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itsmarsss · 6 months ago

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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 3 - The Imp

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

He's not just a bitch! He's a bitch with a backstory.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Word Count: 3,140

Warnings: a lot of trauma related stuff, a lot of self-deprecating thoughts, some things are canon-compliant and some are my own, i think that's it, also hey look it's the reason blitzø wanted to sneak into ozzie's so bad!

Blitzø has been called many different things throughout his life.

Most of those things have been insults but, hey, who’s keeping track?

From an entitled prick to a selfish asshole to shit-for-brains to imp scum to… well, you get the gist of it. You name it, he’s been called it. And he was perfectly fine with being all of those things.

He’d decided very early on that he would own any titles he was given if it meant he had any sort of control over how they affected him.

And it worked. If he was going to be called useless, or selfish, or a low-level regardless of what he did, he was just going to let himself become all of those things. If no one expects anything good to come from him anyway, why should he even care to try? This wouldn’t help stop them saying all those awful things he hated to hear about himself, but at the very least he’d be at peace knowing he wasn’t spending his entire life humiliating himself for the off-chance that someone would see him the way he wanted them to.

That way, he’d always have the upper hand.

Growing up in the circus, Blitzø learned at a very young age that he was no more than a collateral to his father. ‘Useless’ at being sufficiently entertaining, as he always heard he was, Blitzø understood entirely too well that he was only kept around for the simplest of all things he was: unpaid labor and an obligation.

At times, in his teenage years, he’d start to wonder if he would ever have been kept around at all if it weren’t for his mother.

And sometimes, well into adulthood already, Blitzø would find himself hurting people. Really hurting people. Sometimes even on purpose, without ever fully understanding why he did what he did. Most of the time he would try and ignore it, or pretend not to care, try to convince himself it was for the best that he kept his distance from people.

But, at certain times, thoughts of his mother would consume him. Would she be proud of who he had become?

He hardly thought so.

There were times when he would even find himself wondering who he could have grown up to be had she stayed around for longer. Would he be nice? Kind? Caring?

Would he be loved?

But she wasn’t around, and that was his fault, he kept reminding himself. And that wasn’t fucking fair.

His mother was always kinder than his father ever was. She was sweet and caring and always made sure to check on him. The moments they spent together were always his favorite as a kid.

When she was with him, it almost felt like nothing else mattered, as if her presence could shield him from anything- he always blindly believed her when she told him time and time again that everything would be okay. It was a nice feeling.

She was always full of life, always the soul of every room she entered, always cheering Blitzø back up when he was down. She was always pure light.

Except when his father was around.

Blitzø loathed the way her demeanor changed around him, how she minimized herself to be next to him. When he was young, he’d always toyed in his mind with the idea of her being two different people who shared the same body: there was his mother, and there was his father’s wife.

His mother was kind, compassionate, caring, free. His father’s wife was cold, quiet, dull.

Fizzarolli entered his life really early on.

At merely seven years old, he was taken into the circus after losing his parents in a freak accident, and Blitzø remembers the day they met clear as day.

Fizz was small. At the young age of eight years old, Blitzø vividly remembers his mind conjuring the term ‘fragile’ to describe him.

Scared and vulnerable, Fizzarolli was an emotional creature, only a kid, after all. And that demanded care. At first, Blitzø really didn’t enjoy having to share his mother as a caregiver in the slightest. He was also only a kid, after all.

As time passed, though, he grew to quite like Fizz’s presence. He’d never really been much too surrounded by other kids, as it’d always been only him and his parents, and now he had a best friend! Someone to talk to and play with all the time, and who was as eager for a friend as he was himself.

A couple years later, at ten years old, Blitzø received news from his parents: he was going to be a big brother. His father didn’t seem to express too many feelings about that- he never really expressed much other than disdain when it came to him, for the matter, but his mom seemed excited.

Blitzø wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it. Sure, he got used to sharing his life with Fizz, but that was enough, wasn’t it? Things were good as they were, why mess it up with another kid?

When Barbie was born, Blitzø made it his personal goal to express just how much he disliked the idea of having a sibling- but that only lasted a few weeks. A few weeks of being rude and purposefully stubborn were enough for him to notice how hurt his mother was that he was acting that way, especially when she was already clearly overwhelmed with taking care of the baby along with himself and Fizzarolli.

Being the reason for his mother’s tears was the thing he hated the most in the whole wide world.

And so he stopped. It took him many months for his feelings about his sister to really change, but he decided he wouldn’t be so mean about it anymore, for his mom’s sake. And, with time, he grew used to his sister too. Sure, she was annoying and extremely clingy, as all babies and younger siblings are, and yes, he’d still act annoyed at her, but he started to not mind it as much.

He started to care.

At ten years old, too, on a random day, something rather unusual happened: his father came looking for him after a show, prompting him to stand up from the floor where he’d been playing with Fizz and their balloon horses, because he’d been… sold?

Yeah, that’s right. His dad told him, normal as ever, that apparently one of the Goetia princes had seen their part of the show earlier, and his father wanted to, quite literally, purchase Blitzø for the rest of the day.

“Ew. Why?”

“Because money!” That always seemed to answer plenty when it came to Good Old Cash.

He was dragged to the Goetia palace with a purpose: to steal everything he could. That didn’t feel right nor did it feel safe. After all, who knew what sort of bad things could happen to him if he got caught stealing from royalty? He was young, but he knew they weren’t demons you wanted to mess with.

He was scared.

But they needed the money, and his dad had pulled the card that could get him to do basically anything he was asked to: ‘don’t you want to help your mother?’

Of course he’d do anything to help mama.

Getting back home, he felt bad. Because the prince had been kind to him the entire time. Because the prince was naive, clearly not even having considered the possibility of Blitzø having been there to do what he did. Because everything his dad had told him about the big bad royals seemed to fall flat with Stolas.

Getting back home, he still struggled to understand why he had been the one chosen to go, and not Fizz, when Fizz was clearly a better… well, everything… than he was.

It was all too confusing, growing up with Fizz. As much as he loved him, there would always be a part of him that felt jealous, insecure around him. Because, to him, it seemed his best friend was everything he wanted to be and everything he wanted to be seen as. A better entertainer, a better friend, a better kid to his parents. Everything Blitzø could never live up to.

