing the ace to feel the lump growing in his throat at the amount of light drained from the look of them, mirroring his own. Iwa moistens his lips, trying to get his head back on track as the heat tinges at the sides of his eyes.

“We love each other, don’t we?”

“Yeah. We did.”

Iwa flinches at the past-tense term, feeling his breathing hollow out at the sound of it.

“We must’ve at some point, right?” All cried-out, you watch the sun seem to slowly sink into the horizon in a mix of color as your eyes soak in its’ prettiness, as if the light from the sun would somehow bring the gleam back to your eyes-

but every time you closed them, all you saw was Iwaizumi fiercely kissing another girl in the passenger seat of her car, fist clenched in her hair as he kissed her with anger from the fight he had with you-

“You do. You love me.” The denial sunk in as you laugh. And you laugh some more as if that were the most idiotic thing in the world. “And I love you, Y/N- princess, we can make this work and get through this-!”

“I don’t want to, though.” You cut him off, drawing circles in the dirt as you remember the nights teasing Iwa for showing too little emotion- not knowing that the most you would get out of him would be after he stuck his tongue down another girl’s throat.

“Don’t you get that?” You shake your head, smiling as if you can’t believe it, shoving Iwa’s attempt of holding you off of you as you raise to your feet, soaking in the colors as they fade to a more dark color palate.

“I don’t give a fuck about some nobody, don’t you get that?!” Iwa’s on his feet now too, and you finally begin to crack as you look out to the horizon, a familiar heat flooding your vision as you smile.

“Hey, Hajime.” You ignore his cry, prompting the dark-haired boy to look in the same direction you were. “This is where it all started, didn’t it? Where you kissed me, and promised that you would always protect me, right?”

Iwa’s own eyes brim with frustration as the stinging heat from earlier takes over, feeling the mix of regret and heartbreak begin to settle in as you turn and give him a smile. No sarcastic intention behind it as you close your eyes, Iwa’s eyes widening at the sight of something he’d never get to see again.

“I guess you really don’t know me, after all.” You smile to the point where its’ painful, spinning on your heel. “I came because I knew you’d find me, not to fix whatever this is, but-”

You’re turned around now, the sun fading into night as you will your legs to keep walking.

“To say goodbye to you, Hajime.”

And so, the dark-haired ace watched as you walked off into the distance and out of his life for a problem he created, yells of frustration enclosed in his throat and the need to punch something ever-so prevalent-

as the sky above now swirled with dark pigment.

Akaashi

“Don’t. Don’t go, please.”

“Keiji, let go.” You tug your arm in an attempt to make the messy-haired boy release you, trembling when he pulls you into his chest, burying his head in your neck as the hot tears hit your skin, prompting you to bite your lip and fight the urge to hold him back as your own eyes burn. If he wouldn’t let you go, then-

You can’t help the vicious words from slipping. “She’s waiting, you should go to her, shouldn’t you?”

“Stop. D-Don’t say that-”

“Am I wrong?” Your voice remains stable to your surprise, causing Akaashi to tighten his hold on you even more. “The girl who came out after you in your shower...who is she?”

“No one! No one, Y/N, you were so far for so long, and-”

“And what?” You question emotionlessly. “You have needs? You were lonely? Cut the bullshit.”

“Do you know what it’s been like?” Akaashi’s voice is soft with an angry edge as he pulls back, still holding you in his arms as if to keep you there for an eternity, and for a minute, time does stop-

and you soak in the reality. Life tore you two apart, distanced yet together, far away yet still part of the same relationship. The blue-eyed boy would never be able to rewind the clock and keep you as his no matter what life hurled-

“Let go.”

“Fuck if I do.”

Your strong exterior begins to crumble as Akaashi watches with now widened eyes as the viciousness drains only to be replaced with sorrow, relief filling his heart when you hold him back just as tightly, your chin resting on his shoulder as your grateful he won’t be able to see what kind of expression crosses your features.

“Keiji.” You whisper almost child-like, causing Akaashi’s heart to swell with hope until the next words make his heart stop.

“Eat healthy, will you? I know Bokuto likes to drag you around to all these places, but too much ramen isn’t good for you-”

“Y/N?”

“And please, for god sakes, make sure you remember to pick up your suit from the laundromat on Thursdays, I know you’re presentations are usually on Fridays-”

“Y/N.”

“Oh, and don’t forget- you always make it a point to drop by Konoha’s for a guy night on the fourth of every month, so don’t drink too much because it gives you a massive migraine in the middle of the night-”

“Y/N!”

“And Keiji?” You pull back, corners of your mouth pulled back as you cup his face gently, leaning your forehead against his as Akaashi Keiji freezes in shock as the love of his life, his future, his world-

Smiles a wordless goodbye, capturing his lips as Akaashi wonders how to turn the hands of time, forcing the laws of nature to bend for his selfish desires as his arms slacken-

“Be happy.” You whisper, retracting your arms and hands before stepping out of his now weak grip, brushing past him with a finality in your steps as time refuses to stop, Akaashi fighting every instinct on forcing you to stay with him-

letting you go as the hands of time continue to move along with your steps away from him, the setter lifting a hand to his mouth before he falls to his knees and looks up to the sky-

wishing he had more hours, minutes, and seconds to see that smile for just a bit longer.

“Yeah. You do the same, love.”

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

LMAO GO READ SOME OF MY FLUFF IF THIS MADE YOU SAD I’M SORRY

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu akaashi keiji #haikyuu iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu angst #tw: cheating

4K notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 4 years ago

Text

♡nsfw alphabet w minho♡

I tried my best to make a list of my own, but I borrowed a few terms from this lovely template!

requested by a cutie anon!

Aftercare: (what they are like after sex) ok, so I see minho as someone who would be super caring after you’ve both properly come down and would want you to feel as comfortable as you can be--he doesn’t want you do have to do much. I am a big believer in minho drawing you a bath to help you relax and get cozy after: he’d hold you in his arms too while giving you a little massage.

Bdsm: (are they into it? how “hard” do they like to go?) yes. the answer to this is yes. I feel like minho is one who really really gets off to the feeling of being the one in control, and knowing that you’re under his control. hearing your little whimpers, or seeing the way that you toss around when he’s using toys or has you bonded turns him on like no other. along this line, I feel like he’d also gladly tease you relentlessly until you’ve got tears in your eyes. he’ll only give you what you want if you ask him nicely

Cum: (anything to do with cum) sooo minho loves cuming on you. he loves it a ton. for him, its the perfect picture when you’re gasping underneath him, just off your own orgasm, hands bound or clawing to the bed when he’ll cum on your chest, or your back, mayyybe even your face if you’re comfortable. oh! if you’ll cum on him...he doesn’t mind that either.

Degredation: (do they like using names on you, or for them?) as we have seen above, I feel like he would be into using degrading names, or having you say them back to him, for example: “you’re such a whore for my dick, tell me that you’re a whore for me.” etc. Of course, he never means what he says, he just knows that it amps things up for the both of you.

Experience: (how experienced are they?) minho is fairly experienced, and also knows well what he likes and knows how to ask you what you like as well. minho isn’t scared to give you instructions or guide you in how you pleasure him as well--he would ask you to do the same!

Favorite (pet names): well, i think that there is a general consensus that minho likes kitten and kitty--it just makes sense lol. Otherwise, the softer ones would be my love, sweetheart, hun, doll, baby girl/boy etc.

Gagging: (size kink perhaps?) I think yes on this one. minho is alll about the power that he has over you, so seeing you gag would boost his confidence. knowing that you have to work a little harder to take him in reassures him that you’re his and that you only bend to him. at the same time, he would never push you to do something that made you uncomfortable and would ask you if you wanted to use safe words/ symbols.

Hair: (how well groomed are they?) this is kind of funny because I think that minho would actually really care about this. mostly from a functionality standpoint, but also when he’s trimmed he feels more confident and like he’s got everything together and organized for when he’s with you.

Intimacy: (the romantic aspect) so minho has 2 modes, and they vary depending on his mood or yours. mode 1 is where he’s doming the hell out of you and he gets to do what ever he likes, making you cum over and over again, teasing you for as long as you can take it and doesn’t show much mercy. on the other hand, when the vibe is different, holy hell he can give you the softest, most intimate sex that you can ever experience. i’m picturing super slow and deep thrusts into you, kissing you just as slowly in between while he tangles up his hands in your hair u g h i love thinking about this

Jack off: (all about masturbation) I see Minho as one who would jack off really lazily, much later at night when there isn’t too much else to do; it isn’t something he prioritizes often unless there’s something that crosses his mind that really turns him on, he’ll even risk doing it somewhere semi-public if it means he gets to roll the image over and over in his mind, especially of you. Oh, and he loves jacking off in the shower when its steamy and warm, I don’t make the rules!!

Kink(s): Minho loves having you all dressed up for him, I’m talking lace, velvet, anything strappy, harnesses, collars, chokers, thigh garters, maybe some kitten ears, mostly he just loves watching you and this is like icing on the cake. I see him having a hand kink as well?? When he’s worshiping your body, he watches his hands trace you all over, he loves it when you suck on his fingers, or when he rubs his thumb over tongue. Also, breath play, edge play and voyeurism!

Location: anywhere. and I mean it. the more risky it is, the more exciting it is for him. bathrooms, locker rooms, dressing rooms, kitchen, living room couch, dining table, shower, bathtub, hotel rooms, the place doesn’t matter, it’s you that does. he would never miss an opportunity to be intimate with you whether its more slow and passionate or sweaty, rushed and needy.

Multiple (partners): i think that this is something that minho would be open to! but not at first. minho is someone who can be very possessive at times, so sharing you with others when the realtionship is new makes him a little nervous--bc he wants you to be all his! after a while though, the idea of sharing you with someone and watching you get wrecked under them...he wouldn’t oppose.

No: (something they won’t do, turn offs) while he won’t say no, daddy kinks aren’t his favorite, it’s simply something that doesn’t turn him on; he prefers to be the one calling you names hehe. he’s mostly an open minded person, just because he gets off on helping you get off.

Oral: loves loves giving oral to his partner, it’s one of his favorite ways to begin foreplay, he’s exceptionally skilled as well, and knows perfectly how to use his mouth to tease. gives one hell of a blowjob, and knows how to make you cum over and over just from his tongue on your clit. he won’t ask you to blow him, but rather tease you until you’re begging to do it for him.

Pace: super slow or super fuckin’ fast. there is no in-between and that’s that on that! if you ask me, as much as he revels in pounding you into the bed, it’s the slower and more sensual moments that linger on his mind longer.

Quickies: i think this goes without saying, but minho never passes up the opportunity to take you right then and now. funnily enough, if you’re at work/school and send him a message about how you might be feeling a little horny, this man will drive all the way to you just to help you out. lil anecdote: his favorite thing to do is fuck you bent over a bathroom sink, battling the time before someone notices you’re away. he loves watching your fucked out face in the tinted green bathroom mirror.

Ropes: (tying you up au) i added this to the list mostly for fun, but also I’ve got this idea of minho loosing his mind over having you tied up or restrained. ropes, ribbons, velvet, bow ties, handcuffs and much more. there’s nothing more that he likes than seeing you all helpless and not able to do anything about it. he thinks you looks so pretty tied up especially if it’s ribbons of pretty colors that look beautiful on your skin.

Stamina: bucket loads. I’ve definitely seen something somewhere talking about how minho’s got a dancers stamina and I can’t agree more. minho’s got the stamina to draw out his thrusts for hours or give it to you as quickly and as roughly as he possibly can, granted he’ll be a sweating mess by the time that he’s done, but he sees that as sign that he did his job very well.

Toys: in my oponion, yes and no. lolll I say this for the reason of minho’s ego getting in his own way. he feels fuckin’ amazing knowing that he can make you cum as hard as you do only from his body and would much rather use the tools at his disposal rather than toys...but...seeing what toys can do to you and how he can use them to his advantage is soemthing he won’t pass up. His personal favorites are all kinds of vibrators, cock rings, hmmm and occasionally nipple clamps

Unfair: (tw: dubcon) (how much that they like to tease) oh my, very much so. fuck, it’s probably his favorite thing to do to you! I’ve said before on this account that minho is into teasing even when it isn’t “that time” meaning he’ll brush up against you in public with his hand or grind himself into you when you’re sitting in his lap. his hand will creep up your thighs slightly when the two of you are in the car together to make you squirm a little bit. and of course, he’ll tease you for real when he’s got you all to himself, and would do it for hours if you let him.

Volume: frick i love thinking about this!!!! i see minho as being someone more on the quiet side: shaky exhales, choked little breaths, the occasional soft “mmm” or “ahh.” if he’s really loosing himself in it however, looking down at you with tears in your eyes, or drool slipping down your neck from blowing him, he’ll let out some of the most unapologetically erotic moans on his pink lips

Wild card: (you pick!) i would like to use this place to talk about how much a bratty sub makes him go frickin’ feral. There is something about the way that you bite back at each of his demands, it only makes him want to dig into you even harder. you’d say to him as he’s relentlessly fucking into you “i-is that all that you can do? you’re bo-boring me...” in seconds, he would have you flipped around into a completely different position, something you didn’t even know existed that makes your muscles burn but your heat ravenous. he’d say, “if i’m so boring how is it that I’ve made you a fucking mess for me three times already?”

X-ray: (what’s going on under those pleather pants) thicc thighs I’ll tell you that HA, jk that’s just me having the biggest most embarrassing thigh kink alive lmaooo. buuut it’s true! minho’s got those perfectly toned and thick thighs that he loves having you grind on of course. as for what this letter is really about, I see minho has having just the right proportions. not to be cheesy, but it’s like this boy was practically frickin made for you!! buuuut I think we all know that minho’s packing with something

Yes: (biggest turn ons) on top of the ones mentioned above, I wanna make this one kinda cute and sentimental just bc I can lolll, but a major turn on for minho is a bomb ass personality!! minho really treasures people who are unique, true to themselves and passionate about something! he finds this super super attractive. this man is an absolute SIMP for a personality and that’s the first thing he falls in love with about you! (also shhhh I’m not pushing my pan!minho agenda shhh)

Zzz: (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) kinda like with aftercare, minho can’t rest himself properly until you are fully taken care of! as soon as he knows that he’s covered all the bases: cleaning you off, getting you clothes, water, food, giving you a massage if you need it. as soon as the two of you are all cuddled up in together, then he’ll be able to relax himself, patiently smoothing down your hair as you fall asleep yourself, then, he’ll be out like a light.

#the hard and soft stan in me is thrivingg #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz #skz smut #lee minho #lee minho smut #minho smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshots #stray kids drabbles

217 notes · View notes

whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

The Narcissist

My tasteful whump approach of: what if Tobias Hankel had made good on his word and come to kill Aaron Hotchner?

No major warnings apply, whump, angst, and sweet, sweet fluff

Word Count: 5k

If Aaron Hotchner smoked, he’d be blowing through a pack of cigarettes right about now. Gideon had benched him. The older man had taken one look at him and pulled him aside. He’s a nervous wreck. The tremor in his hands visible as his voice had cracked, asking the team to just broadcast what they each thought were his worst characteristics. Gideon let him drive his point home-- Aaron is many things but a narcissist has never been one of them-- and put him in a place where there was only one right answer. Gideon had told him no one would blame him if he couldn’t do this.

“It’s okay if you can’t handle it.”

His stomach cramps at the thought of those words.

Narcissists.

Bully.

Drill Sergeant.

Sexist.

Weak.

Leaning with his weight on his left arm, pinned above his head, Hotch vomits against the side of the house. His knees shake and tears he can’t control the tears that roll down his cheek. He bites back a sob as he falls to one knee, nearly landing in the puddle at his feet. They’re right, he concludes, shaking so hard he’s not certain he’s going to be able to get back up. He’s nothing but a bully. Worthless. Weak.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Hotch looks up to see a dark shadow approaching him. He sniffles, straightening as his heart pounds. His subconscious drawing up his shields. Something’s not right. “Who are--” he jerks back, blinking dumbly as his brain fails to comprehend what’s just happened. He’s looking up at the sky, flat on his back. A gunshot. He coughs and gags as the thick taste of copper coats his tongue. He’s been shot.

“I condemn you,” the deep voice rasps into the dark.

Hotch just blinks, ragged wheezes leaving his mouth. He’s looking down the barrel of a gun.

“2 Corinthians 5:10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive the things done in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad." The hammer draws back as the sound of the old front door being thrown open rips through the night. “Every sinner must pay--” the hammer strikes.

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

Derek finds Reid.

He’s sitting on the floor with his hands bound in front of him, just waiting for whatever torture comes next. When his eyes land on them, he lets out a broken sob. Drawing his feet to his chest, he shakes his head. “No,” he rasps, burying his head in his knees. “No. No. No!” He starts to rock, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his body drawn tight.

“Spencer?” Gideon tries to crouch near him but Reid kicks out and pushes himself away.

“No,” he cries. His eyes meet Gideon’s bloodshot and red-rimmed. “No,” there are tears pouring down his eyes. “I killed him,” he rasps. “I killed him, didn’t I?” His tone shifts. His body… Spencer Reid isn’t their rookie. He’s not their kid. He’s a shell. Broken. His voice rasps and breaks as he pleads-- the truth. He needs the truth. “Gideon, you have to tell me. Did I kill him?”

Gideon shakes his head-- oh. “Derek!” his voice is a bark, a command. It’s a level of control and demand that Morgan hasn’t seen or heard of since Adrain Bale. It snaps Morgan’s attention to the man though. “Get Aaron and Garcia on the phone and get out of here. Hankel’s going to them.”

Morgan freezes in shock, processing exactly what that means. “He’s…” his eyes dart to Reid. The younger man’s eyes bouncing between Gideon and Morgan, trying so desperately to figure out the answer to his question. So Morgan doesn’t say it, he just nods and turns around shouting out for Emily. But, by God, he thinks it. He thinks it and it makes his stomach twist and his blood cold: Tobias Hankel is going to kill Hotch.

Garcia doesn’t answer his calls.

Three calls.

All to voicemail.

Morgan drives through the yard, cutting time and not giving a damn. He pulls right up alongside the police cruiser and an ambulance. “Hey,” he shouts, throwing his door open and leaving it as he runs to the first cop he sees. He pulls out his badge. “My team,” he says. “We’re working a case here. Where are Agents Hotchner and Garcia?”

The cop looks him up and down, obviously displeased with being interrupted from his leaning and watching as everyone around them works. “I don’t know,” says with a shrug. “We got some guy waiting to get picked up by the coroner.”

Morgan curses in frustration. “This isn’t some joke to me, man.” He looks around, “is there anything else you can tell me?”

Before the cop can say anything further, Emily shouts Morgan’s. She’s jogging up through the grass, moving away from the crowd of EMTs, officers, and other jackets standing by the side of the house. Motioning for him to join her, he steps back towards the car. Following.

“Hotch and Garcia are headed towards the hospital,” she shouts. “They’re not sure Hotch is gonna make it.”

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

Penelope Garcia stands completely alone.

Around her, the emergency room buzzes with its flooded life. Such a stark, dark comparison to her friend. His still chest barred for anyone to see as doctors lean over him. The wound is still oozing blood. A dark vacuuming wound. Sucking. He’s as pale as death and silent. He’s not crying in pain. His dark eyes aren’t scanning every inch of space he can see.

He’s still and silent.

From here, she can see the wounds from Adrian Bale’s bomb. She’s only known him since that bomb. That day.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she’s still new to the job. A greenie, the other agents playfully taunt. She doesn’t find it all that funny but this is better than federal prison. “How can I help you?” She’s got one hand holding the weight of her head, the other clicking her pen lazily against the desktop.

She’s not special here. She’s got nothing. She hates this job.

“Miss Garcia,” a weak voice greets. “I don’t know if you remember,” the caller coughs, wet and thick. That’s when she hears the wheezes. “I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good boss but it’s Agent Hotchner.”

She remembers. He’s who’s she’s supposed to be working with. That is before she got pulled to work at this desk all day doing nothing. She’s got about three more months of this garbage before she can be trusted with any of the real stuff. Before she can go work with the teams on the units-- mostly, to work with Hotch and his team. Of which, she still hasn’t met.

“I remember,” she says. She’s not sure what else she’s supposed to say.

He chuckles on the other end but it ends in an awful sounding cough. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “I’m afraid…” he takes a deep breath. “Have you seen the news?”

“No, sir.”

He hums. “Well,” he says, “we’ve gotten ourselves into a spot of trouble.”

From what she can tell, she feels that’s probably an understatement. Through his silence, the short pauses between his quick, shallow breathing, she can hear the commotion of a hospital. She can even hear his heart monitor. An undergrad degree in biology on a track to medical school doesn’t get you much in cyberspace as a hacker but she knows, from the sound of that monitor, somethings not okay.