But, as he grew older, he came more and more to the realization that it wasn’t Fizz’s fault. It was all his parents. Or, rather, it was mostly his father. He was the one who put the two against each other, when, time and time again, they showed they only wished to work together, to be kids, to be friends… or more, maybe?

On the day of Fizarolli’s 17th birthday, Blitzø had been set on confessing the feelings he’d come to nurture towards the boy. Never used to this sort of thing, the only person he’d told about it was his mom, who had smiled oh-so-sweetly at him and hugged him as he let out tears, assuring him that it was okay for him to feel that way, even if it was scary. He’d prepared a badly rehearsed but well-meaning speech, written something for him in a birthday card, and even gone as far as stealing a rose from someone’s backyard to give him too.

Fizzarolli would have never even dreamed he’d have ever done all that for him, because he didn’t give him the card, and he didn’t give him the rose, and he didn’t tell him how he felt. Because there Fizz stood, laughing with his friends- friends! Friends who looked better and acted cooler and who were so, so much more interesting than Blitzø could ever be. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he was still young. He still let his jealousy get the best of him, still let the frustration of feeling pathetic for even considering the chance that his best friend could feel the same way he did consume him.

But, as angry, as frustrated, as sad as he was, he never meant for it all to happen.

The fire changed everything.

His mother was gone because of him. His best friend almost died because of him. Barbie only went unharmed in sheer, dumb luck. Everyone’s lives were ruined, and it was all his fault.

And so he decided he’d be better off far away. Not forever. Not for long. But, for now, everyone was sure to be better off without him near. He’d caused enough destruction already and he’d forever have the scars to remind him.

So he left. Simple as day, he told a crying, barely eight-year-old Barbie he’d be back soon and left a note for his father to find and give Fizz when he recovered.

Not forever. Not for long.

The next time he saw his sister again was nine years later. And he tried. He so desperately tried to be present again. But Barbie didn’t seem to think it was fair of him to go no-contact for so many years. Yes, their father sucked- but leaving meant he left her to grow up alone with him. She lost a mother too. He wished things were different, but couldn’t blame her.

Two years later, at nineteen years old, was the first time Barbie had to be checked into rehab. Blitzø went there to visit every week, of course, but she never let him in.

Just like Fizz, no matter how many times he tried, she simply didn’t want to see him.

After the fire happened, Blitzø decided he wouldn’t work as a clown ever again, cutting short his own big, flashy dreams.

But that was the only thing he ever learned to do, and that made things difficult. For years on end, he had to jump from one job to another, trying to find anything he could to make a living for himself.

He was never all that eager to admit to this part of his past, but there were times during which he’d slept on the streets or forced himself onto one one-night stand after the other just to have a place to crash. At some point, he found himself gambling the little money he got from working here and there.

That’s how he met Verosika Mayday, anyway. At a cheap, dark, dirty club in Lust, as he tried to drink his sorrows away and let his luck decide whether he’d be able to pay for his stay at some gross little inn room down in Greed for the night or not, and she tried to kickstart her singing career, standing on the poor-lit makeshift stage with her electric-pink electric guitar and singing something barely anyone was paying any attention to.

A few years later came Loona. And Loona was love at first sight. At first, he wasn’t looking for a hellhound like her to adopt. He wanted a pet.

But she looked so scared and angry, and so, so much like himself. She was about to be thrown out of the system into the streets to fend for herself at only eighteen. He knew what that was like entirely all too well, and he knew it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t exactly the most sensitive person ever, but if only he could be something like a family to her, if only he could help her in any way so she didn't have to be all alone…

He adopted her immediately.

It was a crazy idea, for many, very obvious reasons. First off, he’d just started making enough to make rent for a one-bedroom apartment in a shitty side of imp city. Second off, even though he was doing slightly better, he still barely made enough to feed himself alone. Third off, he had no fucking clue how to be a parent. Much less how to parent a teenager.

But he made it work. He promised himself he’d make it work. He worked everywhere he could find, doing anything he possibly could (and, in hell, that meant anything), at any crazy hour, to make enough to support Loona. He bought books about parenting that he couldn't really read much of because most of them were targeted to soon-to-be parents of… well, babies, and included nonsense, fancy-pants words he didn’t have the patience to try and understand, but he tried his best to be a good parent to her.

He never forced her to call him dad or anything of the sort, because he could understand how that was probably hard. He still couldn’t stop himself from shedding a few emotional tears when she did, even if most times were slip-ups.

About a year or so later, he was set on a goal: he wanted to make a living for himself. Really make a living. Blitzø was tired of putting himself through every single job he could find just to barely make enough for him and Loona.

Well, it’s not exactly like he’d be the winner in a competition for the best morals in hell.

He started stealing. What? This was hell!

The lifestyle went surprisingly well for him. He wasn’t making bank, but it beat working like 24 hours a day to barely survive. As time went on, though, he started getting more and more confident. Stealing more, from wealthier, more influential people, pushing himself to do better each time things went well for him, having fun with letting things get more violent and subsequently bringing attention to himself.

He was bound to steal too close to the sun someday. After a particularly… well, greedy robbery down by the Greed ring, things went south quickly, resulting in his arrest.

Jail sucked, but honestly, he’d had worse. And, hey, his cellmate was sufficiently cool.

Moxxie wouldn’t tell him much about his past or how he ended up there, but that wasn’t to worry when he didn’t particularly want to do the same either. What mattered was he had a plan to escape and a plan for after that and Moxxie could be of assistance.

Escaping wasn’t easy, and the two of them didn’t leave exactly unharmed, but it was successful.

The grand plan for after that was to start a company that specified in hired assassinations. Moxxie wasn’t perfectly happy with the idea, but damn was he good with a gun.

But two not-even-that-much-experienced assassins didn’t really make a company, did they?

After a lot of convincing, even though they didn’t even keep in contact quite as much as they used to anymore, he somehow got y/n, a succubus he’d become friends with about a year before, to agree to work with them.

Okay, three’s a crowd.

Millie joined in not long after.

Four’s a party. Or, well, an assassination company.

They worked phenomenally well all together as a team- even Loona was brought into the business, though Blitzø never really let her participate in the killing. Business went okay… until it didn’t. Things didn’t work as well in reality as they did in their minds- not for very long, at least.

And so Blitzø had to bring back into light the same dumb, far-fetched idea he’d had a year earlier.

“What if we could kill humans?” He blurted out during a meeting in which the point of discussion was how to increase business.

You made a face at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean it. Like, imagine how many of these sinners are walking around here just double-dying to have someone that they hate up there dead too. We’d have clients like forever!”

“If that were possible, Blitzø.,” Millie chimed in.

“It is possible.”

“Boss, no offense, but did you hit your head again?” Moxxie questioned, understandably confused.

“Y/n knows what I'm talking about!”

“What? No I don't.”

“Yeah you do. Your best friend Ozzie-boy has something that could let us do that.”

“Are you- wait.” There’s no fucking way. “When we met- were you- were you trying to steal an asmodean crystal?”

“I was not not trying to steal an asmodean crystal.”

“Uh, what is an asmodean crystal?” Loona asked, and you were surprised she’d even been paying attention.

You sighed. “Asmodeus has these enchanted crystals that can be used to create portals to the living world. We- uh- we get to use them at times. When necessary.”

“See? It’s perfect! He’d totally give you one.”

“Not for this. I think you forgot Fizzarolli hates your guts. Ozzie’s not gonna give me a crystal so I can help you with something. Really what the fuck did you even do to this guy?”

Blitzø ignored your last question completely. “He let you work with me,” he commented, matter-of-factly.

“He’s not my owner, asshole. But no. It’s not happening.”

Well, he'd really hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but… he did know someone else who had a little something that could grant access to the living world.

A/N: I bet with so much complaining yall werent expecting this to actually come out huh expect the unexpected

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alicerosejensen · 11 months ago

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Something about sin. Pt 2.

Warning: Older!Leon; younger reader; fem/reader; age difference; reader is the daughter of another DSO agent; Mention of erotica but it is not here; Anxiety; Relationship with Ada mentioned; Mentioning the conflict.

Synopsis: It's becoming increasingly difficult for Leon to be only your father's friend. Day by day you awaken more and more sinful feelings in him.

Tags: @ourfinalisation

Part 1

He's just a friend of your dad's.

A friend of your father's who happened to meet you in a downpour, frozen, under the awning of some small shop that was probably closed, and you were already shivering like a kitten in a wet box that no one wanted to take in. Of course, he immediately took you to a warm place - his apartment. Do not think that he had any plans; apart from your well-being, he did not have a single sinful thought in his head, and you calmly trusted him. You bet! However, there were no sinful thoughts during the trip. But as soon as Leon opened the door of his apartment and let you in as his guest, he wanted to immediately take off all these soaking wet clothes, wrap your little body in a warm towel or bathrobe and put you in his bed. No sex, seriously, but that doesn't mean he couldn't imagine you sleeping in his bed, lying on his chest… A couple of days ago, he even woke up with another girl and thought for a few minutes that it was you, but reality hit him hard in the ribs. Instead of a shower, Leon offered only a towel, as well as his T-shirt and shorts to wait for your clothes to dry. Yes, the size is big, and, roughly speaking, the shorts were useless because it were too wide.

He honestly tried not to think about you. And on the other hand, couldn't help but fantasize about what would happen if you were entirely his. When you come out of the bath dressed only in his clothes, laying out your things on the dryer to dry, Leon wants to go up to you and put you on his lap by taking off those shorts. And it's even better to soak in the tub with you while you play with foam like a little girl. Shaking his head, driving away from himself again a series of vicious desires, he does not immediately realize that you are already sitting in front of him at the table waiting for a hot mug of tea to keep warm.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking, so what did you just say?

You smile at him again with your innocent smile, taking a sip, stuffing your mouth with more tea, after which your cheeks swell like a hamster for a couple of seconds. It's a funny sight. Leon knows that you only do this when you're drinking tea alone or with someone you're comfortable with. With whom who will not say that you are behaving inappropriately. He's definitely never going to tell you that.

"I said that Dad is absent now and mom has gone to my aunt for a couple of days. And that rain was not promised in today's weather forecast," You're lying, but no. There's no point in lying, Leon knows you're not going to seduce him. And you're not doing anything because he wants to love his friend's daughter… life really sucks.

He should have fallen in love with a woman his age or continued dating Ada. And you're worse than a zombie…stuck to him like a burr.

"Take a break now. You can watch TV, and to be honest, it's a long way to your house. I can call a taxi, but if you want, can you stay with me until morning? Sleep on the couch"

This is a risky question. Regret takes hold immediately after these words have been spoken out loud. What does he even hope for? That at nightfall you will come to his bed and say "I love you"? Cute, but unreal. Although Leon admits to himself that in this scenario he would be a gentle lover. There's no other way with you. In addition to the gun, he has condoms and lubricant on his bedside table, besides he does not skimp on preparation. But watching your face and how you feel indebted to him, Leon realizes that none of this is going to happen. You don't look at old people like him.

On the other hand, the taxi driver will charge you a considerable amount. Although who is he kidding? he is ready to pay for the trip to your home himself.

"Oh, princess, don't look at me with those puppy dog eyes…" he wants to say, but instead he says it to justify himself: "I'm just worried that the driver might offend you. Your father will twist my head off if anything happens to you."

Although he'll be the first to wring his own neck if someone hurts you.

"I wanted to spend the night with a friend, but at her house… a date with a guy. I don't like being alone," you admitted, shyly lowering your eyes, stroking his mug with both hands.

"Then stay," he had to make an effort to make his voice sound the same, but his smile betrayed him. "Let's order something for dinner, watch a movie and tell me about your TV shows that you love so much…"

"Do you know?!" You were surprised, but you smiled again. Of course he knows.

"Your father said that you watch them all the time."

It was wonderful when you agreed, and Leon let you choose whatever you wanted. don't worry about the money, the last expensive purchase he made was at the bike parts store, and well, the bottle is in the top cabinet in the kitchen. You order spicy pizza, pasta and something else, Leon doesn't even look at what exactly, because he doesn't care. The only thing that pisses him off is that you thank him and then fall asleep soundly on his couch after a little night of fun with food and TV.