“I was just wondering if you could do me a favor?”

His voice sounds so soft, nearly subdued almost as if he’s falling asleep, that she can’t say no. “Of course, sir.” She’s really only seen him a handful of times. The first time after he recruited her and several times in passing. Every time she can remember seeing him in the hall or in the parking lot he’d always offered a small, shy wave. Despite her frustrations with being placed on desk duty, she doesn’t hate him.

“I, ugh,” he clears his throat. His voice has softened. He’s certainly losing his battle with consciousness. “Haley,” he rasps her name. “My wife,” he clarifies. “I--I lost my phone and I just want to talk to her.” The hurt in his voice, the desperation breaks her heart. “...hit my head,” he slurs. “I...I--I hit my head and I can’t really… dialing the numbers is hard.”

The man just wants to talk to his wife. He just wants some comfort.

“Kind of silly,” he mumbles. “Could dial here but couldn’t remember the home one. The--ugh-- couldn’t remember the home line.”

She smiles and starts to do as he asks but then remembers the limited information she’s got right now. There’s no way she can access his file, let alone get to his personal information to find his wife’s number. “Sir,” she says, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. She hates to do this because she wants to help him so badly. “I don’t have access to that information.”

They sit in silence for a long pause.

Hotch is struggling to hold on and thinking hurts but he’s sure there’s something she can do about that still… “Break a rule for me,” he says, tone playful. “I know you hate it down there. Hack my file.” He sniffles, the sound of sheets shifting blocking the line as he moves in discomfort. “Please, Penelope?”

Oh… how is she supposed to say no to that?

“You’d better have my back when they chew me out for this,” she says, setting into the task at hand. It’s pretty easy. Nothing like hacking the database months ago. She’s got half the work handed to her.

“Always,” he rasps.

She finds it easy enough. “Alright,” she says. “I’m dialing her right now.” They both sit in silence as the ringing fills the line. Two rings turn into three and she feels her heartbreaking for this poor man. The line clicks to an end and she smiles sadly at the sound of her much healthier boss’s voice greets the end call. Haley, she’s assuming, cuts in and ends the recording.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“ ‘s okay,” he slurs. “She’s… She’s pro’ly gonna call back ‘vently.”

Chewing at her lip nervously she offers, “I can stay. If you’d like. I’ll talk to you.”

He chuckles softly and she winces as it ends in more uncomfortable shifting and more of those terrible wheezes. “...don’t hafta.” He chokes on a breath and their conversation takes a pause as a nurse steps in. Her soft voice telling Hotch that he needs to rest and the doctor’s ordered some mild sedatives.

“Can’t,” he whispers to the nurse. “I’m talk’n to my friend Penelope.”

She smiles, blushing.

The nurse responds in kind that Garcia can stay but he still needs to get some rest.

“She’s right, sir.” She cuts in. “I’ll stay and talk to you until fall asleep, okay?”

She can hear the hiss of oxygen which is good because his breathing was really concerning her. When he comes back he sounds better but like he’s half-asleep. That’s probably for the best. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he says.

“I am,” she responds. “You need some sleep though. For your head.”

He hums in agreeance. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I hit my head.”

“I know.”

She’d talked to him that day until the phone died, even though he only stayed awake three minutes after that. Leaving that day from the office, she’d seen what he’d meant about the news and the “spot of trouble” he’d gotten into. Six agents were dead. She’d cried, right there in the bullpen, for a man she hardly knew.

Since then, she’s really grown to love him. He’s her friend. She loves him.

“Baby girl?”

Garcia turns around and sees Morgan, Emily, and JJ. She stays where she is, tears falling down her face, and leans right into the hugs they pull her into. She needs all the comfort she can get. But the hugging only lasts for so long. There are questions they need to be answered and she’s the only one with the answers.

They give her time. Twenty minutes. Just enough time for Gideon and Reid to come to the hospital

“Okay,” Morgan holds his hands around Garcia’s. Keeping her hands cupped around the warm styrofoam surrounding the shitty hospital coffee Gideon had bought them all. It keeps her hands from shaking so hard. “Can you tell me what happened now?’

Garcia nods and sniffles. She glances up at him once, shying away from his kind gaze. “Hotch went outside,” she starts, “right after you guys left.” Forcing herself to take a steadying breath, she’s able to continue on. Trying very hard to keep her composer. She knows it’s important she tells someone. “I could hear him getting sick,” she whispers because it feels like something she shouldn’t be saying. “You know how he is,” she says, looking up at Morgan. “When he gets like that? So nervous and anxious that he just…”

Morgan nods. He’s seen Hotch work his nerves up like that many times. It’s hard to tell how many times Morgan’s tailed Hotch outside, standing to the side as the man fails to work through an anxiety attack. He’s gonna kill himself one of these days getting worked up like that. Won’t ever let anyone help him, either.

Garcia had wanted to help him tonight. She just… she couldn’t stand to see him like that. Shaking so hard and pale. He’d excused himself after about ten minutes of the two of them just sitting in silence, listening to the other’s going over the plan to get Reid.

“I couldn’t see him like that,” Garcia says softly. “I wanted to help,” her voice cracks and she starts to shake again. “When I--” her breath catches.

“Alright,” Morgan stops her. He rubs her thumbs over her hands. “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”

Garcia nods and takes a moment, breathing in through her nose. “I’m okay,” she says with a tight smile. Morgan doesn’t believe it. She can tell. Squeezing his hand she repeats herself. “I mean it.” Besides, what comes next is the hard part.

Clearing her throat, she manages to continue. “I was coming outside when I heard the first gunshot,” her voice is already shaking again. “I don’t know-- I didn’t really know what to do? I mean, Hotch has a gun and I don’t so… but I didn’t want something to be wrong and leave him all by himself.” She sniffles a little, laughing sadly at the irony of her own words.

Morgan brushes the tear that falls down her cheek away.

“When I got out there…” she stops, just thinking about what she’d seen.

The porch only had one lightbulb which hung from a strand of wires just hardly holding on. Still, as she stepped out the low light had shown her all she needed to see. The dark silhouette of Hotch’s face and his long body on the ground. There was blood on his face and more pooling onto his white dress shirt. Spreading and falling down the sides of his chest. So much blood.

There was a second man. He’d started talking like he didn’t even see her.

“I condemn you.”

She’d been frozen, in both fear and confusion.

She hadn’t done anything until she saw him pulling the hammer back. Aiming to shoot Hotch again. “Hey,” she’d run at the man with everything she had. Not for a moment did she think about what would happen if the man turned the gun to her. What would have happened then? If he’d shot her?

There’d be two bodies in the morgue.

“Hotch isn’t dead.”

Garcia flinches and looks up at Morgan in confusion. “What,” she rasps, softly.

“You said--” he frowns in confusion. “You said there would be two bodies in the morgue but Hotch isn’t dead. He’s still in surgery.” He leaves out how grim things are looking. That losing Hotch will set off a domino effect. They’ll lose Reid and Gideon isn’t enough. They’ll lose the team. The only family some of them have ever had.

Oh. She nods. Right, no, she knew that. That’s easy for him to say though. He hadn’t placed his hands over the gaping hole in Hotch’s chest. He hadn’t looked Hotch in the eyes, watching as his life blurred out. She had. She’d felt her friend’s heart slowing. Heard his breathing catch, stop, and his eyes dim. She’d been there. She’d held his hand in the ambulance.

She was right there.

She… doesn’t think he’ll make it.

“Yeah,” she whispers thickly. This time she doesn’t let Morgan brush away her tears. She hadn’t told him the worst parts. That she’d hit Tobias Hankel until he stopped moving. She’d watched his blood splatter out around him and she’d caused that.

Then she’d gone to Hotch. Her knees are still soaked with his blood. The grass had just… it was like sitting in mud. Warm mud. His eyes had searched for her in his confusion, his mouth moving to form silent words. She’d held his hand the whole time. Never leaving his side until the E.R. He’d stopped breathing in the ambulance just as it had pulled into the lot.

The worst part is that he hadn’t panicked. While everyone else in the ambulance moved with newfound vigor, he’d finally relaxed. The stress lines in his face had smoothed over and his eyes had calmed of their rapid movement. Through the chaos, he’d just looked at her and as the doctor’s pulled him away he’d squeezed her hand. And she’s still trying to figure out if he’d meant he would be okay or if she would.

“We need to get you checked out,” Morgan says, running a hand over her arm.

She looks up and shakes her head, “no. I didn’t get hurt. I promise.”

He knows she’s not hurt. The blood all over her clothes may not be hers but he’s sat in blood before too. As reassuring as it is to know it doesn’t belong to you… it’s also insanely psychologically damaging to know it belongs to someone else. Let alone that someone else being someone you love.

“I know,” he soothes. “You’re shaking pretty bad and at the very least, a nurse can get us some warm water to get this blood off. Okay?”

For the first time, she looks at the blood staining her clothes. Looking down at her shaking her hands, she sees the blood caked under her nails and dried to her skin. It makes her sick. “Okay.”

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

“Haley’s here.”

Emily is the first person to frown in confusion. She’s been on the team for only a few shorts months. Her relationships with them are rocky but forming. Given how tightly Hotch holds to his personal information she’s not certain but… “Haley is…” she glances to Morgan and then to Gideon when the other man doesn’t respond.

Gideon nods his head solemnly.

Emily’s heart kicks a beat, so hard she has to shake her head to regroup. Just some four hours ago Hotch had commended her on her ability to compartmentalize everything she sees and here she is shirking away because her boss's wife is here. But it’s not about some power dynamic. “But,” she swallows thickly around the tightness in her throat, “we don’t have news for her.”

Morgan stands up from his chair, eyes on the floor and back to her as he shrugs, “she knows the drill.”

A cold film of sweat covers Emily’s skin at just the thought. She knows about things that have happened for this team before she was on it. She just… it’s kind of different when she has some surface-level understanding of who they are. Even if she thinks Hotch is a dick, she doesn’t hate him. He’s better than a lot of bosses she’s had and maybe-- well, don’t hold her to it, but maybe she feels bad about the name-calling thing. Emily watches silently, unable to hear the words being shared between them. She can still see, though. The way Morgan’s hands shake as he recounts the details. Haley just… takes it. She nods along, clinically removed. She’s strong, more than she should have to be.

Turning from Morgan, Haley steps closer into the waiting room. Looking around at the others, what’s left of them. “And the rest of you,” she asks. “The rest of you are okay?”

Gideon takes on the question. He squeezes her shoulder, “Reid and Garcia are in the E.R. They’re getting there…”

Haley nods and wraps her arms around herself. She takes a steadying breath. “He’s gonna-- He’s going to want to know,” she says and Emily feels intense empathy for this woman. “You know he’s going to want to know as soon as he wakes up if they're’ okay.”

If he wakes up.

Gideon nods, “I know.”

“Okay,” Haley whispers and she’s numb, Emily realizes, as Gideon guides her to a chair. She’s numb so she doesn’t break. “I would--” Haley grabs Gideon’s hand. “I would like to see Spencer and Penelope. To make sure they’re okay.”

Gideon nods, “I’m sure they’d like that.” And they will. While Hotch prefers to stay in the background and worry but there’s no secret Haley is too. They both have a strong love for the babies on the unit.

And now… they have nothing to do but wait.

“Haley?” Reid wakes up restrained. His thin arms held down to the bed with itchy velcro. While he isn’t familiar with this in a personal sense, he’s seen his mother laid out like this. He doesn’t even have to test the restraints, he knows he’s not going anywhere. More pressing than that… Haley Hotchner sitting at his bedside.

Haley perks up, smiling when she sees his dark eyes open in slivers. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets. She stands and comes closer to the bed, taking his thin, cold hand in her own. “How are you feeling?” This man may not be of any blood relation to her or Aaron but she loves him. Her husband loves him. He’s family.

Reid turns his head away from her, tears falling down the corners of his eyes. “You hate me,” he whispers.

She knows only what she needs to. Of course, under the jurisdiction and because the case hasn’t officially “closed” she can’t know that Reid chose Hotch. That his words condemned Aaron to being shot tonight. She does know that Reid is unnecessarily blaming himself for the accident. Because, as they'll soon be able to explain, Tobias was going to hurt someone either way. Haley would agree.

“No,” she soothes. “Of course, I don’t hate you.”

Reid turns to her, eyes haunted and voice hoarse, “but I killed him.”

Haley can’t help the choked sound she makes. Vehemently, she wants to deny that but she doesn’t even know if her husband is alive right now. “You didn’t,” she reassures him because at the very least she knows that’s the truth. This job has already taken her husband’s life. There’s no point in placing the blame on anyone else. “If Aaron dies tonight,” just the thought makes her chest tight.

This isn’t what she’d imagined falling in love with Pirate #4 would look like. A widower in her thirties. Raising their son all alone.

She clears her voice, steadying herself and pushing away the thought. “If Aaron dies tonight, that will have no one’s fault. No one but the Unsubs.” She glances over her shoulder, to the crowd of people-- his team. Their family. She’s seen the guilty little glances they pass her. The hug Garcia had trapped her in… they think they could have stopped this. “This, what happened tonight, is no one’s fault. Not yours, not Aaron's.”

Leave it to her husband to form a team of guilt-ridden sweethearts. She really does love them.

“Do you understand me,” she asks, eyebrow raised.

There are nods and general mumbles but what really catches her attention is the soft, sad smile Garcia manages. “You sounded like him,” the tech analyst whispers. “He’s always so worried about us,” she brushes a tear from her eyes. “Sometimes, sometimes we forget to worry about him.”

But he never lets them.

He’s so under lock and key… preoccupied with an image he’s conjured of what leadership is supposed to look like that he forgets the humanity. The bleeding. The yelling. The life.

Until it’s too late.

A doctor comes to get them. He’s alive, if only marginally. If only just holding on.

His humanity is now visible to them all.

In the mess, there is only a light blanket draped over his thin hips. It leaves his chest bare, visible for them to look long at hard at. To force this memory into their minds. To remember that under those suits there is just a man. A man who is broken and who hurts.

And, in the end, it’s her by his side when he wakes up confused and in pain.

“Aaron,” she pushes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. Even with his eyes on her, he twists, kicking out in pain. He tries to turn his head, pinched eyes sending tears down his face. If he could cry out, he would, but all he can do is choke around the tube in his throat.

It’s like this--

He wakes for a moment, a glimpse of consciousness, and pain. She’s right by his side. She holds his hand and reminds him that he’s okay. That the team is waiting just outside. Then he falls back into the drugs.

It goes on for three days. Hours and hours of his pained kicks and tears. Nothing she can do for him.

On the fourth day, they take the tube out.

The team visits.

He’s sitting up, not of his own violation. There are pillows all around, supporting his back and sides, and two placed around his head to keep his neck supported. He is leaning heavily to his right, curled into the side of his injured chest. Haley’s tucked his blanket up over his chest, doing her best to conceal the bruises up and down his pale skin. No matter how hard she tries, the chest tube nestled between his ribs makes it’s bloodied appearance.

And it’s the first thing they all notice when they come in.

Then him.

Slack against the pillows holding him and eyes out the window on the wall. Half-lidded as he falls asleep.

“Sir,” Garcia whispers. She’s at the front of the crowd and the only one strong enough to push through her shock to get to him. She wastes no time coming to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s so good to see you,” she manages between tears.

He smiles when she hugs him. It’s gentle, she’s very aware of the layer upon layers of bandages currently holding him together. “Penelope,” he croaks, sleepy eyes moving down her colorfully addressed body and his smile broadening when he finds no scratches. No harm. His chest aches and he finds it impossible to push out any more words but he hopes she understands.

He can remember a flash of the ambulance ride here. He can’t remember how or why his body hurts so bad but he knows Garcia was there. The faintest feeling of her hand in his, her voice guiding him between glimpses of consciousness.

Garcia smiles kindly, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “I’m really glad to see you, sir.” Even as he is, hardly presently and held together by surgical stitches-- it beats how she’d left him. For the past few nights, she’s woken in a cold sweat hearing his gurgled breaths. The sound and sight of his chest cavity filling with his lungs.

Jason comes next because none of the others can find their courage. “I know you have a sentimental attachment to your ties,” Gideon says, smiling down at his old friend. “But you really do look decades younger without it.” Nearly, identical to the boy that David Rossi had told him about all those years ago. Eager to learn but not fully trusting of their motives.

Still a trouble maker though.

Shame swells in his stomach, another of his failings so broadly laid out in front of them. If David Rossi could see the two of them now, he’d skin them both. Jason had promised to look out for “the boy”, as Dave fondly called Aaron. But the boy has grown out of his shell…

Jason had kicked him out of it with Boston and he knows Aaron wasn’t ready for that.

He ducks his head and leaves Aaron’s side with a light pat of the younger man’s hand.

Derek guides Reid to Hotch, ignoring the genius’s weak protests.

Hotch’s light up, a spark of life in his body as he spots the kid. “Reid,” he rasps. He shifts his hand, dragging it out to touch Reid. To make sure he’s really here. “... okay?” he manages, breathing, taking the strain of so much movement and all his talking.

Reid nods and it takes all of his self-control not to flinch away from Hotch. His skin is freezing. Hotch is always so warm, even just to stand beside. It’s scary and the weight of his guilt pulls Reid down. “I’m--I’m--”

Hotch smiles weakly, a crooked little grin that meets the lazy mirth in his eyes. “Please,” he whispers. “... d’n’t lie t’ me.”

Reid sniffles, tears threatening to fall down his face. As he’s pulling himself into a lie, he’s surprised to find Hotch’s hand just barely raised off the bed. Beckoning him close. For a hug. He wants to stand stoic. For once in his life, to just be the bigger man but he takes one look at his friend at the man he’s lost sleep worrying over, the man who he trusted to save him from Tobias, and he…

He lets Hotch pull him in.

“You’ll be okay,” Hotch promises. Reid tucks his face into Hotch’s neck, wanting desperately to pull more comfort from this hug but it ends because it has to. Hotch holds his hand a second too long, the two of them just looking at each other. “Strong,” Hotch rasps and Reid nods his head.

If Hotch can believe it… Reid has to.

Derek almost doesn’t say anything at all. He can’t find his voice. A part of him wants to just make out unbothered and another part of him wants to gather his boss into his arms and just hug him. Make sure he’s really here. “Don’t scare me like that.” Derek decides on an in-between. He reaches out and playfully messes with Hotch’s hair, making his bed head even worse. “Next time,” Derek says, losing his gusto. He smiles fondly at his friend and reaches down to squeeze his hand. “Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll kick your ass. I don’t care who’s boss you are.”

It makes Hotch smile and it creates perfect timing for JJ to steal her own hug. She slips right in beside Derek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wouldn’t let him do that,” she promises.

He nods, “...you’d do it yourself.”

She smiles and agrees, “but only if you really deserved it.”

He doubts that.

Emily stands back and attempts to make her getaway unnoticed. She hadn’t wanted to come to the hospital. She isn’t a part of this family, not really, not yet. Garcia had dragged her here though, those sad puppy eyes and a pouty lip. So, Emily caved and she’s regretted that decision since. Especially, when she catches his eyes mid-break-away.

“...okay?” he asks, once again. That seems to be what his main focus is on. The one thing his exhausted brain can pick to identify in each of them.

She wants to scoff or be frustrated with his worry but she looks at his eyes and she realizes that it's a genuine question. He really wants to know. It’s… a strange olive branch to find in the midst of their heated hatred of one another but perhaps she has underestimated him. Maybe, she doesn’t understand him as well as she thinks she does. With a nod, she promises, “I’m okay.”

The ease that sinks into his shoulders is not what she’s expecting.

He struggles to say something else, a mumbled, suppressed something that catches Haley’s attention. She stands and gently runs her palm against his cheek. “Don’t worry about that sweetheart,” she whispers. “Your teams here now, okay? They’re okay.” She wipes his brow, running the side of her fingers along his cheekbone. Smiling when it makes his eyes creep shut, soothing him back down. “Get some rest.”

He nods his head and his eyes fall shut. He’s exhausted. All this talking is hard and he’s hardly managed to stay awake this long all week. “Mmm,” he forces his eyes back open. They move around the room, taking inventory of the crowd. “Okay,” he asks softly.

Haley smiles and keeps up her gentle soothing. “We’re okay.”

His eyes slip back shut. “Okay.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch whump #whump #angst #fluff #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jason gideon #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #emily prentiss #haley hotchner

127 notes · View notes

bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

Text

Whoo boy, been a little bit. I can’t really say much besides IRL sucks, so. Back to something that doesn’t suck, which is BNHA. This chapter is dedicated to the good bean Tenya, especially his little smile which forced me to change my pfp on discord because I just couldn’t.