He's a son of a bitch.

He's your father's friend, he's old, he's… It just doesn't suit you. Leon knows that you trust him, otherwise you would have run away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and his brain suggests to him the idea of pulling off your T-shirt, exposing your small breasts, and squeezing you in his arms. You have a stupid habit of biting your lips, but you're not doing it because it's sexy (because it's never sexy), but because it's a fucking habit, not flirting.

The point is, he's not trying to justify himself like the rest of the bastards, saying it's your fault that he wants you. It's NOT your fault. You're NOT flirting with him.

And Leon understands that. When the movie ends, he brings you a blanket and a pillow, saying that you can still watch TV, but he is too old and will go to sleep. And all this in order to take the burden of guilt off his shoulders a little. And you're still innocently wishing him sweet dreams.

Yeah, indeed, his little princess, whom he should not defame. Eventually, you'll find yourself a guy your own age, graduate from college, and from time to time remember the day your dad's crappy friend sheltered you for one night.

A couple of weeks have passed since that day. All Leon can offer his few girls for one night is coffee in the morning and a sandwich made from the remains of what he has not yet rotted in the refrigerator. When Ada comes, everything is even simpler here, because she doesn’t need to offer anything, she’s like a cat: she comes and goes when she wants. You're not like that.

For some reason, Leon is sure he would have ordered you breakfast. Not always, of course, but things would really be different with you. There could be good moments in his life that are overshadowed by only one thing - his own conscience, which screams to stay away from you. You didn't tell your father anything about spending the night in his apartment. Leon guessed only because no one attacked him with pretensions, and in general, what kind of father would want his daughter to spend the night at his friend's house? Even if nothing happened between you, it will still remain a secret between the two of you.

He still cares about you, like your dad's friend, he can pat you on the back as support or even hug you at some holiday, but soon Leon is surprised to notice that the hugs from you are becoming longer and stronger.

It's nice.

Maybe he just imagined it and you're still chatting sweetly with him, and that hug gesture was just in his head. You have a nice floral perfume that suits you and Leon likes it when you sit next to him at the table offering this or that dish cooked by your mother. You take care of him, although not with the context he wants.

In fact, Leon is not a fool and understands why you don't give a damn about someone like him. At one point, he was ready to openly flirt, but damn it, if that happened, you would run away to complain to your father and do the right thing, but here he is sitting in your family's house, drinking beer with your father, discussing life and at some point realizes that your father really looks like him, but he has a family. He spends all the money he earned in the DSO on you and your mother, that's why you've been a little spoiled since childhood, but who's going to blame the old man for that? If Leon had a family, he would also spend every last cent to please his loved ones, and therefore the last woman he gave an expensive gift to was you.

However, Leon would have given you his card without any problems so that you could buy whatever you want. Dad loves you and he loves you too, but not as a friend, although he carefully hides it.

It's not funny. Leon would like to find at least one couple with a large age difference who has a healthy, loving relationship, but he himself understands perfectly well that he behaves like a boy who believes in fairy tales to the last. Well, at least he smiles when you are visiting him and you managed to start talking to him about this topic, telling him that there were such couples... several hundred years ago, when girls were forced into marriage. Your argument was that “They fell in love with each other later anyway,” supported by beautiful films about love of that era and romance novels marked “not for children,” with Leon himself reluctantly admitting the truth.

“Sunny, this is just literature designed to arouse interest among girls like you and earn money. Grown-up guys like cute girls like you for a completely different reason."

You didn't like the answer. You discussed with him for some time without crossing the line, but more and more Leon noticed the sadness on your face. The way you clenched your jaw and involuntarily puffed out your cheeks again made him want to comfort you. And then you mentioned that you know a couple who have many children and have a significant age difference.

"Why are you trying to convince me?" He smiled when he saw how frightened his desired, but unattainable angel was, and came up with excuses, saying that he was destroying your illusions that “they lived happily ever after” and “all ages are submissive to love.”

Well what can say? With this conversation, you made him doubt that he was not the only one with sinful thoughts in his head. You still don't have a boyfriend...

At least Leon hopes you weren't seduced by some old bastard, but you're a smart girl and know how to run away from creepy guys.

You're still laughing at his jokes, smiling, and Leon really wants to find the answer to why Ada left his heart so easily and you took over it so easily. But he has a bad habit of loving those women who don't need his attention. In any case, when Ada visits him again, pride does not allow this woman to go to bed with a man who has another on his mind. And Leon himself, however, no longer has any desire, as well as needs.

The costs of the profession.

Maybe because he is still ashamed that he called his last girl by your name and kissed her in his sleep.

Leon really thinks he's such a bastard when he sits in front of Ada and doesn't know what to say to her. She is a part of him, but one that he no longer wants to touch.

"I am not angry"

Leon simply nods, running his hand over his face, not at all surprised by this woman's reaction. Ada Wong isn't one to throw a fit because her partner has found another love interest. An interest that could be mutual and healthy, unlike what had happened between the two of them over the years.

and all that Leon says to her in response is:

"I know"

"You shouldn't blame yourself for wanting stability somewhere. Feelings can disappear after 20 years of marriage, and you and I have separate ways… I will not fulfill your cherished dream of a typical American family, where you return home and there your wife is waiting for you with a hot dinner and two, maybe three Kennedy kids who will immediately jump on your neck with happiness that dad has returned home"

Anyone who knows Ada even a little bit will say that she is right. It seems to Leon that he knew this even at the first meeting when she identified herself as an FBI agent showing him a fake badge. But then he was a young, scared rookie cop with a great sense of justice who, despite his fear, wanted to save at least one living soul in the Raccoon City… So many years have passed and Ada is right, he has hardly changed.

They didn't even have love. The status of "Everything is difficult" turned into "Everything has become much more difficult" because you fit into this status and Leon is completely confused, preferring to just stay away from everyone and suppress all the feelings inside. And you keep climbing and climbing into his head against his will that one day he really got angry and snapped at you when you accidentally dropped one of the old parts in his garage.

To tell the truth, this useless spare part should have been thrown in the trash a long time ago, Leon doesn't know what the hell it was lying there, maybe he just forgot to throw it away, but the way you lowered your head and apologized, biting your lip so as not to cry in front of everyone, well, it makes him feel like a son of a bitch even more. My God, he would immediately fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness for raising his voice at you at all. After that, even when he came to visit your father and stayed for dinner with the family, you didn't even show up in his eyes. Your mom kept saying that you weren't feeling well and decided to get some sleep, then you were too busy (but didn't say what), then you were supposedly not at home, but one day you accidentally got caught when you sneaked into the kitchen for dinner, putting a bigger portion on your plate. Leon wanted to call out to you but looked away pretending not to notice.

This could be the end.

He would have just waited a little longer before apologizing to you for yelling at you over nothing. I would have given you time to calm down, but I was really scared when I received the stupidest message from you.

"I want to pay for the thing I broke. I really didn't want to break anything, so just tell me how much it cost."

At that moment, he wanted to yell at you even more. Do you really think that he is so petty that he will charge you money for just dropping an already broken part?! After that, he felt even more disgusted with himself. Because he acted like a bastard and now you think he's a real brute.

Of course he didn't charge you. However, unsubscribed the same way as you: SMS.

A conflict that essentially grew out of nothing. When your mom finally made you show up and greet him out of politeness having dinner together, you were now sitting as far away from him as possible without saying anything or offering, constantly looking at the clock waiting to escape from the table. Then it was decided that it was time to end it. After your awkward escape, Leon tried to find you in the backyard of the house and he was almost right, however, he spotted the exact location by following your sobs when you were sitting in the barn and sorting through some old things without noticing someone else's presence.

If you were his… No, he still quickly ran up to you with the idea that something had happened to you, you couldn't just sit and cry like that, and if you could, then at least give the old man hope that it wasn't because of him. Leon didn't want you to cry because of him.

Mr. Kennedy, as you used to call him, has no right to kiss you even if he really wants to. Even if you're a forbidden fruit that you can't eat, but you really want to, so you just don't have any strength anymore. You just can't. However, you look at him with those tear-stained eyes, allowing him to take your palm in his hand and squeeze it slightly, dropping down in front of you to listen to stupid apologies. Leon doesn't know how to apologize a damn thing, but he tries. He really tries when he wipes your tears from your cheeks while maintaining eye contact and doesn't know what to feel when you press your cheek against his palm.

An accident or a hint?

Leon thinks the former, although he secretly hopes for the other. He may be the perfect government weapon, the perfect soldier, a good man, but he knows that he is an ordinary scumbag who kisses his best friend's daughter and is bursting with happiness when an awkward kiss gets timid reciprocation.

Even if you are already of age, even if you dreamed about it yourself, Leon Scott Kennedy will always feel like a guilty scoundrel.

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alltheyoungmoons · 5 months ago

Text

The Gift - pt. II

G - WIP - Part I/? - 1k words - ATYD timeline compliant.

“You’re going to help me?” Lily’s pink lips stretched into a wide smile, her hopes restored.

“Of course, anything to make our Moony happy”, Sirius nodded, chivalrously. “So, let’s start with the things you want to avoid? Easier if they’re out of the way.”

“Alright, so: definitely no sweets, chocolate or cigarettes,” she eyed him severely at the latter, but with a smirk “…he’ll get enough of those as is. No more hand-knitted items either, I just don’t have the time, even if I enchanted my needles to do it on their own - and I’ve been gifting him those since second year anyway…” she kept reasoning out loud, keeping track on her fingers. Sirius was nodding along, realising at that moment how long and how well she knew Remus. She probably was the only other person in the world who knew him as well as Sirius did…almost. Sirius relished in the thought that he would always be number one in that regard “…and no more studying supplies! I’m looking for something that will last far beyond school.”

“Ok, that’s a great starting point” Sirius agreed. “So - books are always a safe choice with Moony, but let’s just keep them as a last resort for now, if you really want to impress him. If we don’t figure out anything better.”

“I agree… he really doesn’t need to do any more reading until the end of school!” she chuckled, “I don’t know how he manages, it’s a miracle he’s still got perfect eyesight!” She shook her head fondly.

Sirius chuckled at that, too, thinking of all the times he caught Remus with his face so buried in a book you’d think he was snogging it.

“Right? You’d think he’d be half as blind as James at least, by now” he shrugged, smiling, lowering his voice considerably “I guess being a dark creature has his perks after all…did you know he can see in the dark?”

“He cannot!” Her surprise poking through her whisper.

“Oh yes” Sirius nodded. He was now swinging back and forth on the back legs of his chair. “Caught him strolling in the dark many times - the maniac. First time he gave me a right fright, too."

Lily shook her head disbelievingly - for all she knew about Remus, she must’ve never inquired on the extent of his lycanthropy.

“Speaking of James,“ Lily grinned “have you ever tried his glasses on? He took them off the other day while we-�� her whole face changed to red “Anyway I put them on, and..” She blinked slowly, leaving her facial expression to convey the sheer shock of this discovery.

“Of course I’ve tried them on!” Honestly, who did the woman think he was. “Once, in first year, we bet who could last longer, me with his glasses or him without. They made me so sick I took them off after a few minutes, but of course he couldn't see I had, so I just waited until he admitted he couldn’t find our dorm room door to go down to breakfast.”

Lily rolled her apple green eyes, but she was smiling.

“It’s incredible how thin the lenses are, too,” she mused, “Muggle glasses for such a prescription would be as thick as butterbeer glass bottoms! A kid in my primary school class had them - they made his eyes so small!”

He tried to imagine James with such a contraption on his nose, struggling to hold in his barking laughter - he was terrified of Pince. He was also quite uneasy in libraries still, but Lily’s presence made it much more bearable.

“So, books aside then…” Lily went back to wondering what to get their friend. “Isn’t there maybe another magical contraption that could work? Like that compass?”