I was kinda planning on doing arc summaries between sections, but honestly, the BNHA wiki already has those, so if you don’t want to go back and read through all the posts I’ve done for the pre-USJ chapters, just head over there and do a skim of the summaries there, I guess?

[No. 12 - Yeah, Just Do Your Best, Iida!]

I just love how his hand gestures are actual effective tools against enemies, I cannot even. Also, a good and friendly reminder that carbonated drinks stall his engines! I have never seen that used in fanfic, whether for crack or whump purposes… a shame.

We head right into the next morning from that battle training, with the kids being held up by the media as they ask about All Might. Izuku is a bundle of nerves as he awkwardly excuses himself to the nurse’s office, Ochako is a darling who describes All Might as super muscly, and Tenya goes into a whole ass speech with a lot of fancy language to explain the honor of being at UA and learning under All Might.

(Honestly, I find it hard to determine whether this is genuinely earnest or if he’s picked up media warding skills from his parents and older brother. It’s probably genuine, but I just love the idea behind low-key troll master Tenya who learned from the best, aka his older brother.)

Katsuki, unfortunately, is still known as ‘the kid from the sludge incident’, which I mean. I am so fucking baffled at how long the media in this have held onto that 'sludge incident' thing, like, you'd think they'd have moved on to other things by now and don't really think about it much.

It’s the same with the general public (as seen in chapter 3), like, yes, I too would have a fucking complex and anger issues if all anyone thought about in relation to me wasn't my high grades or my skill in combat or anything, but that one time a year ago where I was almost suffocated to death while the people who were supposed to save my life did fucking nothing. I mean, Katsuki has always had a complex, but This Didn't Help.

Moving on, we see the media wondering who the fuck this messy looking dude waving them off is, while Aizawa just. Fucking shoos them like they’re dogs or kids or something. His words seem like a vague attempt at being polite about shooing them, but with the hand gesture, well. Basically comes off more as a chastisement.

...honestly, this feels so weird that no one knew about it even though the kids who got in got a message from All Might saying he’d be teaching there. The only thing I and the others can assume is that there was an NDA on him teaching until it was announced to the newspapers on the first day of classes. Which would explain why it didn’t hit the news until said day…

Whatever, it’s weird, let’s just move on.

One of the reporters steps forward, asking/demanding a chance to speak to All Might about his sudden shift to teaching, only for the guy behind her to try and call out a warning - just a touch too late, as the sensors over the gate react, causing the daunting hunk of metal serving as a gate to slam closed right in front of her. Gonna guess she’s new to the reporting scene. The guy explains that the UA barrier locks down if someone without a school ID approaches the gate, and that supposedly there are more sensors throughout the campus.

The panel gives us a diagram of the three ‘levels’ of sensors - the gate/wall around the school, the walkway to the school, and the school itself. Which I think correlates to the security levels that come up later, since it’s a ‘level three’ breach, which means the school was broken into. Was it… always that fucking simple and I just totally glossed over that detail until now? orz

While the newsfolk complain about not getting comments from UA, we get to see the back of a ~mysterious figure~ who definitely isn’t the primary antagonist of the entire series. God, you can see his individual neck vertebrae.

Horrifying.

We transition to 1a’s homeroom, with Aizawa going over the battle training as well as their grades / evaluations. Aizawa calls out Katsuki and tells him to grow up and stop wasting his talent, which Katsuki grudgingly accepts. Izuku jolts at being called out next over his broken arm, and accepts the chastisement of learning to control his quirk, because trying isn’t going to cut it. Aizawa does soften the blow, however, by repeating that Izuku has potential, assuming he overcomes that issue.

With that done, Aizawa ‘Plus Extra™’ Shouta gets the whole class tense by drawing out the next class announcement. While I think it’s a translation error, the whole class sweating as they wonder whether it’s another brutal pop quiz is hella funny. (I’m guessing it was meant to be ‘test’ which would reference to the quirk assessment as well as the battle training, but ah well.) The whole class sighs in relief as one as Aizawa finally reveals that their task for the morning is to choose a class president - a normal, school-like thing in comparison to the past two days.

Pretty much the entire class has their hands raised to volunteer for the position, with Katsuki being particularly aggressive about it (as per the norm). Even Izuku has his hand shyly lifted up from the desk, while his narration notes that the position in normal schools entails mundane tasks, but in UA’s hero course means leading the group - a position suited for a top hero in the making.

Tenya calls for them all to quiet down, drawing attention as he goes on to explain how leading people is a task of heavy responsibility, but that ambition is not equal to ability. He is so intense it’s hilarious as he explains how the office demands the trust of its constituents, and that if it’s to be a democracy, then he puts forward the motion that they choose their leader through election.

Seriously this is just so fucking hilarious, I love this boy so much. And I love whoever it is that calls out that this is a classroom, not congress.

Tsuyu points out that the class hasn’t known each other long enough to build trust, and Kirishima notes that everyone will vote for themselves. Tenya points out that that is precisely the reason that anyone who gets multiple votes will be the best suited for the job. He then checks with Aizawa if this is allowable, which the teacher agrees to so long as it’s quick. And a quick transition, we reveal the winners-

Izuku with three votes, and Momo with two.

Everyone else, it seems, still has one vote, which was their own (as predicted). Izuku is shook. Katsuki is shaking in anger as he demands to know who the hell voted for Deku. Ochako is whistling and looking away, thinking that she’d better not let Katsuki find out.

(Also of note is that Sero is already approaching Katsuki and making a joke here about it being obvious Katsuki wasn’t one of Izuku’s votes, and then seemingly laughing a bit when Katsuki’s temper turns on him?

Hard to say for sure, but it seems Sero is the first of Katsuki’s future friend group to approach him and get away with poking at his temper. Which I feel is something very much overlooked by the fandom in favor of Kirishima for fairly obvious reasons.)

Tenya, meanwhile, is in a funk as he notes he has no votes, and that that is the harsh reality of office. Momo is concerned as she notes that zero votes meant he voted fro someone else, while Sato points out that Tenya was the one to suggest the election, so what did he seriously want? Izuku and Momo go to the front of the class - Izuku a nervous wreck while Momo’s just exasperated with the situation. Aizawa confirms their positions as he gets out of his sleeping bag, and the class talk a bout about the suitability of the chosen pair while Tenya continues to sulk in his seat.

With that, the first half of the chapter is done, so I’ll call it here. I can certainly say I learned a thing or two today, and I hope y’all did as well!

#readthrough #chapter 12 #usj arc #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #Iida Tenya #aizawa shouta #good to be back #real life is a pain and a half #I would have worked on this yesterday #but the manga site broke #also more food for the sero baku friendship fans

33 notes · View notes

softspideys · 4 years ago

Text

Fruit Lover (Tom Holland x reader)

summary: you’re working as a cashier at the local grocery store. tom is a stranger who keeps giving you fruit.

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

pairings: tom holland x reader

a/n: this is the first thing I’ve written in quite a while and I really am happy with it! just some cute, tooth-rotting fluff, I hope you enjoy:)

Being a cashier at the grocery store wasn’t exactly how you thought you’d be spending your summer. But you were home from college with nothing to do, and money was money.

Aside from dealing with impatient old people or bratty, screaming kids, the job wasn’t really that bad either. And, to make things better, your usual register was right next to your best friend Zendaya’s. When either of you had crazy long lines or were being berated by someone for not scanning their expired coupon, you could just glance up and find her already looking over her shoulder at you, rolling her eyes.

You were unlucky enough to be working the closing shift one Saturday night. It was 10pm, meaning the place was basically empty. You’d been standing at your register for hours by now and your feet were killing you. Despite the air conditioning in the store, the humidity outside still managed to find its way in.

You’d found a pen on the counter and were mindlessly doodling on the palm of your hand when someone in front of you cleared their throat. You jumped, looking up, and immediately thought oh.

The guy standing in front of you was about your age, and he was cute. He was wearing a white t-shirt and black mesh shorts, a baseball cap pulled over his head. You liked the way his dark hair curled over his ears and the bottom of the hat.

“Sorry,” you said guiltily, putting the pen down and starting to scan his items. “I, um, didn’t see you.”

“S’okay,” he said with a smile. “You looked like you were concentrating pretty hard. What were you drawing?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, uh . . .” You weren’t sure why, but you held up your hand so he could see the flowers you’d drawn on your palm before realizing how stupid that was. You swallowed and quickly resumed your scanning.

“Nice,” he said, to your surprise. “You’re lucky; I’m a terrible artist. No one ever wants me on their Pictionary team.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just nodded. “You must like fruit,” you commented, motioning to his groceries: a hand of bananas, some strawberries, a mango, and two kiwis. Oh, and some bread and milk.

He laughed and you felt your face get hot. Why did a cute boy have the power to turn you into a flustered, nervous mess?

“I guess you could say that,” he said. “But doesn’t everyone?”

You shrugged as you began bagging everything. “Sure. I mean, I don’t really like bananas, but mangoes and strawberries are good. I’ve never had a kiwi though.”

“Hmm,” he said, almost thoughtfully. He didn’t say anything else, and you��d never been good at keeping the conversation going with customers anyway, so you didn’t either.

After he paid, you handed him the receipt and pushed his bag towards him. “Have a good night,” you said, already starting to replay the conversation in your head and cursing your awkwardness.

Instead of answering, he reached into the bag, pulled out one of his kiwis, and offered it to you. “Here,” he said. “For you.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You said you’d never had a kiwi before,” he said, nodding at it. “So here. Try it.”

“I—I can’t,” you stammered, although you weren’t actually sure if that was true. There was a rule that employees couldn’t accept tips from customers, but you’d never heard anything against fruit.

“Sure you can,” he said. “It’s already been paid for. Just take it.”

Hesitantly, you accepted. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. If I can convert just one person into being a kiwi-lover, then my work here is done.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

He grinned back, shouldering the bag and starting towards the exit. “No problem. See you around.”

You were still smiling when Zendaya approached your register, plopping a bottle of chocolate milk and a magazine on the belt. “Now that was interesting,” she said.

“He gave me a kiwi,” you said, marveling at it. She rolled her eyes.

“I wish hot customers would come to my lane and give me stuff. Well, there was that one guy who tried to give me a lock of his hair, but I guess that’s not the same thing.”

“I’ve never seen him around here before,” you said, carefully placing the fruit on your counter. “I wonder why he picked me?”

“He probably thought you were cute, duh,” Zendaya said.

You immediately shook your head. “No way. He probably just thought it would be funny. I doubt I’ll ever see him again anyway.”

* * *

A week later, you found yourself working the same shift. All of your other friends were out partying while you were bored out of your mind on a Saturday night. Even Zendaya had taken the night off. She’d tried to convince you to do the same, but you knew you really could use the money. Besides, a small part of you was hoping you’d see the fruit boy again.

You’d worked afternoons during the week and he hadn’t come back, as far as you could tell. You were just beginning to think you were right about never seeing him again when the doors slid open and he walked in.

Heart pounding, you craned your neck and watched as he went into the produce section. He disappeared past your line of vision after that, so you had no choice but to stand and wait.

Quit being stupid, you told yourself. He might not even come to your register. He probably gives fruit to everyone who checks him out.

You forced yourself not to look for him, or even look up, until a familiar voice said, “Hello.”

And there he was, smiling at you and looking soft in a gray hoodie. “Hi,” you said, clearing your throat. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks. Working the late shift again?”

“Yeah,” you said. You didn’t say anything else, concentrating on scanning his groceries, before you added, “I usually work late on Saturdays and Sundays, and afternoons during the week.”

“Gotcha,” he said casually, but he was still smiling.

“More fruit?” you asked quickly, nodding to the items you were currently bagging.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You ever tried a papaya?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“What’d you think of the kiwi?”

You grinned at the memory. “It was really good. I had it with my breakfast the next morning.”

“Good.” He paid for his groceries and, like last time, reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit. “Here. Papaya next.”

This time you didn’t hesitate, reaching out and taking it from him. “Thanks,” you said, feeling your smile grow wider.

He returned it, and you noticed he had brown eyes. “Sure,” he said, already starting for the door. “Have a good night.”

And that was how it started. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself being gifted with not flowers or jewelry, but fruits. He came during the afternoon a few times, but as the store was usually busier then and there was less time to talk, he mostly stuck to late Saturday nights.

He always went to your register, even if you had a long line and Zendaya had no customers at all. He also made a point to give you fruits you’d never tried before. Some of them you’d heard of, like pomegranates, figs, and guavas, while others you didn’t even know were sold in the store, like jackfruit and kumquats.

You liked pretty much all of the fruits he’d given you so far, but your favorite was the figs, only because that was when you learned his name.

“It just seems unfair that you know mine and I don’t know yours,” you’d said as you handed him his receipt. “I call you ‘Fruit Guy’ in my head.”

He’d laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out a fig to place on your counter. “I’ve had worse nicknames.”

He’d started to walk towards the exit, and you thought he was going to leave without telling you. But then he’d turned and smiled at you. “It’s Tom.”

Tom.

Zendaya insisted Tom had a crush on you—why else would he come to your register and give you fruits?

Even though the thought of it made your palms sweaty, you knew she was probably right. You also knew that you didn’t want Tom to lose interest in you, or worse: think that you didn’t like him too. You had to act soon.

So, you waited until you were working the next Saturday night. Four hours of your shift had already gone by, and you’d been a nervous wreck throughout all of it. Where was he?

Finally, the doors slid open and you saw Tom walk in. You watched as he went towards the deli, disappearing from your line of vision. You didn’t know how long it would take him to do his shopping, but all of a sudden it felt like you couldn’t wait any longer.

After a few more agonizing minutes, you finally thought fuck it. You placed a “CLOSED” sign on your belt and turned the light above your register off before going after him.

You wandered up and down the aisles before you found him at the very end of the store in the frozen food section. He had the door to one of the freezers open and appeared to be deep in thought, staring at the ice cream. He didn’t even notice you approaching.

“Hi,” you said.

“Oh, hi.” Tom blinked at you before he grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your legs before.”

You forced yourself to not look down at them. “Oh. Yeah. There they are.”

“There they are,” he agreed. “What’s up?”

You took a deep breath. “I was just thinking that this whole time, you’ve been giving me stuff, and I never got you anything in return.”

His smile faded. “I don’t want anything in return. That’s not—that isn’t why I’ve been doing that.”

“No, I know,” you said quickly. “I just thought—well, I thought I’d give you these.” You reached into the pocket of your apron and pulled out—

“Dates?” Tom said, taking them from you and looking very confused.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m giving you dates, and also asking you out on one.”

Tom stared at the bag and then back at you. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just when you thought maybe you had the wrong idea about all of this, he surged forward and kissed you.

It was like all of your senses had been kicked into overdrive and you were feeling everything at once. His hands were cool from being by the freezers for so long. His eyelashes tickled as they brushed your cheeks. His lips were a little chapped, but soft, moving gently against yours.

“Oh,” you said when you finally broke apart. “Wow.”

He was grinning from ear to ear. “Dates. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. That’s genius, honestly.”

You smiled back, a little shyly. “Thanks.”

“I would really like to go out with you,” he said. “It’s probably time I got your number, right? So I don’t have to keep stalking you at your job?”

You exchanged numbers and he asked, “So, when are you free?”

“Well, I’m probably about to be fired for leaving my register without permission,” you said, only half-joking. “So really, anytime.”

He laughed. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow, then? I can cook. Kind of. We can have a picnic somewhere.”

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’ll even bring dessert. How do you feel about fruit salad?”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #writing #please enjoy this

79 notes · View notes

29-pieces · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober day 9 - Good Omens

Day 9: Take Me Instead Fandom/setting: Good Omens, post Apocalypse-that-wasn’t Read on AO3 Read on FF.net @witchingwhovian this is where Cult Man makes his debut ;)

~*~

PART 1/3 [part 2]

"Angel, erm... I think I might be in... well, you know."

Aziraphale frowned and set his cocoa mug down, clutching the phone tighter. "No, my dear, I don't know. What are you in?"

An exasperated sound from the other end. "Trouble, there I said it, I think I'm in a bit of trouble."

The chair scritched across the floor, shoved backwards as Aziraphale hastily leaped to his feet, cocoa utterly forgotten. "What sort of trouble? Where are you?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried, but not succeeding because he was, as his friend rightly deemed, a "fuss-pot."

Nervous laughter. "Ah... well, that's the funny thing, right? I'm not, uh... well, I'm not sure, if you must know."

"Crowley! No, I don't find that funny at all! What's happened?"

"Somebody summoned a demon, so here I am—wasn't my choice, before you say anything, got yanked out of a perfectly good nap against my will—but there's nobody here."

Aziraphale had a strong feeling he was missing something rather important, brow furrowing even deeper. "If no one is there why don't you just... leave?"

The pause filled him with dread, and the longer it went, the dread-er he got.

"Crowley?"

"I- I can't. Angel, I really need help."

The flippant tone was gone from his voice, leaving a warble of what might have been vulnerability but also rang of concealed pain, and quite a lot of it, and that had Aziraphale gripping the phone so hard it nearly broke.

"Alright, my dear, I'm coming to collect you. I need you to focus and tell me everything so I can find you. What do you see, what do you hear? Anything to help narrow it down."

"Warehouse," the demon grunted. "Can't be sure it's anywhere near Soho, but these summonings usually just grab whatever demon is closest, so unless I'm the only demon in the entire world still topside—not likely, before you panic—I expect this is still London. 'S still dark out. Um... oh, I just heard a train."

Aziraphale gasped. "That'll be the 2:47. I know exactly where you are. Hold on, Crowley, I'm coming!"

He slammed the phone back into its cradle without another word and dashed off into the night, not even stopping to grab a coat or lock the door.

o.O.o

Crowley gritted his teeth from his seat on the dirty floor, clutching his arm tightly against himself. The door of the warehouse slid open with a rusty squeal that set him even more on edge, but it was only Aziraphale who hurried in with a splash.

"Crowley!" he cried out, eyes widening at what was sure to be a bit of an unpleasant picture. "What...?"

"Like I said... demon summoning," Crowley reminded him, gesturing with his limp arm at the unusual decor. A black altar was set up in the middle of the room with various levels of half burned candles, metal bowls containing ingredients he didn't want to consider, and an old book that was probably written on skin or something—wasn't that the usual for these sorts of things? Crowley himself was in a circle chalked out onto the floor with various more signs around the outer edge. He wasn't sure what they meant, but he was fairly clever, and the fact that he wasn't able to use a single lick of demonic power while standing in the circle suggested that they were meant to inhibit his demonic power.

All of that would have meant nothing, as the circle wasn't actually intended to contain him. He could have simply walked out, except for... well, everything else in the room.

Aziraphale splashed through the puddles of standing water, making a beeline towards Crowley, who threw up his hands in a panic.

"Wait, stop!"

The warning wasn't fast enough. Aziraphale skidded to a halt at the border of the circle, but his haste left him splashing the water on the floor in all directions with every footstep. Crowley ducked and covered his head with his arms, meaning the droplets avoided his face but peppered his sleeves. He choked on a tight sob as his already severely burned shirt sizzled all the way down to skin.

Aziraphale gasped, catching on immediately and glancing down at his sodden feet. "Holy water?"

"Someone didn't want me getting out of here," Crowley said through an even tighter jaw. "I- I tried, but..." The foot he'd stepped into the closest puddle with—not realizing it was holy water until it was too late—was burned and mangled all to ruin. The knee he'd immediately fallen down to was a blistered wreck. And the arm he'd splashed into the water to catch himself and roll out of the way with felt like it had practically melted.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale cried, tears visible in his eyes as he took in the sight of the injuries. The angel took a steadying breath. "Alright, not to worry, we'll figure this out. I can carry you out, my dear, but we'll have a hard time getting you healed up." He stepped into the circle and knelt by Crowley's side, careful not to let any part of his wet clothes touch the demon.

Somewhere behind them, the door slid open with a squeal once again, drawing their attention. This time, it was a human who slipped into the warehouse, followed quickly by five more. Crowley glowered at them; he'd been hoping for a group of dumb kids not realizing what they were playing at, but these folks had more of the "satanic cult" look about them.

"It worked," one of them said hoarsely as he raised, of all things, a water gun. It was pointed at Crowley. And not one of the plant misters he'd tried to intimidate Hastur with, mind you, but a proper water gun that could probably hit him even from that distance. Odds were good it was filled with more holy water and he wasn't going to call that bluff.

Crowley gulped, wishing he could stand.

Never leaving his side, Aziraphale drew himself up. "And who, might I ask, are you? What exactly were your intentions here?"

One of the other cult members frowned. "Who are you?" she asked. "I thought we only summoned one..."

"How are you not burning?" another demanded, raising a water gun of their own and looking at Aziraphale's soaked trousers. "You're not a demon."

"I should say not," Aziraphale sniffed. "Why were you summoning one?"

The leader beckoned another cultish-looking fellow, who held up a pair of silver handcuffs. Even from the distance, Crowley could see the marks that glowed on the metal like fire and he groaned. He didn't know where these people had gotten actually effective tools from, but he didn't like it.

"Why else?" the man asked with a shrug. "They have power."

Not even an original plot. Crowley was almost insulted. "So you think I'm going to be your genie in a bottle, granting your wishes?" he asked with a scoff. He immediately wished he hadn't as five of the six immediately primed their water guns. Aziraphale tried to move in front of him, but he couldn't cover all five angles.

"No," Cult Man said. "Literally, you have power. Power we can extract."

"Oh." Extraction. Okay. Ah... that was more original. Crowley would have preferred to go back to the genie thing. He really, really didn't like the word "extract"...

Nor, it seemed, did Aziraphale. The angel must have had enough, because he reached out one hand and snapped his fingers with determination.

Nothing happened.

"Erm..."

"Angel?" Crowley hissed, eyes drawn once more to the symbols around the circle. They must have worked on more than just demons. Aziraphale's stricken face showed the same realization. "Oh, hell..."

"Whoever you are, get out of the way," Cult Diva snapped as all six of them closed in. "It's the demon we want."

Their smiles were dark and their guns were ready, and Crowley could see his life flashing before his eyes. He didn't know how exactly this "extraction" thing was going to work but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive it. And he was already so injured, fighting back wasn't going to work.

"Take me instead."

Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, then bristled in fury. "What are you doing?"

"Told you, we want the demon-"

"If you think a demon has power for you, try an angel," Aziraphale boldly challenged. "Look at him, he's already half dead. Take me instead. Let him live, and I'll go without a fight."

"No!" Crowley shouted, but he could see the considering looks on the Cult Gang's faces. Desperate, he tried to shove Aziraphale away. "He's lying, he's not even an angel, just a human-"

Aziraphale glowed briefly, his inner heavenly light not a miracle so not blocked by the trap they were in. Crowley swore, because now of course there was no denying it.

"Aziraphale, don't."

But with every water gun still trained squarely on him, there was nothing he could do as Aziraphale held out his wrists in invitation for the human to deftly lock the handcuffs around them. The glowing signs flared and Aziraphale bit his lip with a wince, which meant nothing good. Crowley's heart thudded in terror.

The angel turned to offer him a sad smile. "Afraid it's my turn to save you, my dear."

He let himself be pulled away from Crowley, feet scuffing the ground, as the other Cult Jerks kept their guns trained on the demon.

"What about this one?" the Jerk asked.

Cult Man shrugged. "We only have one set of cuffs," he pointed out. "Leave him here. We'll know where to find him when it's time."

"Aziraphale," Crowley whispered.

The angel only gave him an encouraging nod, trying not to look afraid, Crowley could tell, only he could also tell Aziraphale was afraid.

Then the humans pulled him away and Crowley was left on his own.

...TO BE CONTINUED...

#whumptober2020 #no.9 #take me instead #Good Omens #fanfiction #Crowley whump #Aziraphale whump #holy water #Aziraphale to the rescue?#sweet self sacrificing angel

26 notes · View notes

subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years ago

Text

Communication Issues (AT:TTSIMBCMEOAYSFIL)- Chapter Four and Epilogue

Ao3, MasterPost

Ah, the finale!!! Finally it is here!! My brain hurts from editing all this fuckery in one day :/

Relationships: Romantic Analogince, implied romantic Moceit

Warnings: Arguing, yelling, swearing, miscommunication (obviously,,,), crying, an overindulgence of fluff, naps.

Word Count: 8,136

The door to the main house might have snapped off its hinges- but it doesn’t matter, and you don’t care. You throw it open with excessive force, essentially falling outside as you trail behind Virgil. He’s quicker than you by far; he’s practically a blur, in fact.

You think Janus is calling after the both of you. After notifying Virgil of the situation, he’d been trying to calm you down, but evidently that hadn’t worked. You don’t even glance back at him, sprinting as you come upon the Clubhouse.

As soon as you reach it, you fall against its wall, dizzy and panting. Virgil is already there, waiting for you to be ready. Or, perhaps he himself is just nervous, because he hasn’t attempted to push the door the rest of the way open. As it stands, it’s open just a crack, casting a sliver of golden light outwards.

Virgil speaks up, and you can easily confirm that it was his nerves stopping him.

“What… what do we do now?”

You glance at him, just from the corner of your eye. A small, anxious smile contorts your face.

“Well, we have him cornered, don’t we?”

Hesitantly- and perhaps confusedly, as he has no way of understanding just what you’re referencing- he nods.

“Well, it seems the time has come to profess our love for him,” you say it simply, as though that’ll make it somehow easier for any of you. You want to believe it’ll be as simple, if only for your own sanity.

Virgil opens his mouth, clearly aiming to spit out some contradiction, but at this point the blood rushing in both your ears has cleared enough for you to actually hear the world around you. And what you hear, from inside this quant shack, is desperate and feverish arguing.

Virgil steels his expression, inhaling sharply. He stretches his arm out and shoves the door open, crossing the threshold on long, unsturdy legs. You follow his lead without a moment of hesitation.

As soon as you enter, you see him, right across the room from you, and you aren’t in the least prepared for it.

He (blessedly) hasn’t noticed you or Virgil, yet. He’s much too busy ranting incoherently at Patton, who is… also here, for some reason.

You can’t make out a word he’s saying, and there’s no way to tell if Patton can either. He’s shaking, pale and clearly panicking. But it’s him. He looks a wreck, the poor thing, but he’s really here.

You glance at Virgil, seeing his reaction matching closely to yours; lips parted in shock, face slack, his hands fisted at his sides. You’d take the time to admire him, too, if not for your current circumstances. Instead, you inch a bit closer for his support, tapping his wrist to draw his attention. He takes your hand without question, holding it so tight it’s nearly painful.

Luckily or unluckily- you can’t be sure- the burden of speaking up doesn’t fall on either of you. Patton spots you but a second after you enter, catching sight of you over Logan’s shoulder. His eyes widen, his expression caught between relief and terror. Whichever it is, it’s very toothy.

You try to flash him a smile back, but he’s already turned his attention back to Logan.

“Logan-! Logan, listen, please?” He cuts the rambling off, tentatively reaching to grab the logical trait’s trembling wrists.

“What?” He snaps back, harshly.

Patton takes a deep breath, staring intensely at the floor. When he looks up, he makes direct eye-contact with you first, and then Virgil, his shoulders hiking up anxiously. You steel yourself as Logan follows the gaze, turning around and finally seeing you.

His eyes are big and round, his arms are shaking. His gaze sweeps over you both, stopping quite obviously on your connected hands.

You worry, briefly, that he’ll slam a mask down over his face, as he so often has before to contain such strong displays of dismay as this. But Logan does quite the opposite. In less than a second, that shocked and vulnerable expression is swallowed up by a furious ire, one that you can’t help but shrink back at. Virgil squeezes your hand, as much for your comfort as it is for his own.

Logan’s mouth opens, and you almost believe he’ll yell at you- scream his lungs out and hurl insult after insult- but, yet again, he challenges your expectations.

“Patton, let go!” His eyes constantly flit between Virgil and you, but he refuses to address either directly, “Let me go, I’m leaving!”

Virgil’s frozen in place. You draw breath to speak, but Patton makes a very aggressive and un-Patton-like gesture that pretty clearly communicates one thing: Shut it, Princey. You take the order, folding your unoccupied hand just under your sternum.

“Logan, just hear them out, please? Please trust me?” Patton pleads, one of his hands closing over Logan’s shoulder in a sturdy grip. The facet’s struggling lessens; he breaks his death-glare at you long enough to turn on Patton, his look softer but not by much.

As if to give more incentive for Logan to trust him, Patton releases his arms, stepping back and giving him space. He holds his hands up, palms out, in a show of peace.

“I- I don’t think this is a good idea,” Logan hisses it out in a rush, like you and Virgil aren’t meant to hear.

It’s at this point that Virgil tries to interject, but yet again Patton waves his hands around angrily. It’s a strange form of some made-up sign language that probably means something like: For the love of God let me handle this for two seconds before you jump in. Virgil, too, takes the order.

“If it doesn’t go well, then you come right back to me, ‘kay? I’ll take care of you, and you can tell me you told me so all you want, and I’ll never ever make you do anything like this again,” Patton gently assures, resting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “But I really think you should let them explain themselves. It might help more than you think it will.”

“I- How do you know-?”

“Because they-” he looks pointedly at you, and you try not to shrink any further into yourself at the intensity he carries, “-have been so worried about you. Oh, don’t give me that look, they have- you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I thought it would hurt you, kiddo.”

That mollifies Logan a good deal, he’s leaning into Patton’s touch. His gaze flickers to the both of you once more, eyes narrowing, before he’s huffing out a sigh.

“Okay. I- okay.”

Patton grins briefly, much too wide and much too cheery for the circumstances, and he draws back. He walks, slowly, from the couch to the door- to you. He pauses, sending you and Virgil A Look. He leans in, not for very long, and whispers so only the both of you can hear.

“I know what’s going on here, and I do believe you. I want to believe that you have this handled. But if you two ever- and I mean ever- hurt that boy again, even if it’s an accident, then don’t you expect me to vouch for you again.”

His expression is deadly serious.

You nod, as hard and as fast as you can.

“Thank you so much, Pat, I owe you one- I owe you so many,” Virgil whispers back, leaning towards Patton as he steps away from you. That firm, scolding expression melts into fondness at the words, and Patton shakes his head. He turns his back, and with that, he leaves. The door clicks politely shut behind him.

And it’s silent.

Logan won’t look at either of you, determined to glare at the rug instead.

But he’s not going anywhere.

But neither is this interaction.

But he’s here.

Where can you begin?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Virgil blurts, and yeah, that might be a start. Not an eloquent one, but asking for that would probably be a bit over-expectant anyway.

Logan doesn’t respond to the apology. His shoulders hunch up further, his arms hugging around his middle. The anger is practically radiating off him in waves, such a fierce passion that it’s kind of screwing with your senses in that area.

But, you realize with a start- he isn’t just angry. No, it’s more complicated.

You look at Virgil, for confirmation. You find it in his mismatched eyes, swirling with someone else’s emotions as well as his own.

Logan’s scared.

“Spe- Logan,” you stammer, “I know that this seems, uh, not good, but we really didn’t mean to upset you. The timing, it was just-”

He snorts, humorlessly, standing up much straighter and crossing the room in just a few long strides. He glowers down at you, then up at Virgil, face flushed.

“Well, I’m sure you regret it now. It’s not quite as funny anymore, is it?”

“It wasn’t funny at all!” You shout.

“Oh, I’m inclined to agree with you, Roman.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it!”

Logan makes a very, very awful and frustrated sound, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I’ve come to see that many things I thought that I knew about you are wrong!”

Virgil shoots a concerned glance between the two of you, but you talk over him all in a rush.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, if you’d just let us-”

“Let you what? Mock me again? Make a fool out of me?”

You growl, sharp and animalistic, tugging your hand out of Virgil’s and gesturing wildly. And then you make a bad decision.

“How are you such a horrible fucking listener!?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, sucking in a breath as though you could take them back in. Virgil gasps, short and shocked, and his eyeshadow darkens down his cheeks like a waterfall.

It’s quiet only long enough for Logan to really process, to really work himself up, like he’s about to berate you with even more fervor. It’s almost frightening.

“I’m a bad listener?! Because I seem to recall that the both of you, last time I tried to talk to you, laughed in my face! How’s that for ‘listening’, hm? Did you even think about what I was-! When I was trying- I was trying to say-”

Virgil’s panic abates enough to make room for confusion. He leans forward, cautiously reaching for Logan.

“What were you trying to say?”

Logan winces at the distortion, hitting his hands away before they get anywhere near him, snarling.

“That I cared about you, so much, and I- I wanted to do well by you, even though I knew it would only hurt me in the end. Because I wanted you to be happy together, and that was more important than- than my own feelings. I had to leave you be, I knew it, but you just wouldn’t- you-!”

He’s not making any sense, dammit. He loses steam, drawing in gasping breaths. Exhaustion bogs him down, making him look weak and frail; he’s growing resigned to the situation, and his own words, as though he thinks they’re already out of his control.

It breaks your heart.

“I wanted it,” he gasps, “I wanted a part of what you had, badly. But I knew how ridiculous that was, and I was trying to tell you as much. I was giving you the out, so to speak, from me and my company, but you...”

It’s as though all his anger from mere moments ago has evaporated like steam. He’s curling in on himself, his face tilted down. His voice shrinks to barely more than a whisper, nearly inaudible.

“You didn’t have to laugh at me.”

Virgil jumps, like he’s broken from a trance, and wordlessly jolts forwards and scoops Logan up in his arms. The side struggles, but Virgil’s grip is unrelenting, nearly lifting him off the floor.

“Okay, that was your time to talk, now it’s ours,” he gives you a very serious Look, “Right, Roman?”

“Oh- yes, right,” you step forward, much less confidently than Virgil, and wrap your arms around the both of them. It is the Pinnacle of an Awkward Hug (mostly because Logan has not stopped trying to escape), but Virgil seems to think that it’s the right course of action, and you don’t have any other leads to follow.

“Okay, point one: we weren’t laughing at you because you- uh, cuz you had a thing for us, I guess.”

“We were laughing because you were being stupid!” You tack on, somewhat-unhelpfully, “You thought we liked each other more than we like you, that was the stupid part.”

“Yeah,” Virgil nods,“Cause you were right about one thing, L. We- uh, we like each other. A lot-” you snort at the phrasing. He gives you a sharp glare before continuing. “-But we like you, too.”

Logan stands frightfully still, his arms pulled up uncomfortably in some weak attempt to keep distance between his body and both of yours.

“What- what are you talking about?”

You meet Virgil’s eyes in question. He nods, shifting so he can wrap an arm around your waist as well.

“We love you, Teach,” his breath hitches, but you choose to take it as a good sign, “I love you, so much. You both- both of you have done so much for me- oh, how couldn’t I love you?”

“You get me,” Virgil adds, smiling sweet and warm at you as he speaks to Logan, “You’ve always been there for me. You know how to, uhm, deal with me, better than anyone, I guess. So, yeah. I love you. And Ro.”

Logan pushes back against the both of you again, but this time it’s not an escape; it isn’t a fight. You let go of him, and Virgil in the process, and allow him to step back. He doesn’t go very far.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, fragile, his head tilted to one side.

“Which part are ya stuck on, L?”

He glances at you, a positive whirlwind of emotion fighting behind his eyes.

“You… I understand the both of you being romantically involved,” he starts, slowly, holding fingers up like he’s keeping track of points of data. “And I believe I understand my- my misinterpretation of your previous outburst, which is certainly a relief- though it does make me feel a bit silly for how strongly I reacted.”

“Oh, we’re all overemotional divas, sometimes,” you wave a dismissive hand, smirking at him. In return, he offers a small and unsure smile, and nods.

“Yes. I just don’t quite get. Um. You- you and me?” His eyes widen after he says it, and you see a spark of something upsetting in them. It takes him a good deal of effort to say the next part: “You aren’t doing this just to console me, are you?”

“No!” You and Virgil shout in unison, horrified.

“But you two are already perfect for each other!” He protests, “Your casual affection, your shared interests, your banter-”

“You say all that like we don’t have that with you, too!” Virgil interrupts.

“That’s different.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Is it? Or do you see it that way because you can watch us, but you can’t exactly watch yourself?”

Logan quickly becomes concentrated on the question, opening and closing his mouth in lieu of a response.

“We can watch you, though! Like the way you and Virgil always seem to talk without ever talking, and just, like, shrugging at each other. It’s kind of creepy,” you point out. Virgil hums in agreement, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah. You and Ro’s whole poetry thing is literally- like, there’s no platonic explanation for that. It’s gross.”

“I-” Logan cuts himself off, his eyes widening, “Perhaps you have a point.”

“We do. Look, it took you yelling at us about how obvious we were being for me to get off my ass, to actually do something about my crush on Princey here, which probably says something about perspective.”

Logan hums, thoughtfully, a surprisingly subdued reaction. You feel a striking amount of pride well up in your chest. You bump your shoulder against Virgil’s as a sort of high-five, a gesture that he returns with a smirk. This is honestly going better than you thought it would! (...Though you were under the impression that this conversation would end in tears or violence, so that’s not a very high bar).

“You love me,” Logan says at last, his expression blank.

“Yup!” You confirm, popping the ‘p’.

“Ah. Alright, then.”

He pauses. And continues to be paused. For time enough that you grow unsure of yourself. Is he… processing it? You really don’t know what’s going on in that brain of his when he gets quiet like this.

“Yes,” he confirms nothing in particular to no one in particular, “I feel very foolish now, in retrospect.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil chuckles.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Logan’s face breaks into a smile, wide and brilliant, “I just- wow, this could have been so easily avoided,” he places his hand on his temple, staring into space. He trembles a little, and you fear you’ve somehow managed to get him crying again. But then he doubles over, his arm around his stomach as he giggles uncontrollably. His laughing turns wheezy very quickly, as his breathing is interrupted constantly by little shouts of amusement. “Oh, this was all so absurd!”

You watch him, and very suddenly you remember a scene much like this, weeks and weeks ago. You understand exactly how he felt, then, when he saw you laugh for the first time in a long time.

At this moment, his happiness is the only sight to you, and it is a beautiful one.

Virgil lets out a soft laugh alongside him, hiding it behind his hand and biting his lip. Soon, though, he’s losing himself, and that sets you off too- and within seconds all three of you are cracking up laughing. Tears in the corners of your eyes, hands clutching stomachs, the works.

You aren’t even sure what’s so funny! And that’s exactly what’s so funny!

It takes a while to settle down and sober up. You wind up on the floor, actually, before you calm down. You think Logan might be on the ground, too, but you aren’t very spatially aware.

Virgil gains control of himself first, predictably.

He rights himself, coughing into his fist, and fixing his hair.

“So you’re okay?” He says to Logan, out of breath.

“I have no idea,” Logan wheezes in response, “But I love you both very, very much.”

And that seems to be about the jist of it, for all of you.

Epilogue:

The second you’re back inside, you fall backwards onto the couch without a second thought, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids hard enough for it to hurt. A groan- part exhausted, part relieved- rumbles up from your throat, and you sink your fangs into the side of your cheek to stifle it. You’re tired, sure, but you aren’t as much of a fucking drama queen as your- your boyfriends, actually. Cuz that’s a thing that just happened.

Fuck if you know how, by the way.

You feel the cushion by your head dip, the smallest bit, at about the same time that the cushion by your feet contracts abruptly. You huff, because you’re still a little bit of a drama queen, okay, and you’ve earned that right.

Long, spidery fingers tangle in your hair, brushing back your fringe and undoing your spiked up ponytail. At the same time, again, your legs are lifted just slightly before being dropped into a lap, and a large, calloused hand rests on your ankle.

“I think I’m gonna sleep for, like, five months,” you mumble, letting your arms fall to the side and shoving your face into the couch cushion.

“While I’m fairly sure you were being hyperbolic,” Logan says, his hand catching on a tangle in your hair and slowly working it out, “I wouldn’t be opposed to some rest”

You snort. An obnoxious noise, but they seem to be like it anyway, so you try not to hate yourself too much for it.

Roman makes some sounds that vaguely indicate he wants to talk. You wait. He’s quiet for a good, long while, his nails scraping along the loose threads of your ripped jeans. You crane your neck up to squint impatiently at him; him and Logan have this bad habit of disappearing into introspections mid-conversation, and it’s very annoying.

“I-” he starts, stops. Makes more sounds. “Hmm.”

You wait. After about ten seconds, you kick him (very lightly!) in the ribcage.

“I was just wondering,” he finally says, glaring at you, “If you two are really feeling alright. What’s on your minds, or- how are you?”

Ah, there it is; the deceptively simple check-in question. Logan’s hand tenses in your hair, almost imperceptibly. You reach one of your own up to meet his, tracing your claws around his knuckles soothingly.

“Um, better than earlier,” he says, “Much better, actually. Though I’m still a bit on edge, I suppose.”

Roman nods, a very soft look on his face, before glancing at you. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, too, and it almost makes you squirm. You let go of his hand in favor of fussing with your sleeves.

“’M good. Comfy,” you mutter, attempting a shrug despite your horizontal position.

“Are you sure?” Logan prods, leaning over you concernedly. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, grinding your teeth.

“I don’t know. It’s fine.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna work.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Getting further away, Virgil.