Sirius knew she was asking him because, being the heir to one of the oldest and most traditionalist “Pureblood” clans in the country, he was basically the resident expert in magical paraphernalia. He felt his thoughts starting to race, raking through the images of the countless useless knick-knacks sitting in display cases in Grimmauld Place, Kreacher polishing them with the care reserved for an infant... Though now, being surrounded by books, it was hard to concentrate on any other object - the more he tried to avoid thinking of them, the more it felt they were the key to solving their problem. Surely the library stored some sort of catalogue…?

“And to think that when I met you, at any mention of reading you’d have squirmed away as if you’d been chased by a Boggart” Sirius had teased the taller boy as they made their way into Flourish & Blotts, that past December, just before- “Yeah” Remus gave him a sly smile “You’ve created a monster.”

Sirius felt as if he was struck by lightning and slammed the front legs of his chair on the floor. He was grinning madly, and Lily was staring at him. Everything had fallen into place.

“Oh spill it, you peeve me so when you act like this!”

Sirius didn’t have time to argue back - not only was this a great idea, better-than-perfect even, but he was sitting across the only other person who could truly understand the impact of it.

“So you know how dear ol’ Remus is always reading…”

“Yes, we’ve established that, but we said-“

“But when we first met him,” he interrupted “he didn’t. He couldn’t. I know you know about it, you made him that invisible thing in second year.”

“It’s not invisible, it’s transparent.” She corrected. A note of embarrassment then started in her voice “But yeah… I knew about your spell, too. It was dead impressive, still is, to be honest, but he couldn’t use it during the summer, you know.”

He didn’t know, though, he hadn’t thought about that, and of course Remus had never brought it up. Sirius silently cursed his purebloodness.

“Right, so, if you were able to turn that plastic sheet into a reading aid…”

(He hoped he pronounced “plastic” correctly. He had mispronounced it once and Mary didn’t let him live it down for weeks.)

“…then you could do the same with glass! Glasses!” Lily was beaming, getting the suggestion right away. The girl was truly smart as a whip.

“Reading glasses” Sirius nodded, grinning wildly. He knew, this was going to work.

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lucyandthepen · 1 year ago

Text

a lesson on style - vi . [ ljn | njm ]

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv., pt. v, pt. vi

you’ve always been content with being associated with one word and one word only: average. average in looks, academics and social skills, you’re just looking to graduate high school without causing disasters you’ll have to live with until you kick the bucket. when you’re paired with school king lee jeno for the semester-long physics thesis, you can’t help but think the entire situation has pretty much set itself up for failure. that is, until you strike a deal with your partner.

alternatively: an au tale involving lessons in popularity, eleven consecutive B minuses, a secretly sensitive, chess-loving jock, and an amateur sex tape.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader, jaemin x fem!reader verse: high school au { jocks!nomin ft. a super cute whiny ap physics genius renjun } rating: M chapter warnings: none word count: 8.1k

author’s note: this was actually supposed to go on for a lot longer but... it might've reached a solid 13-15k and i just thought it would be better to split it into half-ish, so nothing major happens, although i definitely enjoyed yet another mc/jaemin real talk session that i also hope you enjoy! :^)

tagging: @justalildumpling, @spiderrenjunfics (no longer available, please give me your new url if you're still interested!)

You think now is as good a time as any for you to say something that’ll easily impact the trajectory of your life forever; after all, Jeno’s essentially given you the floor after such a strange and honestly shocking turn of events. You’re aware of the fact that his thumb is still traveling across your cheek, more idle as an action than anything else, but you seem to be experiencing the feeling as something closer to an out-of-body experience than an actual first-hand one; the tingles they send to your heart are weird and blurry, like your body can’t process his touch well enough to understand it fully. You suppose it’s because of your confusion at what he’s saying, which leads to your second option: asking him what he means.

There’s little to interpret at face value, but what his words do is essentially unlock a torrent of other weird questions in your head. For instance: how long had he known that you liked him? Had he known this entire time? Did something you did make it painfully obvious? If he wants you to like him — and, as he says, only him — does that mean he’s essentially accepting your feelings? Does this mean… he likes you back?

You assume this is one of those moments where, because your mind is going a million miles a minute, a lot of time feels like it’s passed even though it’s just been a small handful of seconds. This assumption is quickly broken by Jeno’s expression of concern.

“_______________? Say… something.”

“Um,” you start before you can even figure out what you want to say. The easiest answer comes to mind: It’s always only been you. But that’s weird, and this isn’t a 90’s Western movie, and if it were, you certainly wouldn’t be the eloquent main romance interest, even if Jeno’s gaze could easily fool you into thinking that. You think about making a joke, but you’re befuddled and also fresh from tears that — if Jeno’s abrupt story is actually true — were totally useless and unfounded in nature.

Also, you’re really not that funny to begin with.

“I just…” you try again, and his eyebrows raise slightly in anticipation for your next words. Nothing else comes out after a few seconds, though, and he realizes this is just another false start, his hand falling onto your shoulder (maybe he’s tired of trying to coax it out of you with the thumb-on-cheek method, which admittedly had you clamping up more than anything else).

“You can just tell me how you really f—”

“I think I have to go.”

No. No. Why would you say that? The surprise on his face quickly morphs into something that looks almost crestfallen, an expression you’d never imagine seeing on bright, confident Lee Jeno, let alone ever be the cause of. His hand slips from your shoulder quickly, like he’s now worried touching you will electrocute him.

“Oh. I’m sorry — I didn’t… mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m… I’m not.” You’re not, are you? “Maybe a little, but it isn’t really you —”

“Something I said, then—?”

“No, I…” Your fingernail digs into the pad of your thumb, with you trying to use the sting of the pain to jolt you out of this nervous, inarticulate state. “I just don’t think… I have anything of value to say right now.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because…” Grappling for words is like trying to break through the surface of water; you’re almost there, but somehow you’re still floundering, and that only seems to be making it much worse. “Because I never really thought about what I’d do… if you really found out I liked you.”

When you say it, it suddenly makes sense. For some reason, you’d always lived your life shuttling between point A (liking Jeno quietly in the comfort of your own mind palace) and point Z (fantasizing about your life with him where you live in a quaint townhouse with a cute mailbox and three kids), but you’d never really given much thought to all the points in between, especially not one that contains a scenario in which he’d find out and seemingly be okay with it, which, based on the current conversation, somehow seems like a reasonable thing to assume about him.