“I’m really fucking tired, okay?” Alright, a little harsher than strictly necessary, but that’ll do. It gets a laugh, at least. “Like, I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to say or do anymore, and I don’t have the energy to think about it. I am happy, though. Or, like, relieved. I guess I wish I were happy under- I dunno, different circumstances?”

The hand in your hair moves, slipping from your swoopy bangs and cradling the side of your face upside down. You let Logan tilt your head up. It’s a very odd sight, seen from such an angle, when he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back, you feel at least a little less like a living corpse.

“Gross,” you sigh.

“You know what I think?” Roman muses, tapping rhythmically against your leg.

“I never do in the slightest,” Logan replies.

“You can do that?” You ask.

He whacks your knee. You hiss. He ignores this.

“I think,” he carries on, “That we would be less tired if we took a nap,” he stretches his arms up with a yawn, as if to emphasize his point.

“That would be nice,” Logan agrees, “If it weren’t for the fact that I’d… prefer not to return to my room at the moment.”

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, again, before speaking up.

“I’d also prefer that you not do that. And we all know my room isn’t a good place to sleep.”

“Nor Roman’s, really. It’s very energetic.”

“Right, so-”

Whatever you’re trying to say is cut off as Roman once again lifts your legs up, shifting them to the side. He kicks off his boots, shifts around a bit, and proceeds to drape himself all over you inelegantly. You make a few vague noises of complaint and discomfort before he finally slots himself into a somewhat acceptable position on top of you. It’s not too difficult; he’s burly, but he’s still so very very short and bendy. You wrap an arm around his waist, holding him to yourself.

“So we’re staying here, cuz I already got settled,” he says with finality, his face pressed just under your collarbone. You arch your head back, toeing off your own sneakers and letting them fall to the floor as you look up at Logan.

“Can’t argue with that, can we, L?”

He looks distinctly exasperated with you, but you know him well enough to see that it’s really thinly veiled adoration.

“I could argue, should I be inclined.”

“That’s for sure,” Roman mutters, “We could get you worked up about anything if we’re annoying enough, specs.”

He’s very huffy about that comment (Roman has a point, though), standing up and stopping short when Roman whines at him.

“Where are you going?” He drags the last word out. You poke him in the ribs to make him shush.

“I’m getting you a blanket, and a more suitable pillow for Virgil. You can hardly sleep comfortably like that.”

Roman groans- which is also an annoying noise- and snaps his fingers. A light, large, and fluffy blanket falls over the both of you instantly, in conjunction with something puffy and soft expanding beneath your head. You hum, sinking further into the conjured objects happily.

“Ah, right,” Logan mutters to himself.

“Good? Good, now come here,” Roman disentangles one of his arms from around you to make grabby hands at Logan.

“Oh, it looks cramped as it is. You know, I’m not that tired, anyway.”

You’re the one to get annoyed with him this time, making a sloppy gesture with your free hand. The couch stutters in place, almost like a glitch, before eventually succumbing to your will. The cushions extend way out past your cramped up little spot, making the large piece of furniture look more like an oddly shaped bed than anything else.

“Good enough for you?”

Logan blushes brightly, refusing to make eye-contact with you. He mutters out something that might be an ‘it’ll do, I suppose’, or some other slightly stubborn assent, and shuffles over to you. You lift the edge of the blanket up when he reaches you, letting him fit himself comfortably against your side. He does so reluctantly, prompting you to drop the covers in favor of grabbing him by the hip and pulling him against you, pressing your face into his slightly ruffled hair. His breath hitches. You fight the urge to laugh.

Roman hums contentedly, uncurling from you just enough to clumsily get a limb around Logan’s shoulders. You’re decently certain that he’ll wake up whining about how sore his arm is from the position, but you leave that worry for later, letting yourself finally, finally relax.

Logan lays with his arms pressed awkwardly between his chest and your torso, but the tension steadily eases from him. Within minutes, he’s wrapped around you and Roman, nestled into your shoulder. You do laugh, just a little, when he does something akin to nuzzling you. You rub small circles into his hip with the tips of your fingers, slipping further and further from consciousness as you do so.

You hear Roman muttering something, but you aren’t sure if it’s directed at you. All you are sure of is that his voice is rumbling and groggy, soothing you even further into sleep. The last thing you feel, before finally slipping away, is a messy kiss delivered to the side of your neck.

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

You aren’t really unconscious, but you wouldn’t consider yourself ‘awake’ either. You lie comfortably in a middle zone between the two, surrounded by an amazing, burning warmth that starts with your skin and sinks deeper into your core the longer you feel it. You turn your face into it, shifting your body to press that much closer to the heat.

But then, a very small little part of that heat decides to jab you sharply in the shoulder. You groan, batting it away. It persists, prodding you a few more times. You huff, prying your eyes open with a good deal of spite towards the source of disruption.

It is- predictably- Roman. Grinning, loopy Roman, whose face is just inches from yours. You might move back, but Virgil’s chest only accommodates for so much space, so you have to accept the compromising position.

“What?” You hiss, trying to surreptitiously rub the sleep from your eyes.

“You look so cute when you’re sleeping,” he answers, dreamily.

“You’re creepier than Remus, has anyone ever told you that?”

You feel a small bit of pride at just how affronted Roman looks.

“It’s not creepy,” he argues, “It’s romantic.”

“Close enough,” you respond, smirking at him. He glares balefully at you, but it’s very difficult to take him seriously when he looks just as tired as you feel. Speaking of: “Why did you wake me up, then, if I’m so aesthetically pleasing while asleep?”

He actually looks a bit sheepish at that, giving an awkward one-armed shrug.

“I don’t know, I just… I woke up and got this urge that I should maybe. Talk to you,” his voice breaks out of whisper repeatedly; he’s atrocious at volume control. Virgil stirs, grumbling something unintelligible and tightening his grip around the both of you, but he doesn’t seem to be waking.

Roman gives a long pause, just to make sure he’s in the clear, before continuing. “It seemed important. Maybe it’s not, though.”

You give a breathy little laugh, rubbing against his ribs with the pad of your thumb. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, and one that- until recently- you never thought you’d get the privilege to offer.

“You’re very impatient, Roman.”

“And you aren’t?” He inquires, quirking a brow. You ignore the comment.

“What did you want to talk about?” You whisper, much softer, more serious. He meets your eyes for just a second, hesitating. There’s a pause of a good few minutes- in which his fingers play on the knolls of your spine and his eyes become increasingly unfocused- of absolute noiselessness. You wait patiently, not quite minding the peace of it.

You might be falling asleep again when he does find the words to answer, bringing you to attention suddenly.

“I missed you this week.”

The words, short and simple they may be, drop a heavy weight onto you. You can’t identify the specific feelings- maybe guilt? Or remorse? Perhaps frustration? Well, regardless, something twists in your gut. The feelings are almost relieving, because even if they’re horrible, at least they’re there, which is quite refreshing from this past week.

You exhale, shaky.

“I missed you, too. Although, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if it was a week or not.”

Roman’s face flits from bittersweet to confused in a matter of seconds.

“What do you mean?”

Your face heats in embarrassment. You bury it in Virgil’s hoodie- which is admittedly a childish reaction, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that.

“Don’t tell him,” you gesture to the being you’re currently clinging to, “I don’t want him to concern himself too much.”

Roman purses his lips, making a small and concerned noise in the back of his throat.

“Well, how bad is it?”

You sigh, a defeated and borderline pathetic sound.

“I just… I seem to have lost track of time, this past week. Truthfully, you could tell me it had been just a few hours, or that it had been a month, and I’d believe you.”

He gasps softly, which you think might be a little bit over the top, but alright.

“Logan, are you saying-”

“I had no idea how long I’d been in there, yes.”

Roman’s quiet- deadly quiet- for a horrible stretch. You look up at him, knowing that you’re probably more of an emotional wreck than you’d like to be. To your surprise, the first thing he does is make a whining-crying sound, adjusting so that he’s holding the side of your face in his hand. He presses your foreheads together, breathing in a hitched and shallow way. Have you made him cry? Goodness, maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, if it has this kind of effect on him.

You’ve always hated seeing him so distraught. He looks so much better when he’s grinning, when he’s happy and proud. But something about the rawness of his look now- it’s almost painful.

“I can’t believe I-” his voice cracks, “I should’ve done something sooner. Oh, mi amor, if I’d known, I-”

“No, that’s not fair,” you interrupt, in nearly as broken a tone as his. “I’m the one that kept myself in there. I- I made you leave me alone in the first place!”

Virgil shifts in his sleep; you bite down on your lip, harshly.

“Oh, please,” Roman snaps, but he’s also taking care to stay quiet now, “When you first found me in such a sorry state, the both of you were at my side in an instant. I should’ve known to do the same. I really should have broken your door down, no matter what Patton said.”

“Wait-” you nearly laugh in surprise, “You and Patton had a conversation about sieging my door?”

He gives you a teeny little smile, a shadow of pride lingering in it.

“It wasn’t a conversation so much as it was him physically restraining me, but you get the idea. You know, I probably could have pulled it off if I tried at night instead.”

“I’m sure you could have, Roman,” you say, looking oh-so fondly at this reckless, ridiculous creature that you’ve somehow fallen in love with. The tension this exchange started with is quickly disappearing, much to your relief. “Although I don’t know if you would have gotten through to me, unfortunately. As it is, Patton is a very good mediator.”

Roman chuckles softly, his face screwing up in embarrassment.

“Yeah, we could use one of those, couldn’t we?”

You hum in vague agreement, angling your head enough to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He gasps again, this time very obviously trying to be Extra, and he pulls back sharply. You roll your eyes at the shocked face he puts on, but you can’t hold up your frustrated façade when he leans in again and peppers your face with kisses. You fail quite spectacularly, in fact- your face flushes bright, and your smile grows uncomfortably wide. It feels wonderful, to finally have this, after the wanting and wanting and wanting.

Roman pulls back properly after that, his eyes twinkling and crinkled at the corners. You notice now the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his forehead, so often covered by makeup. You’d ask why- they’re beautiful- but that might be rude. You resolve to admire them quietly, while he gives you the opportunity.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight now, of course,” he purrs, massaging just under your eyes with his thumbs. You get a glimpse of bubblegum-pink nail polish before they fall closed, your sleepiness returning to you.

In your half-asleep, warm, adoring state, you find yourself muttering a sickeningly sappy sentiment- obviously, if you were in your right mind, you’d never say it- just before drifting off.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

Your back hurts, your arms ache, and you really need to pee. You’re also acutely aware of a heavy, uncomfortable weight pressing down against your sternum. You force your eyes open, only to find them stinging and also sore, somehow. Like, they’re eyes, how are they even allowed to do that?

A groan escapes you. You’d very much like to rub your face, but unfortunately your arms are trapped by that pressing weight on you.

The memories of what happened and where you are flood back to you then, bringing a small smile to your face despite your discomfort. Logan and Roman are pressed into either side of you, their hands intertwined and resting on your stomach. It’s obnoxiously sweet- seriously, you might gag. But, like, in a good way.

The cuteness of the situation is enough to distract you for approximately thirty seconds, because then a sharp pain shoots up from your lower back. Yeah, this is ridiculous, you need to get up.

You try- very carefully- to shoulder your arms free. You manage it after way too much awkward maneuvering, and then you really don’t know where to go. You’re squished between them, and all three of you have gotten your legs very tangled together. The position is odd, but maybe if you could just find your center of gravity, you could teleport? But that would risk dragging one or both of them with you, and that probably wouldn’t be a good way to wake up, would it-?

Logan stirs next to you, lifting his head up with a small, sleepy sound.

“V?” He mutters, his typically slicked-back hair springing up in messy curls, falling into his face.

“Oh, hey,” you give him an apologetic look, watching as he gropes groggily for his glasses, “Good, uhm- morning?” You glance up at the clock, confused by the timeline this author has fucked up so completely. You slept through the night, and it’s about five-forty in the morning, apparently. Much earlier than you’d ever wake up, but to be fair the three of you fell asleep at a 3rd graders bed-time.

Logan grumbles something unintelligible, locating his glasses on the floor by the couch-bed and shoving them onto his face.

You take the opportunity to free yourself from the little nest you’ve made, struggling up onto wobbly legs and leaning on the arm of the couch for support. Jesus Christ that was horrible for your back.

“What…?” Logan trails off, looking at you with squinted eyes behind his thick frames. The sight makes your lips quirk up in something like a smile.

“Nothing, L, I just had to use the bathroom,” you explain, keeping your voice hushed so as not to disturb a noticeably snoring Roman.

He nods, once, before shuffling back to his spot on the couch. He flops down, kicking his legs under the covers and curling up against Creativity. If you were more prone to cuteness- which you aren’t, for the record- it would probably be a little (a lot) bit adorable.

“’M not goin’ back to sleep,” he grouses, unconvincingly, “Just… laying down… to wait.”

Wait for what? You don't ask, choosing instead to settle your eyes on the sight of your two partners huddled close together. Okay, so it’s cute, so what? Lots of things are cute, no one has to make a big deal out of it!

You exhale through your nose, breaking your gaze from them long enough to actually move on to what you got up for. It doesn’t take long, and when you return you hover by the couch for a moment.

A sort of restlessness- a very familiar one- has made its home in your chest. You rub at your eyes almost harshly, itching at the gunk caught in the corners. In all your soreness, you find it pertinent to stretch; arms above your head, then down to your toes, and in a few motions you're in a somewhat impromptu yoga routine.

By the end of it, some ten or fifteen minutes later, you feel a little bit less like a sloppily patched-together ragdoll of ligaments and muscle. You seat yourself gingerly in the corner of the sectional, just close enough to the pair of snuggling sides that you can run your spindled fingers through Roman’s hair.

You pull your legs up beneath you, sitting criss-cross and summoning your headphones and laptop. They’re a bit far across the mindscape, but they come easily enough with a sharp pull.

You settle in with a good horror flick, pulling your headphones over your ears and letting yourself zone out. You stay that way for an indeterminate amount of time, idly watching the suspense that plays out on screen while carding your hands through Roman’s hair (no matter how tempting it would be to ruffle Logan’s curls, you resist the urge, knowing that he can’t stand touches to his head). It should be boring- maybe even aggravating, sitting still for so long when you are the embodiment of jitters and jumps- but it isn’t. It’s something… peaceful, maybe, would be the right word. Or content, as you are with them, waiting patiently for Roman and Logan to awake.

And they do. Well, Logan does, about half-way through the film you’re watching. He props himself up on his elbows, straightening his glasses and looking up at you.

You hit the spacebar to pause, sliding your computer off your lap and onto the cushion beside you.

“Good morning. Again,” you send him a teasing smirk, watching him move up into a sitting position very slowly.

“Good morning,” he replies, his smile awkward, “I must have been more tired than I first assumed.”

You hold back a small laugh, giving him a feigned look of importance.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

“As… Sue, ’n me…” Comes the mutter from below your hand. You look down, somewhat surprised, to see Roman turning over in a semi-conscious state. You have no idea how awake he actually is, or if he’s just a weirdly perceptive sleep-talker- but either way you burst into a bout of startled chuckling.

That seems to wake him properly, his head jolting up with a cut off snore. You pull your hand from his tangled hair, watching as he struggles to orient himself.

“Good morning, Roman,” Logan greets.

“Mornin’, Babe,” he responds gruffly, making Logan’s face flush red. He coughs, awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, Babe,” you mock, the statement serving to darken his blush considerably. To be fair, your statement isn’t entirely untrue; your boyfriend is very fond of pet-names, so you’ve become very accustomed to them. And possibly a bit appreciative of them.

Roman’s managed to sit up enough to slump back against the couch cushions, taking the blankets with him and wrapping them around his head. His eyes are narrowed enough that they look closed, and you are reminded of just how much he hates waking up early.

“Why are we awake?” He growls.

You shrug noncommittally, gesturing to the still-elongated couch on which you all sat.

“My back hurt.”

“We did fall asleep at about eight, last evening,” Logan points out. His eyes widen just after he does, pressing his index and middle fingers against his temple in sudden frustration. “Oh this will be horrible for my sleep schedule!”

You snort, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

“Ah, yes, the worst of our worries.”

He glares at you, and your smile widens. Partially because messing with him is funny, and partially because you know your fangs make it hard for him to focus (which is also very funny).

“I- Well, it’s crucial to keep a consistent sleep schedule, because you need to-”

“‘Maintain your circadian rhythm, to ensure a higher quality of living’,” you and Roman parrot, in near unison. You hardly blink at the coordination, but Logan seems very startled.

“Ex-actly,” he mutters, bemusedly.

“You can spare us the lecture this early, Teach,” Roman tells him, “Cuz we already seem to have it memorized.”

“Ah,” a beat. “Good.”

There’s a short, companionable silence; Roman is still waking himself up, Logan seems deep in thought, and you briefly turn your attention back to the movie. A few minutes pass, and Logan stands. You look up at him in question as he shifts the couch back into its normal form, making his way across the room.

“Someone ought to get started on breakfast by now,” he says plainly, disappearing into the kitchen. You shrug, shifting your headphone back over your ear and settling in.

Roman sinks out some ten minutes later, clattering around upstairs as he gets ready for the day. The morning sun is now clearly visible, the light filtering through the blinds. It probably won’t be long before Patton’s up and about, bringing with him the energy that the day really needs to get started.

When Roman returns, dressed up in some fresh clothes, he drops down beside you and leans his head on you. He presses his ear against the outside of your headphones, watching the movie over your shoulder.

It’s nearing the end, so of course he has to ask you question after question after question about the plot. You pretend to be annoyed, but you answer them anyway, letting him gradually piece together what’s happening. His commentary is, as always, never-ending and loud, but again you tolerate it. It’s more fun like this, anyway.

The whole time, you can distantly hear crackling, and very clearly smell something delicious from the kitchen. Logan’s always been the best chef out of any of you, even if he doesn’t use the ability as often as he could- something about the technicality of it, or the precision needed, or whatever it was.

You and Roman are bickering over the credits by the time he’s finally done, coming back into the room smelling of bacon and batter. You look up from your (pretty pointless) argument, smiling at him.

“Hey, L.”

Roman glances up briefly, flashing a smile before going back to his impassioned diatribe that you were only half-listening to in the first place.

Logan hesitates by the doorway. You can feel his eyes boring into you from those few feet away, drawing a very exasperated sigh from you. You back out of the credits with a couple aggressive taps, giving a pointed look to the still-rambling Roman.

“What?” He snaps, scrunching up his nose. You narrow your eyes before not-so-subtly directing the glance to your third, still hovering just inside the living room. Roman follows your gaze, his argumentative look turning quickly to exasperated understanding.

“Hey, specs!”

Logan jumps, obviously having been locked away far into his own head.

“Are you comin’ over, or what?”

He doesn’t move, but he does look a hell of a lot more embarrassed.

“Breakfast is ready. I- um, I didn’t want to… interrupt…” his voice goes quiet, he glances down at the carpet.

“Alright,” Roman announces, a bit loud considering how close he is to your ears but okay, “What have we told you, Teach?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shutting your computer with a click and setting it onto the coffee table. “C’mere, stupid, and pay attention to us before everyone else wakes up. We’ll eat with them, later.”

He gives a small laugh, but does as he’s told. As soon as he’s within range, Roman pulls him down and wraps a leg around the taller being, essentially placing himself in his lap. You aren’t quite as clingy, this early in the day, but you do press your shoulder to his.

Logan’s stiff at first, but just as he did last night, he slowly settles into the touch. You figure it’ll probably be this way for the next week or so- because the same happened with Roman, however long ago when this all started.

That hits you with a wave of nostalgia and deja vu- smothering most of your other thoughts with its familiarity. You and Logan, personally taking it upon yourselves to help Roman all the same, just a lot more platonically back then. You like to think that’s what started it all, even though you probably had a thing for Logan way before then (wayyyy before then).

You watch, absentmindedly, as Roman and Logan argue over the TV remote, apparently trying to settle on something to watch. It’s as sweet as it is annoying, a common theme that the two of them share in many aspects.

And God, it hits you what emotional wrecks they are. In a rare burst of confidence, you feel proud that you could be there to help these two get their shit together, relationship wise. Despite both of their intelligence, you’ve somehow become the competent partner.

Partner. Boyfriend. Whatever you’ll call it. It feels nice to say, about Creativity and Logic.

You sigh, resting your head on top of Logan’s. He looks at you, questioningly, because he can always tell when you get thoughtful. You smile at him, giving a half-shrug, because you know he knows what that means. It’s good, not a big deal.

Roman wins the fight, eventually, if only because Logan’s off his game from being the primary center of attention. Which is even more like your first night together; Roman setting up some queer cartoon to watch while the three of you cuddle on the couch, content.

You exhale, long and slow. You really have gone soft for them, haven’t you?

But, you really can’t say that you mind. Because...

They’re worth it.

Tags: @enbyfriend16 @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

29 notes · View notes

tylerwritez · 3 years ago

Text

Goddamn it I am such a total loser, I'm like the stereotype of a nerd and I'm not even good at that. I'm so painfully uncool. So painfully cringe. I'm ugly and cringe and I laugh when its not funny and I trip over my words because I don't know how to talk to people because I suck at social interaction. The things I pride myself as being good at, like art,... I'm actually bad at those things. I'm painfully stupid. I'm ugly and fat and short and I'll literally never look good no matter what I do so why am I even trying? I'm trying to make myself feel okay because if my face is not covered by my hair somewhat I feel so self conscious... like I swear I'm the ugliest motherfucker on the fucking planet...

On top of that I'm like a fucking nerd like this guy I like teases me about it BUT ITS TRUE!!!! and I'm not really a nerd in a cool way I'm a nerd in a way that's like cringe and terrible and unbearably annoying to listen to, nOT THAT I EVEN TALK MUCH ANWYAYS SINCE I CANT SOCIALLY INTERACT...

You guys, the dude at the comic shop knows me and one of them STOPPED ME 2 GIVE ME A FREE HORROR COMIC (it was like free comic day) you gUYS I GO THERE SO OFTEN THEY RECOGNIZE ME AND KNOW MY TASTE IM GONNA DIE... MY FRIENDS KINDA TEASED ME A BIT AND LIKE... I WISH I WAS COOLER MAN I DO BUT ITS LIKE IM NOT MEANT TO BE!!! all the stuff I like isnt "cool" at all. I like "bad" music, I like "childish" anime, I like "lame" comics and I draw "gross" art... ITS WHATEVER. I'm not meant to be cool!!!

I kinda would like 2 be friends w that guy he really did seem 2 know what he was talking about but it's not like you can just chitchat and try to make friends while someone is working their job 😭

... maybe I need more friends in general I have like 3 real good ones right now but none of em go to my school and sometimes they're busy and then I dont have no one to hang out with xD

When school starts I'm gonna do my best to be more extroverted... I get very anxious in social situations with people I dont know very well like I cant even ask the McDonalds lady for a sweet n sour sauce, so its hard for me to make friends at school... a lot of the times I will be in a class and there wont even be one person who has anything in common with me and its disappointing when that happens haha.

Then because at school I have like no friends and am basically totally isolated, whenever anyone there shows me like, basic kindness, I get very excited about it... i get all worked up thinking "omg maybe this person wants to be my friend!!! Maybe i made a new friend!!!" When all they did was ask if I was okay when I cut myself with a knife in foods class by accident LMAO yes true story that happened...

I dont NEED friends at school, it's just nice to have and it makes the whole school thing a lot easier 4 me.

Anwyays I guess I'm just gonna try to be confident, kind, and outgoing. I'm gonna say hi and introduce myself to people. If it gets awkward, at least I tried, right? Eventually i might manage to actually become the confident person i try to be.

Because I'm actually kinda a nervous wreck...

Since I broke up with my ex it would be really weird for me to still be friends with her friends even tho we are TECHNICALLY STILL FRIENDS,... like it would just be weird because we dont talk much at all, drifted apart I guess... and stepping out of a relationship you start to see things that were sorta wrong with it that you couldnt see while you were IN that relationship. Not saying she was bad or toxic, but some things were questionable yknow? That's just how it is.

Anyways, because of that and because I have all new classes, I need to make FRIENDS!!! I'm tired of feeling like the only person who cares and wants to talk to me is the fucking history teacher who wants to debate communism... man I liked him, I hope I get him next year again, even if I dont agree with him, he was a cool dude and idk I think I had fun in that class and hes the sorta teacher that makes you WANT to do well to impress him.

But like, you see the problem there, right? I need friends and I just... I NEED MORE CONFIDENCE!!! I always feel like the other kids are just so much cooler and better and smarter than I am... it's kinda alienating XD like everyone else is on some other level, we got different humour and all,...

I think I just gotta accept everything about me that's cringey and try to make friends as my real self.

Goddamn, wish me luck in around 3 weeks ish cos I WANT FRIENDS AT MY NEW(ISH) SCHOOL !!!!

#judejournals #jude shep #jude speaks #confidence #making friends #building relationships #spotify #linkin park #trying to make friends #self esteem #low self confidence #introverted #anxious #nervous

1 note · View note

tuuliivanovas · 5 years ago

Text

I have a giant list of reylo headcanons (Tros spoilers)

This really got out of hand: it turned into 6 pages. oh dear.

Hope some people like this because it was very helpful for me and dealing with my grief.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben does not like Tatooine. Like at all. He stays there with her because Rey seems to like it. He wants to leave but is a little afraid to bring it up.

Rey is comfortable on desert planets. She adapts very easily to Tatooine. She doesn’t know why she stays there is nothing truly keeping on the planet. She has a family, Ben is her family the past has been laid to rest, but she is afraid to leave the familiar. She likes the stars, maybe that's why she stays.

Leaving is a topic they avoid like the plague. There is a slight passive-aggressiveness about it because angst, but they get sad and get over it quickly.

Ben freezes most nights, he's big and generates a lot of heat. Rey legitimately does not understand it. He jokes about giving all of his warmth to her.

(more under the cut, they may turn into short story idea)

They like to cuddle a lot. Both of them are touch starved babies.

Ben is a city boy.

Rey is not a city girl.

Rey gets claustrophobic in large groups of people.

Ben tries to make jokes to make Rey feel comfortable. Rey thinks they’re stupid but laughs anyway.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to start cooking again like he did when he was a kid.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey likes watching him do things. She likes watching his hands work.

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey lets her hair grow and Ben braids it. This one was a shock to Rey. Ben tells stories about his mother getting ready for parties and how he helped put braids in her hair.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben wants to explore his Alderaanian heritage. When he and Rey travel he looks for anything he can.

_______________________________________________________________________

Both of them realize that even though they are a dyad and have known each other for quite some time and have seen each other's memories. They don't really know each other. They haven’t talked about their pasts, like the little things. They haven't talked about what they like and dislike. Things that don't seem to matter, but do when you think about it. So they sometimes stay up late and just talk.

_______________________________________________________________________

Both of them remember being dead. The nightmares aren’t fun.

Ben cries a lot. There are a lot of unresolved issues in his head.

Ben suffers from chronic pain after his fall.

_______________________________________________________________________

Luke tried to visit once, but that didn’t go over well. Ben didn’t come back for a few hours and Rey wants to help but doesn’t know how. She knew the family drama goes deep, Ben has talked about it. She has just never seen it. With Leia, it's a little easier, but still very stiff and awkward.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben has some severe abandonment issues. They have one nasty fight about Exogol. Talking about that place takes time and Rey tells him about all the Jedi coming to help her. Ben is jealous and angry. He was tossed into a pit, had several broken bones and he climbed out of there with the only determination of getting back to Rey. When she said Anakin spoke to her jealousy turned to rage. He is upset that the Jedi had more faith in a Palpatine than the last Skywalker. Rey is heartbroken her, own struggle with her lineage is a sore subject. They don’t speak to each other for days until Leia helps them heal the rift. Ben is so incredibly sorry by the end of it. He opens up about how he only had a memory of his father to help him turn. Nothing real, just something in his head. He tells her that she is the hero of this story.

Rey says fuck the Jedi at this point.

They really don’t fight after that.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben, even with all of his Jedi teachings, has to relearn how to use the force. He asks Rey to be his teacher. He is so used to his anger and passion being his source of power, but after his nap in purgatory, something changed. (pretty much zuko needing a new source for his firebending lol)

_______________________________________________________________________

He loves Rey’s lightsaber. It's just so her. The yellow is perfect for her, bright and warm. He is very proud.

Rey asks him if he would ever build a new lightsaber. He doesn’t know if he could. He eventually builds one and the blade comes out a dark purple.

_______________________________________________________________________

They go on adventures and find information in old ruins. Rey gets interested in the old republic. Ben is a nerd so research a lot for her. They learn about two very curious characters named Bastila and Revan (Because I love them)

_______________________________________________________________________

Rey misses her friends a lot. Ben encourages her to go visit them. Rey asks if he will come and he gently says “No. They don't want to see me.” Rey doesn't want to leave him alone. He reminds her that he is always here. Rey goes and visits her friends and start coming up with a plan to introduce Ben.

The ship lands at the base the resistance is located Rey starts walking out Ben following but he stops. Rey concerned reads him tells him to wait on the ship. She leaves and comes back with Chewie. Ben is petrified as the Wookie approaches him. Ben is a big guy, but Chewie is taller. Ben looks up at him. Chewie still views him as the boy he carried around on his shoulders a long time ago. Two furry arms wrap around Ben and he feels like a child again and breaks down. Rey has tears in her eyes at the display and quietly departs to prepare her friends for what will likely be a very long day.

Rose reaches out first. Makes him work the first moment he gets there. Her reason is that he is tall and can reach things she can’t. It's a little awkward at first but once Ben learns that Rose bit Hux he falls in love.

Rose’s heart warms when she hears Ben talk about Rey. She has heard stories about Kylo Ren and the boy in front of her aint him.

_______________________________________________________________________

{This section has stuff dealing with pregnancy, if that topic triggers you please skip this section}

Rey confesses that she wants a family. Ben knows that. She explains that she means children. Rey also goes on to explain her fears of being a mother. Ben understands her fears. He really never thought that he would ever be a father so the idea of having his own kids is terrifying and exciting. He won't make the same mistakes...he hopes. Ben asks her if they should start really trying, Rey says no and if it happens it happens.

Six months after their conversation Rey gets pregnant. They are overjoyed.

They started thinking that they should settle somewhere permanently and stop moving around the galaxy so much. They often live in isolation.

The choice was made for them when Rey got sick about 2 months in. Ben made the executive decision to have her around her friends. The former resistance had better medical facilities than the sparsely populated planet they were living on.

Rey has a rough pregnancy and is in and out of the care of doctors.

Ben is a nervous wreck and this is truly when Finn and Poe lighten up on him.

Even though Rey has gotten healthier, being able to eat properly over the time she has been with the resistance and Ben, the damage to her body from years of starvation and dehydration has already been done. She is thoroughly humbled and hit with the reality that she is human.

Ben feels helpless and useless, but Rey tells him that he is exactly where he needs to be. With her making sure is happy comfortable and loved.

The birth was just as hard as everything else. During the labor, it was not funny, but after the fact, Ben joked about how she caused a small earthquake.

They have twins named Jaina and Jacen.

Ben cries as soon as holds his children. He is so proud of Rey.

He is crying. Rey is crying. Everybody is crying.

The entire gang loves the babies.

_______________________________________________________________________

More Domestic/ Headcanons

Ben has a sweet tooth. Its something he has passed to Rey. When ever they are in a marketplace he picks up something for them to share.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ben sees Rey’s drawings and loves them. He wants to learn from her. He’s not very good at drawing but likes spending time with her and watching. Ben shows Rey calligraphy and she wants to learn from him too.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lounging in a bath has become a guilty pleasure for Rey. Freshers were a huge luxury for Rey when she left Jakku and baths in large tubs, taking up huge amounts of water will always make her feel a little guilty but it doesn't last long when Ben starts pampering her.

Ben likes to wash her hair. It's a long and very loving process and Rey teases him and returns the favor and takes care of him.

_______________________________________________________________________

They eventually make their home on Naboo at Varykino after they have their babies. The estate was gifted to them by the Naberrie Family. Ben was uncomfortable and tried to not accept it. His cousins were adamant and said it was his inheritance from his grandmother and a gift to the last Jedi in honor of the Jedi that was happiest here.

The estate was so big. The twins would love it. A home that would last forever.

Rey wants to share what she has learned of the force, the dark and the light. Ben agrees, there are lonely kids out there that need to know that their feelings aren’t bad and that they have a hand to hold when they need it. Rey wants her children to be surrounded by friends as they grow. They start their school knowing things will be different.

_______________________________________________________________________

They love to spar, its the only they have any real challenge. Ben is not as rigid as Kylo Ren. Rey notices that his moves are free and flow like a dance. Rey gives him a good challenge with her saberstaff. Ben admits its taking time getting used to not having the crossguard. Rey modified her staff to be detachable and likes to practice dual-wielding with her sabers. Their children and students love to watch them. They draw a crowd every time with a clash of purple and gold.

_______________________________________________________________________

When their school is fully operational and their children just getting into their teens Ben asks her if they should get married. Rey says that they technically are. They made a promise and sealed it with a kiss and they have kids so every box has been checked. Ben knows that but he says that maybe the should make it official with a ceremony with their friends and family with them. Rey says yes.

Jaina helps her mom pick her dress. The dress is not white, but layers and layers of sheer panels of gold and light green elegantly draped on her like the sculptures at Varykino. Ben wears a soft black tunic with matching pants and an elaborately embroidered blue cloak. (He lives to push the boundaries of fashion and it wouldn't be reylo without them looking like Hades and Persephone).

The ceremony was full of love, happiness, and hope. I like the idea of them dancing. Then Ben dancing with Jaina and Rey dancing with Jacen. It's cute and just a perfect happily ever after.

[Quick note I am not good with describing clothes so for visual reference for those that want it, look up the costumes for Magnificent Century for the aesthetic and the level extra that is Ben’s cloak and the whimsy that is Rey's dress.]

_______________________________________________________________________

And that's all the post-tros headcanons that I can think of at the moment. It kind of turned into a bulleted list of a fix-it fic with my dream happy ending. I'm playing around with my reylo baby headcanons and what will happen to them because...drama. I also am thinking of writing Dark Rey and Jedi Ben solo Au headcanons as well as Dark reylo headcanons if school grants me the time 😌

#reylo #My personal headcanon tag #reylo baby

77 notes · View notes

englass · 5 years ago

Note

Oh, could I request John letting the deputy hold him because he understands she's going though a lot atm. :^) thanks for reading.

No worries hun! Thanks for sending this in! 😁 It took a while, but I had fun with it nonetheless. Kind of ended up running away with the idea, but I hope you enjoy it!

– – –

When Rook had gotten in that plane, as prepared as she could be with a freshly tattooed chest and a determined glare for the dogfight that was about to go down, she hadn’t exactly considered what could happen.

Sure, she hoped that she’d win. That she would finally free the Valley from the tyranny of John Seed by the end of it all, knocking him off of his high horse, and hopefully without that much bloodshed if at all possible.

But what she hadn’t considered was if things went wrong.

With a strangled gasp Rook hobbles toward the panting John Seed, his tailored clothes scuffed and dirtied, as he rests against the trunk of a tree. Eyes closed and head tipped back with both hands in his lap, radio tossed and abandoned at his side. Despite his ruffled appearance anyone would think that he just did a lap around his airstrip instead of get in a literal, and verbal, dogfight with somebody. He near enough looks unharmed.

Lucky prick.

Rook stares at her nemesis, usually groomed hair now tussled, before leaning heavily against the same tree that he’s up against. Sliding down until she’s sitting next to him and mirroring his actions; head tilted skyward with eyes closed, pained groans slipping through stilted breaths every now and again.

Despite sitting next to the infamous ‘reaper’ of the Valley, Rook can’t help but feel nothing but calm, strangely content as the warm afternoon sunlight flitters through the gaps in the leaves above, shinning down on the both of them with speckled light. Considering how cold it’s gotten the warmth is a welcome blanket for the shaky Deputy.

“Ya know,” she starts with a wince, holding her side, “despite it all, that was actually kinda fun.” There’s a fractured laugh underling her tone, mirth trying to break through even as she sucks in a stuttered breath between gritted teeth.

John scoffs, not even sparing her a glance, “I think you need to rework your definition of ‘fun’, my dear Wrath.”

“Says you,” she says accusingly, “I hardly think you’re one to talk, what with the type of stuff that you do to people.”

“What I do, Deputy, is not for my own pleasure, but for the salvation of sinners like yourself,” he replies with a snip. “I have told you this numerous times and yet, even in the wake of your atonement, you would rather still be barred from the Gates of Eden and condemned to an eternal damnation than swallow that filthy pride of yours. I only want to help you, Deputy, to give you a new and better life amongst the project; if only you would just say yes.”

“Oh leave off, John,” Rook whines, “I’d rather not talk about atonement and crap while I lay here dying.”

“Oh please,” John grouses, finally looking toward her, “like you’re actually–” he pauses, words dissolving on his tongue like powered tablet. His ocean eyes going wide as they glue themselves to the jagged piece of metal sticking out of her side; crimson painting her shirt, staining the hand that presses under the metal with a noticeable tremble, a vivid red.

“Huh, that bad eh?” Rook weakly jokes, watching the emotions dance hectically across his face, changing as quickly as the current, before looking skyward once again, pointedly refusing to look down at herself. She winces at a jolt of pain. “That’s reassuring.”

“Deputy...” the youngest Seed flounders, unable to look away from the sight she makes; caught in a trance as any harboured animosity fades to ash. There’s no way the Deputy – his deputy – could be dying, there‘s just no way. A piece of metal couldn’t stop them, surly. They’ve been through worse than this, he knows they have. He can’t lose them now that he’s finally got them, that wouldn’t be fair. That’s not fair...

John’s quick to snap back to reality when he hears the Deputy gasp, her free hand pressing into the ground beside him as she attempts to move herself.

John doesn’t spare a thought before he’s grabbing her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses in a rush, “stop moving, you will only make it worse!”

“A little late for that, I‘d say,” she grumbles lowly. “Now let go, I’m hardly going anywhere.”

Really such a fact should’ve had John vibrating, excitement twisted into something cruel and consuming, but he finds himself feeling the furthest from that than what he ever thought he might do. Seeing the Deputy like this was making him feel rather ill, a nasty sensation curling low within the pit of his stomach.

Also, were they always that pale?

So focused on his own conflicted thoughts and absent observations, John doesn’t notice when the Deputy edges a little closer to him; shimmying into his side.

With a whimper Rook moves her free arm, slipping it behind and around John’s back to grip and hold as much of his jacket as she can. Her head falling heavily to rest on his shoulder with a pained sigh.

John freezes at the touch, the familiarness of it making him feel a touch uneasy; a tad nervous. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had held him in such a way, if ever at all even. It’s completely foreign to him. And he especially never expected this type of gesture from the elusive deputy of all people, despite how much he might of dreamed and secretly hoped for it on lonely nights with only his hand for company.

But, even more so, he never envisioned a situation like this – so potentially dire – to be the one where his dreams finally became a reality. Or at least as close as he was possibly going to get them to reality anyway.

What a living nightmare this day was turning out to be.

“What are you doing?” The question is a lot quieter this time around; softer than he intends it. A breath of a secret shared between friends, or unrequited lovers.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying, John,” Rook tells him bluntly, gaze distant and watery as her grip grows tighter, “and believe it or not, I’m actually really fucking scared right now, so if you could just shut up and let me find at least a little bit of comfort in you before I die then that’d be great.”

There’s a weighted pause filled only with the shimmering of leaves and unsteady breaths.

“Comfort, from me?” The baptist jokes derisively, “you really must be scared then...”

Yet, despite his tone, Rook can still hear the unintentional lilt of hope that’s layered within the question. The hope that maybe she, or anyone really, could want something so simple yet meaningful from him; something so soft and genuine.

And, not for the first time, Rook can’t help but feel sorry for the complicated man next to her. Memories of her makeshift baptism, the look on his face as Joseph walked away from him, fluttering to the forefront of her mind. If only life had given him a better hand.

“Yes, John. Even from you.”

There’s a broken sound that comes from him, a whine or a laugh she isn’t sure. Yet, the sound quickly slips from her mind when she feels his own arm come around to grip her shoulder, hesitant at first before hugging her closer, his head gently leaning to rest on top of hers.

The hand gripping his jacket is covered by his own, pulling her away – she whimpers pitifully at the movement, weakly holding on, “shh, it’s okay, Deputy. I’ve got you” – only to draw her hand up to his face. Fingers interlaced he kisses the palm of her hand before placing it over his chest, holding it there as his thumb brushes back and forth in a soothing motion; a silent reassurance.

If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she’d be hugging John Seed after being impaled by a piece of plane shrapnel, she likely would have scoffed and sarcastically entertained them. If not straight up laughed at them. Funny, she supposes, how life’s turned out for her.

“You’re not going to die, by the way,” John suddenly says, breaking the hush that had fallen between them, “I won’t let you.”

Once upon a time, Rook might have rolled her eyes at how childish he sounds, a little kid getting ready to throw a strop. However, the Deputy has had enough interactions with John Seed by this point to be able to gleam when he’s being serious.

It’s a little scary in its own right, hearing that cold shift that sends chills down her spine, but ultimately she decides to ignore his self-made promise. There’s nothing she can say to it.

“I hope I don’t,” Rook says honestly, “there’s still stuff I wanted to do.”