You’ve always wanted it — him knowing, him accepting it, maybe even him liking you back — but it kind of felt like, deep down, you hadn’t really believed it would ever happen.

And you were kind of content with that, because you wouldn’t ever really have to deal with the complications of it. Right now, you’re feeling unprepared and a little exposed, weirdly vulnerable to his gaze. It once again, for the hundredth time tonight, it seems, triggers some kind of flight instinct in you that has you looking anywhere but at him all of a sudden.

“You can think about it… now,” he suggests carefully. Being put on the spot doesn’t really ever bring out the best in you — a fact that might be known to people who were actually paying attention to your failed impromptu speech about whale hunting in your sixth grade English class — so you just pretend that the silhouette of Jaemin’s front yard tree is supremely interesting to you all of a sudden, never mind the fact that it’s about a few inches from Jeno’s ear from your vantage point. You don’t really want to see his expression right now, especially if that means it’ll only fluster you back into speechlessness.

“I don’t really know if I can,” you admit. From your peripheral vision, you see what seems like a flash of discomfort pass across Jeno’s face; you’re sure you just imagined it, considering you’ve never imagined cool, aloof, king of your heart Lee Jeno as exuding anything other than utmost confidence. Still, his next words do make you question that notion twice over.

“Did I… misunderstand something? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me?”

“No, I… you know. I… yeah, I do, but I just —”

“You’re seeing someone else?”

“No,” you say more fiercely, and for a brief moment, you’re so appalled at the thought that your eyes flicker to his, which ends up being a terrible mistake because the confusion in his gaze is so profound that the guilt in you swells tenfold.

“Because I thought… maybe the reason Renjun and you —”

“He’s — honest to God — he’s just my friend.”

“And Jaemin is…?”

“My… next door neighbor?” You blink rapidly at the lights still coming from his house, wondering now what Jaemin has to do with all of this in the first place. For someone who seems like he would be extremely uninvolved in this general progress of events, he seems to crop up time and again, weirdly always around when you need someone. Maybe it’s a neighbor thing, or maybe he’s a little nosier than you thought. But thinking about another element in this situation is starting to give you a headache, and you’re way past the time you’re usually already in bed avoiding homework and watching shitty dating reality shows instead. “I don’t really understand what he has to do with this either. I just don’t think I’m prepared to have this conversation at all.”

“But you like me, don’t you?”

It’s weird, actually, now that you think about it — why does he have to confirm the fact time and time again? It’s almost like he’s worried, although you can’t imagine why he would be. More than anything, you’d kind of assumed that he would find that information pretty repellent, but with the way he’s asking in earnest, it almost seems like he wants to keep the knowledge of that like a talisman.

“I do,” you admit, mostly because it’s out in the open, but also partially because you’ve made the mistake of looking at him again, and you start wondering how he could even wonder when everyone seems to like him (you, perhaps, to a somewhat unhealthy degree).

“More than them?”

“I—” Your brow furrows, another wave of confusion washing over you. But his eyes are much too honest in their questioning, and you speak before anything else can come to mind. “More than anyone, Jeno.”

What looks oddly like relief settles on his face, and you notice only then that his shoulders have been tensed up because he seems to relax them all of a sudden. “Oh. Good. Great. So listen, now that we’re on the same page, I—”

Jeno’s interrupted by one of the guys in a university sweater calling out to him from across the two lawns, voice booming to a degree that sets off a few annoyed dogs in your area. Jeno raises a hand to signal him to wait, his mouth still open on whatever words he wanted to complete his sentence with, but the sounds he was trying to make quickly die into silence anyway, drowned out by a huge crash inside Jaemin’s house.

You’re not entirely certain of what he wants to say — on the bright side, he could have been ramping up to a point that could easily make all your dreams from middle school to now a perfect reality, but he also could have been setting you up for some kind of grand, embarrassing failure — not by his design or by malice but just by the pointing out of the fact that you two lead different lives and things would likely never work out, anyway, but it’d be cool that you liked him in your own time, and he’d allow it as long as you didn’t get drool all over his notebook in class.

Either way, you don’t think now, with a bunch of inebriated college people shouting profanities on Jaemin’s lawn and a gaggle of high school kids panicking about what sounds to be a broken table and a whole bunch of pizza on the floor, is the best time to be processing those things.

“I actually,” Jeno turns his gaze to you again, strangely alert, like you’d just whistled for a dog’s attention. You’ve never seen him like this, and it’s weird to think that, at this awkward moment, you can still find him painfully endearing. You have to shake yourself out of the grip of the already beckoning force that tells you to sigh dreamily about how adorable he is. “Think I should really be heading inside. Looks like they also need you for some kind of damage control, anyway.”

The same college kid calls for Jeno again, dragging out the vowels of his name kind of annoyingly. Jeno sighs, nodding slowly enough for you to know he’s caught on — this probably isn’t the right time to have such a weirdly heavy conversation.

“Yeah. I probably need to help clean up, anyway. No one’s going to want to do it, and Jaemin’s already chewed me out for bailing on mop duty a few times.”

“Why’d you bail?”

“Just… got busy, personally.” He looks sheepish, and it doesn’t take a bunch of lightbulbs going off for you to cotton on as well. Now, you’re just wishing you hadn’t asked, so you didn’t ever have to imagine it. Still, what’s done is done. You have to focus on keeping the discomfort out of your face this time. “Um… that’s not important, though. Anyway —I’ll talk to you soon, okay, ________________? Like… maybe we can catch up at school? You know, talk about our thing — the project, I mean — and like… et cetera?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Your smile’s weak, and so is your joke, but you should at least try to hold up casual pretenses as much as he does, even though he’s obviously much better at it. “I’ll tell on you to Hwang if you don’t, you know.”

His laugh is soft, but it at least sounds genuine; his smile still reaches his eyes, which already makes your heart feel a little lighter. But instead of trekking off immediately, he lingers, strangely, until his grin winnows down into just the ghost of a smile on his lips. Even weirder are his hands, slightly outstretched towards your waist, like he’s trying to cross the gap between you (even if it’s admittedly very minimal) but suddenly decides not to. The result is him looking strangely stiff and uncharacteristically hesitant, but you chalk it up to him simply not knowing how to end such a weirdly situated conversation. You know you’d have an even worse time doing it if it were up to you, so you can’t really blame him.