“Like what?” He asks conversationally.

The Deputy huffs around a laugh, weak and slightly derogatory, “it’s stupid really, but would you believe me if I said that I wanted to get married?”

“Married?” John’s chest does something funny at the thought. “You? Forgive me, deputy, but you hardly seem the type.”

“Wow, really? No offence John-no, but you do realise that I’m more than just a Deputy wrecking your shit, right? I have dreams and hopes for the future too, ya know? And besides, what do you know; you don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“But enough isn’t a full picture, is it?” For a moment the Deputy goes quiet, and John can practically taste the bubbling bitterness in her next words. “How old am I, what’s my favourite colour, my favourite film; what was my first car, my first pet. Hell, does anyone even know my name...?”

It’s embarrassing really, allowing something so small and arguably petty to colour her the way it does, but if she really is about to die then surly now is as good a time as any to get her grudges and grievances out there. Confess, as John would put it it. After all, she’s done so much for everyone, got so much blood staining her hands (both figuratively and literally), and yet not one person has even asked for her name.

She’s a title, she knows that, has since this whole thing started, but bleeding out has a way of forcing things into perspective it seems. She’s going to die in the arms of her greatest enemy and no one is even going to be able to mark the grave because no one even knows her fucking–

She stills; tenses. Breath catching as she does so, but she pays the pain it causes no mind. Focusing only on the ring of John’s voice, his tongue curling around a name she didn’t think she’d ever hear again from another; didn’t think he even knew. Just how did he...?

“... what?” She sounds so small, so much like she did as a child, but she doesn’t care. Did he really just...

He pulls her closer, turns slightly to whisper her full name into her hair, lips brushing against her lightly as he does so. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Rook sniffles, her breaths quickly becoming shallow and shaky as she presses further into John, burying her face as far into his neck as she possibly can. Hiding herself as tears begin to trail down her cheeks in lonely streams. Her retort is weak and warbled.

“Shut up.”

And, surprisingly, John does.

Although it might not be ideal, not at all how he hoped for them to come together, but for the first time since he can remember John feels what he believes to be genuine content. More than happy to offer his deputy all that he can give them in this uncertain, but surly fated, moment. This had to be destiny at play, he was certain of it. This was meant to happen.

And as he listens to her cry quietly, feels her sag and flinch in pain and anguish against him, waiting for his followers to hurry up and find them, not once does his hand let go of hers.

#i hope it’s okay?#i wanted something kinda sad but comforting #also #i hate dialogue #but i’m trying to get better at it #doubt i’m succeeding mind you #but i’m trying #my gorgeous murder husband #john seed #john seed x female deputy #john seed x deputy #john seed x rook #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #anonymous #request

123 notes · View notes

pastryglitch · 5 years ago

Text

7 Characters!

Thank you @plumreen for tagging me!! The bad news is I like so many characters so much that I couldn’t ever make a top ten list without feeling like I’ve left someone off, so I’m just making a general ‘7 characters I really like in no particular order’ list. (I’m sorry for just picking 7!! Picking 10 favorites is so hard!!)

- Tanjiro Kamado yeah I just said this list was in no particular order but this one is #1 fav. I just adore him so much and how much he cares about other people. Willing to sacrifice everything just to help others. He makes me so happy just thinking about him. I love him and just want him and nezuko to be happy. also hes v cute and funny and i miss his ponytail

- Dorothea I said i was only gonna put one fe3h character on here and it was hard to pick between her and Ashe, but I had to go with my OG wife. In my crimson flower playthrough I was going to romance edelgard, but I just adored Dorothea so much I had to go with her in the end. Shes so beautiful and nice and cute and funny and we write LOVE POETRY to each other and shes so sweet in the proposal scene. I married her once and I already want to do it again.

- Luke from HM:AP Luke!!! My First harvest moon husband!! He’s so funny and cute and you can tell how much he likes you from the moment you start courting him. I still quote when he gives you the honey and is like “yeah I had to run really fast- I MEAN,,, I HAD TO FIGHT THE BEES TO GET IT!!” cause he wants to look cool, and his stupid letter that doesn’t make any sense (which is cause it got mistranslated, which is a shame, but without that knowledge it just sounds like him speaking nonsense cause he got nervous about asking you out which is adorable) and how he always yells about everything cause he’s so EXTREME!!!™.(same!) I love and remember him very fondly and at some point I hope I can marry him again.

- Splinter from TMNT 2012 “whhaaaatt emme you like that dumb turtle show made for lil boyz whaa dats fer babies’ YES OKAY ITS MY FAVORITE SHOW AND I CARE VERY VERY DEEPLY ABOUT IT AND I REALLY LIKE EVERY CHARACTER IN IT EXCEPT CASEY WHO SUCKS BUT I LOVE MY RAT DAD SO MUCH OKAY FUCK YOU

-Mob from Mob psycho I didn’t love Mob psycho as much as a lot of other people I’ve seen, But I still really enjoyed it and I love all the characters! Mob is so sweet and kind and cute and I’m so proud of him!! He tries so hard and learns so much and I want him to be happy!!

-Dark Choco Yes I am basic I am sorry. It feels like a sin to pick a favorite cookie since I love all of them so much, but I gotta go with the cursed man. Hes so cool looking and has some of the most development out of any cookie. I really like thinking about his backstory and personality and his relationships with other cookies, like Whip, Yam, and Avocado. I could have put a lot of the cookies on here, But Dark is so interesting and I love drawing him smiling. If the devs won’t make him smile than I will. He deserves it.

-Kirby !!!KIRBY IS SHAPED LIKE A FRIEND!!! He is so cute and sweet and soft and I fell in love with him when I was a little baby. I loved his games and his voice and his squishiness and he was my main in brawl and I WRECKED SHIT!!! (until I switched to Dark Pit in ultimate, who I have grown very fond of, but I can’t put him on this list since I’ve never actually played kid icarus and I don’t actually know anything about him. heheh) but point is kirby was my first ‘favorite character’ from when I was little, so he has a special place in my heart

And I don’t have anyone to tag!! :D

#Thank you so much for tagging me! I really like being included in stuff like this even though I can never follow the rules correctly ;-;#it's so hard to pick characters!!! cause I like all characters!!! yeah I have favs but I didn't wanna pick all from the same fandoms!#I coulda filled this list with fe3h characters!!! or cookie run characters!!!! or even harvest moon characters!!!#and with the other shows I like like MHA or fruits basket!!!!!!!! I LIKE ALL THE CHARACTERS!!! THERES SO MANY!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW COULD I PICK 1 #but i hope i did okay!

1 note · View note

calliopesquill · 7 years ago

Text

A Year in the Life: Chapter 13

It's new chapter time! Thanks for stick with me as I continue Miguel and Nell's adventures. There's more excitement coming!

Thanks again to my betas for proof-reading the chapter and for correcting my Spanish!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: Due Process

Marigold Grand Central Station was, to put it lightly, a complete zoo. The entire complex was overflowing with skeletons, dressed in everything from jeans and tee-shirts, to Victorian dresses and suits with massive hats. Somehow seeing all of this in daylight felt so much more incongruent, both more and less real at the same time. Skeletons at night on Día de los Muertos made perfect sense. Seeing skeletons in the middle of the day felt just a little weird, even after a morning with the Riveras. Apparently they felt much the same way about Nell. For the most part everyone was too wrapped up in what they were doing to realize that there was a living spirit among them, but those who did notice could cause quite the disturbance. One skeleton who accidentally bumped into her on the trolley was so startled when he saw her face that he almost flung himself backwards through the open door.

“Ugh, this is going to be the next year, isn’t it,” Nell sighed as they disembarked onto the station platform. “I feel like the elephant man. It’s a good thing dead people can’t technically have heart attacks.” Maybe she should invest in a hooded cloak or something.

“It’s not that bad,” Héctor said reassuringly.

The look she sent him in response was as dry as the autumn leaves back home. “Were you not on the same trolley I was? That one guy literally went to pieces and you had to save a guy from falling out completely. Even if you can’t technically die again, that would still be a hell of a fall.”

Okay, so maybe it was that bad. But that was not what she needed to hear right now. “Hey, it’s okay. Some of these guys, they’ve been here too long. They don’t handle surprises that well. They’ll get used to it. And hey, maybe the archivists found something already. You could be going home before you know it.”

Nell smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks Héctor. And hey, if all else fails, we could always get our hands on a giant stash of shoe polish and paint me up like you did with Miguel.”

“That’s the spirit! Come on. Let’s see what they found.”

They were half-way up the central staircase when Nell paused, then started snickering.

“¿Qué? What’s so funny?”

“You’re the dad friend.” Nell giggled, jogging up the stairs past him.

“The what?”

“The dad friend,” she repeated with a grin. “The one who takes care of everyone. Making sure they don’t get lost, looks after them when they’re drunk and tucks them in with an aspirin and a glass of water so they don’t get hungover, or encouraging them when they’re nervous or upset even when you are as rattled as they are. The caretaker friend.”

“I -- Isn’t that a normal friend thing to do?” He didn’t even think about it, not really. He just...did what was needed. And he was a dad, obviously. Being dead for almost a hundred years would not change that.

“To a point, but you take it to dad-levels.” Nell shrugged. “It’s sweet. And also a little funny because you are technically younger than I am.”

“What? No I’m not,” Héctor protested. “I am way older than you.”

“Technically you are 119 years old,” Nell agreed. “But you are also technically twenty-one. Maybe I should start calling you ‘hermanito’.”

Héctor gaped in mock-outrage, giving her a brotherly shove. “Bah! I don’t think so, niñita. You’ve got a while to go yet.”

They bickered over his supposed age until they get to the front desk. Luckily the receptionist was the same woman who had seen them the day before, so while she did jump a bit when they appeared in front of her, she was not nearly as unsettled as she had been that first morning.

“Ah… hola. Were you looking for Señor Bolivar?” She asked tentatively.

Nell shook her head. “Actually, could you point me towards the archives? Señora Chavez is doing some research for me and I thought I’d try to help.”

The receptionist hesitated. Señora Chavez was notorious for not wanting outsiders in her space, but if she was looking into something for the Living Girl, it had to be important. “They’re down the stairs on the left. Bottom level.”

“Thanks!”

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Héctor asked her, shifting his grip on the shoe bags. “You don’t have to do this today, you know.”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Least this way I can feel like I made some progress. And if we find something, I won’t be sitting at the house waiting for a call.” And it would keep her out of the public view so she could get away from people freaking out at the sight of her face for a while. “Go, deliver the shoes. Make some music. And don’t forget Cici’s order. We don’t want your wife to have to come after you with her sharpie because you forgot again.”

He eyed her measuringly for a moment, then shook his head with a low chuckle. “Si, si. Entiendo. Take it easy today, huh? One of us will come get you tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

Now, time to dig through some centuries-old records! She had to admit she was actually a little excited at the prospect. She would be handling documents that had never been seen by living eyes. Actual primary sources about the history of the Land of the Dead! And she wouldn’t have to worry about wrecking them with finger oils or anything, like she would in the living world. Nell skipped down the stairs, following the papel picado-like directional signs to the lower levels of the building. About three floors down the white-washed walls were replaced with smooth, cut stone, with large glyphs carved in every few feet.

I must be down to the pyramid level, Nell mused as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t just that everything around her looked old, but it felt old as well. There was a weight here, and a settled kind of quiet. This wasn’t a place that people came to much anymore. Except for Señora Chavez and the other archivists. There was only one office on that level that Nell could see, marked with a single square glyph, and another papel picado sign marked “Archives.”

Nell took a steadying breath and knocked on the door.

There was a muffled sigh from inside. “Ugh… ¿Qué deseas? I swear to Mictēcacihuātl, if one of you boneheads misplaced another of my eighteenth century journals, I will speed you on your way to your Final Death myself.”

Ah. That might be another reason why people didn’t come down here too much.

“Ah… lo siento. Señora Chavez? It’s Nell.”

“Who? Oh. Wait. The nagual. Yeah, come on in.”

Hesitantly she opened the door. “Ah...hi. Sorry. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“If you talked to anyone upstairs, they’d probably tell you I’ve been disturbed for centuries.” Lina snorted, not looking up from the heavy, hand-bound book she was paging through. “What do you want?”

“I thought I’d see if you wanted any help going through the records.”

Lina glanced up at her, setting the book down on her already-messy desk. “Why?”

“Because sitting around waiting for an answer might actually kill me, and placing myself equivalently under house arrest for the next year is about the only thing worse than people screaming when they see my face when I go outside,” Nell replied, leaning back against the door-frame with a huff and running one hand agitatedly through her hair.

The archivist sighed. “Fine, but if you break anything or screw up my filing system --”

“You have my permission to chuck me off a pyramid. Claro.”

Lina snorted. “Bueno. So, how’s your Nahuatl?”

“My...what?”

“Well, that answers that question.” She shoved herself away from the desk, tucking the book she’d been reading under one arm and heading out into the hallway. “No Aztec texts for you. Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

The archive itself was massive and seemed to go on forever. There were entire chambers dedicated to different periods of history. The Aztec and Mayan records each got their own separate rooms on opposite ends of the hall, and each room after that seemed to correspond with the different levels of the towers that made up the city. After that….well, Nell did not understand the system at all. Apparently the Dewey Decimal system had not yet made its way down to the Land of the Dead. She quickly resolved to bring a stash of hair ribbons or scrap paper so she could mark the places of the volumes that she took.

“Now best guess, the last nagual to cross over the bridge would have been...fifteenth or sixteenth century?” Lina said, heading to one of the heavy built-in shelves on the right side of the room. “Probably?”

So it hadn’t been a fluke the last time. Well, that answered one question, and raised a few hundred more. “Were nagual more common back then? And how does that work? Like, is it some sort of recessive gene or is it a luck-of-the-draw kind of power manifestation?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” she answered with a shrug. “Never met any when I was alive. Or not any real ones. I don’t think. Oh there were plenty who claimed they had these special abilities and demanded special treatment, but I always thought that the most vocal were the ones with the least ability. And nagual was more of a blanket term, really. It could refer to the spirit form of the person, or to their guide, and later on it became synonymous with a kind of brujo. It was said that they could travel in spirit form, leaving their physical bodies behind -- something that you have most certainly confirmed. But whether it is a hereditary trait, I couldn’t say.”

“Scared the crap out of me, first time I did it,” Nell said with a wry smirk. “Gave Miguel a pretty big shock too.”

“The Rivera kid. What a nightmare of paperwork that was. People stealing offerings is one thing, but actually getting cursed? That one is pretty rare.” Lina pulled a selection of books from the shelf, stuffing them into Nell’s hands. “Okay. Start with these. Thank Tezcatlipoca that at least some of these guys were bilingual. There aren’t many down here who can read the old languages anymore, and having to go through the whole thing myself would be a bitch.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Nell wondered. “And what about the other archivists?”

“Bah! Like I would trust these records in their hands. Anything post-seventeenth-century sure, but they’re useless when it comes to filing the earlier records. They’re taking care of the everyday stuff while I deal with this mess.” Lina grabbed another selection for herself, several covered in some kind of glyphs. “And I speak 9 languages fluently. I’m a little rusty on some of the Mayan dialects so I didn’t count those.”

Nell goggled. Nine?! There were at least a couple dozen Mayan dialects, according to the research she’d done a few weeks before. How many did she consider herself ‘rusty’ in? Nell herself only spoke two languages, three if you counted high school French -- which she didn’t. “Did you learn all of those when you were down here?”

The archivist shook her head. “I re-learned them. Some of them. I was… a translator, once. A long time ago. Pull up some ground, niñita. This could take a while.”

The other girl shook her head, sitting down and leaning back against the bookcase opposite. “Is that going to be my official nickname now? I’m not that young, you know.”

Lina smirked, gently opening the cover of the delicate manuscript she carried. What Nell had first taken to be a regular book was in fact a single long piece of parchment, accordion-folded and bound into a leather cover like restaurant menu, with long loops of leather cording. “Almost everyone here is young compared to me. Twenty-odd years is nothing.”

Nell bit her lip, her gaze running analytically over her companion. She dearly wanted to ask how old Lina really was, but got the distinct impression that it was not something she would get the answer to. But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try to figure it out for herself. After they figured out how to get her home.

Héctor was later than he’d hoped to be. Imelda had to send Coco to get him again -- a wise plan, as his daughter stood by far the best chance of pulling him away from whatever song he was working on. But hey, at least he had remembered to get all of the details for the performers’ shoe commissions this time. The sharpie could stay safely holstered in his wife’s apron.

Coco’s appearance had been met with cheers all around. She was always a favorite when she visited (Of course she was. Who wouldn’t love his Coco?), which in itself brought a bit of a delay. Everyone wanted to say hello, catch up. Even after promising to return later in the week, it took some time for them to get out the door.

The night was warm, with just a hint of a breeze cooling the crowded streets. Marigold Grand Central was as crowded as always, but the Department of Family Reunions building was fairly quiet by comparison. There was the usual number of people here to greet newly-arrived family members, but it was nowhere near as packed as it had been on Día de los Muertos. They took the stairway down to the archives, pausing at the last landing when they heard some very angry-sounding English coming from down the hall.

“-- fucking -- ugh. How was anyone supposed to read this? Frick. Colonial Spanish is even harder to read than Tudor English, and that was fucking brutal. Why did nobody think to write a damn dictionary for this crap?”

“The first Spanish dictionary was printed in 1611.”

“That’s not exactly helpful when the book I’m reading predates it by a century.”

“Oh, stop your whining. At least they had an actual alphabet. Try reading Zapoteco and see how far you get.” Another voice retorted. “And when did you ever have to read Tudor English? You’re, like, twelve.”

“Took a class on material culture when I was in university. Spent a class looking at the kind of things people would will down to their descendants. One person left their son’s family a set of bedsheets, only they spelled it as ‘shits’,” Nell snickered.

The other voice let out a bark of laughter. “Ha! Classic.”

Coco and Héctor followed the voices to a room almost halfway down the hall. Nell sprawled in the floor beside a massive stone bookshelf, a thin, leather-bound volume held gently in her hands. Lina the archivist was somewhere behind her, just barely visible in the dim lantern light, shelving an armful of books. Coco knocked lightly on the carved stone door frame.

Nell looked up, blinked at them, then grinned. “Oh, hey! What are you guys doing here?”

“You’ve been here for almost eight hours, mija,” Coco said, laughing when she saw Nell’s eyes bug out.

“What? Seriously? That can’t be --” But when she tried to push herself up she dropped back to the floor with a groan. “Okay. Yeah. I can believe that.” Stiffly she pushed herself upright, dusting off her clothes. “Hey Lina, where do you want me to put this?”

“Just give it here,” she said, returning from the front of the shelf to take the book. “You’ll never put it back right.”

“You know, people might actually be able to put things back where they belonged if your filing system was not determined by a dart board, a roulette wheel, and a blood sacrifice.”

“Bah! Get on with you,” Lina scoffed, giving Nell a shove towards the door. “Go bother someone else for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know you love me.” Nell laughed, sticking her tongue out teasingly. “If you didn’t, you’d have dropped me off a pyramid hours ago.”

“I still might.”

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” Still chuckling, Nell joined the others in the hall. “Sorry, guys. Kind of lost track of time there.”

“Did you find anything?” Coco asked as they made their was back up the stairs.

She shook her head, letting out a soft sigh. “Not yet. We’ve narrowed down an approximate time-frame to look in, but nothing we’ve read so far references any living spirits crossing the bridge.” And with easily another couple century’s worth of records to go through, it could be ages before they found anything at all.

“Hey, it will be okay,” Héctor said, laying one hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “You’ll find something.”

She hoped so. And that it wouldn’t be too late when they did.

Nell tried to keep her head up that night, really she did. And for the most part it worked. She chatted with Coco and Héctor about the things she had found in the old records, learned about the show that Héctor was helping out with, and the designs that Coco and the other Riveras would be doing for the dancers’ shoes. But as the trolley approached their stop, she found her enthusiasm flagging. You can only act like everything was normal for so long before the knowledge that nothing was normal snuck up and clobbered you over the head again. What made it worse was how hard the Riveras were working to make it look like it wasn’t an issue, which just seemed to underline how big an issue it actually was.

The whole family gathered in the living room, spreading out over every available surface. Coco and Julio shared the loveseat, content to snuggle and just be in each other’s company. Oscar and Filipe hunched over a notebook on the coffee table. Imelda sat on the couch, reviewing the account book as Héctor perched on the arm of the couch next to her, picking out an absent tune on his guitar. Victoria and Rosita each had their own chairs and a book in their hands. Rosita was a big fan of romance novels and, surprisingly, true crime accounts. Victoria’s collection was mostly history-based, though tonight she had gone for a more contemporary thriller. It took less than five minutes for Nell to figure out that spending the whole evening in close quarters like this was an aberration. Most of the family spent the whole day together in the workshop, so of course the evening would be their personal time.

Nell appreciated the company, even if she felt guilty for robbing them of their evening. She had begged some scrap paper and pencils from the shop, and spent the next couple of hours doing studies of the family. Watching the constant shift of the facial bones was fascinating. Their faces, despite being made of solid bone, were somehow elastic, and moved as if the muscles and tissue that allowed such movement in life were still a part of it. The brow bone should not furrow when they frowned, and how bone lips were a thing she would never understand. It also made her question the mechanics of other actions that she had to very quickly force her mind away from.

Yeah… Do not go there. Keep your mind well away from thoughts of skeleton boning.

It was almost a relief when they heard the distinctive jingle of the doorbell at the gate. The Riveras exchanged looks. Who could possibly be calling this late? The shop had been closed for hours.

The twins pushed themselves to their feet and left the room, returning a few minutes later with a pair of uniformed police officers in tow. One was stocky for a skeleton, with rose-colored dots framing his eyes and green fern-like branches along his cheekbones. The other wasn’t much taller, and had a golden band of laurel leaves across her brow like an ancient crown. Though they stood with a determined kind of posture, they both looked like they’d had a long couple of days.

“Ah… Everyone, this is Officer Vega --”

“-- and Officer Flores,” Oscar finished. “They want to ask about --”

“-- what happened on Día de los Muertos.”

Héctor, who had stiffened noticeably the moment the cops stepped into the room, flexed his fingers over the fretboard of his guitar, willing himself to relax. With his many less-than-legal attempts at crossing the bridge over the last century, his relationship with local law enforcement had been strained at best. He’d had very few interactions with them that did not involve him being in some kind of trouble, and every one of them had been in the last two years. Cálmese, he told himself firmly. They aren’t here for you. Not to arrest him, anyway. No, they were here to ask about what happened with Ernesto, which was both better and so much worse.

“We’d like to collect a statement from each of you,” Officer Flores explained, her gaze travelling over the assembled Riveras, doing a barely-noticeable double-take when she saw Nell seated behind the coffee table. “There is a warrant out for the arrest of Ernesto De la Cruz, and we want to be sure that we have a complete account of what happened by the time he is brought in.”

“There has been a warrant out for his arrest for two years,” Imelda pointed out sharply. “Ever since one of your officers let him escape.”

“The officer responsible for that has been relieved from duty,” Officer Vega informed them. “After that grievous lapse in judgement, we want to make absolutely sure that there is no room for error this time around. We want De la Cruz to pay for his crimes every bit as much as you do.”

Doubtful, but the sentiment was appreciated.

“We’d like to speak with you one at a time, if that’s possible,” Officer Flores continued. “Is there a space where we can do that?”

The Riveras exchanged looks.

“The kitchen would probably be best,” Victoria said after a moment.

There was a moment of silence, then Officer Flores cleared her throat. “Right. So… Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

Nell pushed herself to her feet. “I guess...maybe I should go first. I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

She could feel their eyes burning into the back of her head as she led them across the courtyard to the family kitchen. Neither of them had said a word, but they didn’t have to. Each unasked question was a deafening shout in the evening air. When they reached the kitchen, Nell closed the door behind them.

“So, um...take a seat, I guess?” She suggested, gesturing towards the solid wooden table at the center of the room. From what she had seen, the kitchen itself was rarely used given the lack of food in the Land of the Dead, but served more as a place of family discussion. “Sorry. This is weird. I feel like I’m taking the lead here but it’s not even my house.”

“The Riveras are letting you live with them while you’re here?” Officer Vega confirmed as he and his partner arranged themselves across the table from Nell.

“Yeah. They’ve kind of unofficially adopted me after what happened.” She knew that the blame for this whole mess rested on De la Cruz’s shoulders, but she couldn’t help but still feel somewhat responsible. And now, after all they’ve already been through, the Riveras had a relative stranger staying with them for the next year. She still felt guilty about that. “They didn’t have to. But...I’m really grateful that they did.”

Officer Vega pulled a tattered-looking notebook from his pocket. He and Officer Flores had already listened to the recording taken in the Family Grievances offices the morning after the incident. Now they wanted to get their own impressions, and clarify some of the details. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

Nell’s mouth curved in a wry sort of smile. “How far back do you want me to go?”

“Let’s start with the evening of Día de los Muertos, and go from there.”

Nell sighed, dropping into one of the old wooden chairs. “Okay. I planned to meet Miguel a little after midnight…” She told them everything, the plan to astral project in hopes of reuniting Miguel with his deceased family, her own introduction to them, to the moment they realized Miguel had been taken.

“Did you know it was De la Cruz at the time?” Officer Flores asked.

Nell shook her head. “Not then. I just saw him slung over the shoulder of a big guy in a dark jacket, and ran after them.”

“Across the bridge?”

She nodded before describing the chase across the bridge, and the moment she realized it was De la Cruz who had her friend. How scared she was because she knew the history between them. The search across the city and her reunion with Buttons, and the pyramid at the end of the world. At this the officers exchanged looks. They had visited the site themselves in search of evidence, combed every inch of it in search of De la Cruz. There had been nothing left behind but footprints in the dust and a few scraps of black cloth.

“And what happened then?”

Nell sighed, rolling the hem of her dress nervously between her fingertips. She had been dreading this part. “Ernesto would have tossed Miguel off the cliff the moment he saw Héctor or Imelda, so we decided I should distract him. I went through the pyramid while the others went around the side…”

This was what they had been waiting for, the part of the story that had been skimmed over in the initial recording. Now, hearing it at last, they could understand why. They had known Ernesto De la Cruz was a thief and a murderer, but the repeated poisoning of a person just to keep them with you was something none of them had expected. Nell fought to keep her voice steady, hands clenched in white-knuckled fists under the table as she recounted Ernesto’s admission, and when she told them how he had flung Miguel off the edge, both officers jolted.

“Pepita caught him, then circled back for us.”

The rest they knew. That De la Cruz had pulled her back, and that she had been rescued by her own alebrije, who took her back to the bridge. And her final decision to throw Miguel through the barrier as the bridge collapsed beneath her.

“And then...yeah. Here we are,” Nell finished lamely. “Don’t know how long I’m here for, what’s happening to my physical body, or how long I can be separated from it… Lina -- she’s the head archivist at the Department of Family Reunions -- she said I should be able to cross back over next year but…” There was no way to know for sure if she’d even last that long.

By unspoken agreement, Héctor and Imelda chose to speak to the officers together. They entered the kitchen with their hands entwined. They had faced this separately for too long. Whatever came next, they would face it together. Héctor was grateful for the support. He tried to step back, to separate himself from the pain and the betrayal, but every word was like tearing off a bandage from a wound that had only barely begun to scab over.

“And when you saw him on the cliffs,” Officer Vera asked. “How did he look?”

“How did he look? What kind of question is that?” Imelda frowned.

“Was he angry? Smiling? Pacing? That kind of thing.”

“He was...impatient,” Héctor answered softly. He could see it now, if he let himself. “Nervous.”

Imelda shot him a questioning look. Standing at the edge of the world, she hadn’t seen a hint of nerves. She had never trusted Ernesto. There was something about him that has always rubbed her the wrong way. But Héctor had known Ernesto almost his whole life. If there was anyone who knew those small gestures, it was him.

“His fingers twitched,” Héctor recalled. “Left hand. They always did that when he was nervous. I don’t know if he ever realized.” There was something surreal about seeing those old familiar gestures after all that had passed between them. For a moment he could almost believe that the Ernesto he knew was still in there. But he knew better. This was what had lived inside of him all along.

“Anything else?” Officer Flores asked.

They took the officers through every word, every absent gesture. Hollow-voiced, Héctor recounted Nell’s attempts at a distraction. His stomach churned at the memory, non-existent but somehow every bit as painful as they day he died.

“And how did he react when he saw you?”

The same as he always had when caught in a lie. He had excused and justified and tried to turn it around on him, just as he always had. It’s not my fault. They made me. This would not have happened if… How many time had Héctor heard variations of that same tune? And as Ernesto did every time he was denied, he became angry. Héctor could see it in his face when Imelda stepped out to join him. His wife had always been able to see through Ernesto’s excuses, Héctor remembered. It was why they had never gotten along. Héctor had blamed it on a clashing of strong personalities, the filter of a life-long friendship blurring what his wife had seen all too clearly. But none of them could ever have suspected how deep Ernesto’s selfishness had run.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur. They took the officers through the flight back to the bridge, and Miguel and Nell’s desperate race to the other side. When at last they were satisfied, Héctor and Imelda returned to the living room, dropping onto the couch as Oscar and Filipe headed out for their turn. Coco moved from the love seat to sit next to her parents, leaning into her father’s side. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and holding her tightly. Ernesto’s words from the cliffside echoed in his thoughts.

I should have just let you go, maybe even gone back with you for a time… And then killed your bitch and the squalling brat myself.

Just the memory of it had him holding her closer. Far better for Ernesto to have murdered him that night than for him to return to Santa Cecilia to harm his family. Héctor would gladly live the past century a hundred times over if it meant keeping them safe. Imelda, sensing the direction his thoughts have turned, rubbed her thumb comfortingly over the finger of the hand that she still held. That seemed to soothe him somewhat, that tangible reminder that they were safe, and they were together. De la Cruz would not separate them again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And there is chapter thirteen!

Join us next week when we check in with Miguel on the living side of the bridge!

As always, thanks for reading!

#coco #coco fanfiction #a year in the life #ayitl #coco rivera #hector rivera #imelda rivera #crossposted on ao3

2 notes · View notes

cannedapricot · 7 years ago

Text

Christmas Shopping with! Yoon Jisung

another installment of the chirstmas collab with @alliwannado-w1 and @jihoonslattee ft. toy store worker! yoon jisung!!

jisung works at a toy store in a mall on the second floor

and he loves it

he loves seeing children’s faces glowing in happiness after entering the store

he loves helping children find the perfect toy

jiSUNG’S JUST FULL OF LOVE FOR WHAT HE DOES

when children start throwing tantrums, jisung’s the first person to rush over

the child stops crying after 5 seconds because thE FACES JISUNG MAKES TO CHEER THEM UP ARE LEDGENDARY

co-worker! sungwoon swears that jisung would marry his job if he could

everyone who’s ever visited this specific mall knows of yoon jisung

i mean, he’s the resident sunshine who glows so brightly whenever he smiles that everyone in the mall stops to wear sunglasses

he’s also the reason why every kid ever wants to go to that one toy shop lol

the boss wanted to make jisung the mascot at one point but jisung was like,

“oh no!! i’m probably going to scare people away from the shop haha!”

and that’s how sungwoon was forced into being the mascot because he was “smol and fluffy”

jisung never lets sungwoon live because of it

“oh look!!! sungwoon’s on our poster again!!11!111″

“...TEAR IT DOWN”

chirstmas is jisung’s favorite holiday

part of it was because of the snow and quality family time

but mostly it was because mORE SMILEY KIDS WOULD WALK INTO THE SHOP

CHEEKS RED WITH COLD

AND EYES GLEAMING WITH EXCITEMENT

the shop has this thing where the staff can wrap your presents for you

and everyone h a t e s being put on gift wrapping duty

because its??? so??? boring???

they’d much rather do something else

aka find a corner where the boss can’t see you and go on your phone smh

so when the boss calls a meeting and announces that the gift wrapping duty is back!!!

all he gets are groans in response

except from jisung though

he puts his arm straight up and with sparkling eyes, he says

“I VOLUNTEER”

“uh ok i guess jisung’s on gift duty for the fourth year in a row”

but daniel and jaehwan are also selected for different shifts

jisung nearly has a heart attack when he hears that jaehwan’s also on gift duty

beCAUSE THAT BOY CAN’T WRAP GIFTS FOR SHIT

so jisung spends his lunch break teaching jaehwan how to wrap a gift properly and prettily :’)

jaehwan tries to learn because he doesn’t want to deal with screaming kids if he wraps their gift shittily

it doesn’t turn out as perfect as jisung’s but it’ll have to do :’’’)

jisung’s also the only person who happily wears the santa hat uniform addition

jiSUNG’S WILL HAPPILY DO ANYTHING FOR THIS SHOP

HE LOVES THE SHOP WITH HIS WHOLE HEART SIDVBIS

even if the pay isn’t as high as other jobs, jisung’s content :’)

he’s such an angel i love him

you worked at a local kindergarten!

you’ve only been working for a couple of months but the kids there absolutely adore you!!

you’d step in the classroom and everyone would rush over to hug you

the kindergarten once had a popularity vote among the teachers and you ranked first even though you were new :””)

everyone wanted to be in your class

and the other teachers are lowkey offended

it was a tradition every year to bring the kids on a trip to the mall for them to write small wish lists to send to santa :’’’’’)

the kids were thrilled obviously

“sCHOOL TRIP TIME WHEEEEEEEE”

it took a while for them to calm down

but they eventually did

you’ve never been to the mall in this area,,, so you’re kinda scared that you’re gonna get lost or lose one of the kids etc

you tried getting out of it

“hey uh cough cough minhyun? cough”

“yeah?”

“sneeze i think i’m down with a cold”

“oh no!!!111!!1!1 would you like to take a few days off???”

“yes-”

“is what you think i’d say right? too bad we’re already low on staff as it is we don’t need another ‘sick’ one”

THERE GOES THAT PLAN OUT THE WINDOW

you knew that there was no point in arguing anymore :’)

on the day you were a nervous wreck

you had planned to go around the mall yesterday but that didn’t happen

thanks to your close friend suddenly dropping by

yoU WERE SWEATING AND YOUR EYES WERE DARTING EVERYWHERE

EVEN THE KIDS THOUGHT SOMETHING WAS OFF

“miss y/n? are you okay?”

“o-OH YEAH I’M FINE TOMMY”

WIPES SWEAT

after herding the kids into the bus, you tried to make a run for it

but minhyun catches you with his signature “where do you think you’re going” smile on his face

then proceeds to fling you onto the bus

upon reaching the mall, the kids immediately screamed to go visit the toy store

having no choice but to do so, you bring your little group of kids towards the toy shop on the second floor

while looking at the map you have on your phone lmao

you let out a sigh in relief when you reach the store without anything happening

you tell the kids not to wander off by their own and stick close together

entering the shop, you catch a certain worker’s eye 👀👀

i mean you would catch my eye as well

it’s not everyday someone walks into a shop with 10 kids around them

but of course the shop expected your kindergarten to visit this time of year

and that particular worker slides up to your party while in the lego section

“hi! i’m jisung! is there anything you’re looking for?”

you were about to respond but the kids responded before you could

“wHERE ARE THE BARBIES???”

“BRING ME A STUFFED BEAR PLEASE”

p a ni c s

“i’m so sorry- n O EMILY STOP CLINGING ON THE WORKER’S LEG”

jisung lets out a hearty laugh,

“don’t worry! i’m used to it”

anD BOY WAS HIS LAUGH ATTRACTIVE

is it getting hot in here or is it just jisung? 👀👀

jisung squats down to the little girl’s height and talks to her in the s o f t e s t tone

and you think that’s he’s possibly the cutest man you’ve ever m e t

“miss y/n!!!! stop staring at him!!”

buoVOUVODUV???????

jisung’s draws his attention from the little girl to look at you

yOU GLOW BRIGHT RED

“I WASN’T- UH- I WAS LOOKING AT THAT STUFFED RABBIT BEHIND YOU YEAH”

AND JISUNG CHUCKLES AT YOUR OBVIOUSLY FLUSTERED FACE

deciding not to make you glow any more red, he says,

“hey, i’ll help you deal with the kids today yeah?”

“OHMYGOSH THANK YOU SO MUCH”

BECAUSE

FINALLY

SOMEONE WHO KNOWS THE MALL WELL

“i’ll go tell my boss!”

he doesn’t

he tells sungwoon to cover for him

“heY YOU TOLD ME TO POSTPONE MY DATE TO WORK HOW COME YOU GET TO-”

covERS SUNGWOON’S MOUTH

“it’s not a da t e”

sungwoon rolls his eyes

“sure ok”

and so jisung joins your party!!

y’all look like a cute family with 10 kids :’)

throughout the day, jisung’s interaction with the kids and his funny personality made you feel like melting

was it possible for a man to be this adorable??

you didn’t know but,,

jisung was also melting for you too :’)))

so when minhyun calls you and says that it’s time to leave

jisung doesn’t want to let you go

neither did you tbh

so as you herd the kids into the bus once again, jisung pulls you back for a moment

“hey,,,, uh,,,, have you done your christmas shopping yet?”

“not yet!! i’m planning to do so this sunday”

“oh!! great!! um,,, i was wondering if you wanted to do it together? sunday’s my day off too,,,”

hE WAS AVOIDING EYE CONTACT AS HE ASKED YOU AND YOU WERE SQUEALING INSIDE

“yES! I MEAN-- sure!”

and then jisung looks at you with the whole galaxy in his eyes

his cheeks were flushed but you had no idea whether it was because of the weather or because he was flustered

“REALLY???”

you reply with a smile and a nod of your head

he then digs through his pockets for a pen

and asks you to write your number on his hand

the pen was in the shape of a giraffe

minhyun screams for you as soon as you finished writing the last digit

“i’ll text you!!”

jisung yells as you run towards the bus, waving at him with a huge smile

he does

and you two don’t stop texting until sunday

“y/n! over here!!”

you rush over to the waiting jisung

“i’m sorry did you have to wait for a long time?”

he smiles and claims that he just got here

and you two head into the mall

as soon as you two step in, you guys were surrounded by couples who were also christmas shopping

and it felt awkward for the first time since you’ve known jisung

clEARS THROAT

“so,,, y/n, where do you want to go first?”

you randomly point at a stationary store

and you two exit a few minutes later

with a bunch of bags in hand

“i knEW WE SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE INTO THAT STORE”

hOLD IN YOUR TEARS Y/N, YOUR WALLET WILL BE O K

jisung laughs

“THIS ISN’T SOMETHING TO LAUGH OVER”

“sorRY”

HUFFS

and you two continue your raid of the mall

exiting a new shop with more bags each time :”)

at one point y’all entered a furniture shop and accidentally walked into the beds section

the worker there mistakes you for a couple and smirks at you two 👀👀

yOU TWO SUDDENLY REALIZE WHAT THE SMIRK MEANT

AND HURRIED OUT OF THE STORE

y’all also entered the toy store jisung works at

and jisung’s co-workers are all staring at you two

especially sungwoon and jaehwan who followed you two around the shop talking loudly about how jisung was boyfriend material

“DID YOU KNOW JISUNG IS GREAT AT COOKING RAMEN???”

“OH REALLY???”

“YEAH WHOEVER MARRIES HIM WOULD BE LUCKY”

JISUNG WAS SWEATIN G

WHY ARE HIS FRIENDS SO EMBARRASSING

“y/N LETS LEAVE THE SHOP”

“what- i haven’t finished-”

PUSHES YOU OUT

but doesn’t forget to buy you a gift from the shop

after wandering around the mall more, you two end up in front of the giant christmas tree

the lights casted shadows around

and you turn to face jisung, finding him looking up at the tree with those stars in his eyes

then he turns to face you with that huge smile of his

and bOY HIS FACE ILLUMINATED BY THE LIGHT WHILE HE SMILES HNNNNG

then he suddenly pulls out a rabbit soft toy

“merry christmas y/n! here’s your present!!”

this was the same rabbit you had claimed to be staring at while you were actually staring at jisung

“you were staring at this the other day right?”

yOU BURST INTO LAUGHTER

jisung thought you were laughing at his gift :(

“IM NOT LAUGHING AT THE GIFT, I’M JUST LAUGHING BECAUSE,,”

“because??”

“I WASN’T ACTUALLY STARING AT THE RABBIT, I WAS STARING AT YOU,,,,, THANK YOU ANYWAYS THOUGH”

and yOU SNATCH THE RABBIT FROM HIS HANDS

TO HIDE YOUR REDDENING FACE

jisung’s face lights up at this

“y/n?”

“yes?”

“what do you think about today being our first day?”

“??first day??”

“yeah, as a couple”

STATIONARY SHOPS MAKE ME GO BROKE OSFDGBOSB

also this was lowkey kinda shit,,,,, jisung’s actually a ray of sunshine in human form and i love him so much anyone who says he’s ugly can come fight me

#im serious about yoon jisung being the light of life #i love him so much #wanna one #yoon jisung #produce 101 #christmas shopping with! yoon jisung #broduce 101 #wanna one scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #mmo #mmo yoon jisung #yoon jisung scenarios #wanna one imagines #wanna one aus #yoon jisung imagines #yoon jisung au

119 notes · View notes