In the end, he closes the dialogue with ‘see you around, ________________,’ and a quick pat on the shoulder, which, if you think about it, seems a little disappointingly different from when he’d had his hand against your cheek a few minutes ago. Then again, you’re not sure you could handle something like that again, anyway.

You watch him walk off back towards Jaemin’s house, and some pitiful, pathetic part of you is expecting him to look back, say one last goodbye to you, or something, but the university guy that had belted his name out so vigilantly just swings an arm around Jeno’s neck and drags him to a corner where a bunch of other similarly dressed people, to whom Jeno starts talking to almost immediately.

Cutting this conversation short was probably for the best, anyway; you have no idea what he would have said, but you’re very sure you wouldn’t have been prepared for it either way. You trudge into your house and up into your room, already mentally prepared to spend the rest of the night obsessively mulling over what it all meant and what he had really been planning to say at the end. The process starts some time in the shower, while you’re shampooing your hair and you embarrassingly remember the feeling of Jeno’s hand tangled in it. The moony expression that the thought of it leaves on your face is present up until you see how stupid it looks in the fogged up bathroom mirror.

Renjun still hasn’t texted you, which is honestly starting to be a source of mild anxiety because you can’t be sure if he’s dead in a ditch somewhere or just ignoring you for some unknown reason. Whatever it is, you leave like three messages wondering where he’s at and asking him to call you. You’re on your fourth message, which is asking to confirm about tomorrow’s movie (something you’d almost forgotten about save for the fact that you’d remembered this would be a point of argument for you both once again if you spaced on it) when a notification pops up that once again gives you a heart attack.

Lee Jeno: u looked pretty tonight, btw :)

You: oh!! thank you…!

You: you looked great tonight too…! :)

Lee Jeno: haha… cute :)

Lee Jeno: goodnight, ____________ :)

This is the most emojis you’ve ever seen used in a single brief conversation, and you can’t help but feel like it might be a little juvenile, but it doesn’t even matter because Lee freaking Jeno called you pretty and cute in the span of five minutes. Your thumbs are shaking as you type back a typo-laden goodnight that takes you a full other minute just to edit before waiting a little more, but nothing else comes. Maybe he’s driving home, or something. You toss your phone onto your bed, away from easy reach, before you can start overthinking what this silence means again.

Your reflection in your window mirrors the same scene you’d encountered in the bathroom: you, hair bundled up in a wet towel, bare-faced with a stupid grin across it. You’re so caught up in the act of reeling from Jeno’s three texts that you belatedly notice a square of light beyond your bedroom window. You almost duck out of sight when you see a shadow there, thinking about crying bloody murder, until you realize it’s Jaemin, who’s watching the ridiculous expression on your face with a curious gaze from a distance. He’s still in the same clothes he’d worn to the party, but you can see, even from this far away, that there’s this dark patch on it that looks suspiciously close to the way your shirt had on the day his coke had emptied itself out on your back. That must’ve been from the crash earlier, you deduce.

You think he’s just zoning out facing in your direction, and you find there’s no need to meet his gaze, but there’s still something a little unsettling about having someone spacing out in your general direction, so you reach up to pull your blinds down. Your hand almost reaches the string, but Jaemin’s hand suddenly starts going up too, like it’s trying to follow you, and you freeze in your movements. His keeps going, though, up until it’s close to his face, and suddenly, he’s moving it side to side, in some weird regular pattern.

He’s waving, your tired, overworked brain tells you belatedly. The string of your blinds tickles the tip of your fingers.

Unsure and a little self-conscious, you wave back, hoping he doesn’t notice that you were about two strong pulls away from drawing yourself out of sight. This is clearly the right response, because even from this distance, you can see the brilliant white of his teeth as he smiles, fully and unabashedly, at you.

The first thing you do when you wake up the following morning is check your phone. You’re not even really sure what you’re looking for — maybe a text from Jeno, who, if you think about it now, probably has nothing to say in response to your boring ‘goodnight’ anyway (but you can still dream), or maybe a missed call or two from Renjun, who should at least be offering you some explanation as to why he was completely out of sight after parting ways with you and Mark Lee last night.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing on your screen, apart from the stupid 번장 notification that tells you the pocket punch board you’ve been wanting for no good reason has been discounted by the seller to a price you still can’t reasonably afford anyway.

You certainly can’t do anything about Jeno’s lack of contact, and to be completely honest with yourself, you’re not even really that sure if you want to. Something about yesterday’s conversation, while not exactly a train wreck, makes you very nervous to have a full conversation with him, and you’d much rather it stick to very basic, kindergarten-level things, like ‘you look cute’ and ‘haha’ and ‘:)’, but since that isn’t completely in your control, you decide you simply don’t want to do anything about it.

Renjun, however, is a completely different matter. You don’t understand why he’s ignoring you if he is, considering you had spent the better part of the night (at least, the parts during which you weren’t crying on your lawn) looking for him, so this silence, if deliberate, doesn’t seem fair or even reasonable. You decide that it’s much too early to be getting an earful from you in the end, so you just send a very emphatic ‘WRU?????????????????’ through both text message, KakaoTalk, and Facebook Messenger to him, hoping the repetition of both sentiment and punctuation mark through multiple platforms is enough to faux-yell to him what you’d otherwise be real-yelling to him over the line. You can’t tell if it gives you any sense of comfort to see he hasn’t been online and active for the last 15 hours.

All the tossing and turning of last night, courtesy of the endless loop replay of “I want you to like me — just me” Lee Jeno edition, had consequently left you worse for wear; you’d gotten up at the rising of the sun (something you’d sworn never to do during the weekend) and had opted to just stay in bed for another hour, trying so hard to get over the feeling of his fingers against your skin that you end up committing it to long-term memory. The sunlight peeking through your blinds is what gets you to throw off your covers and admit defeat to the fact that sleep would never come back at this rate, and you decide to just head down, rubbing the lethargy out of your eyes before you make a poor man’s breakfast. You’re halfway through the jelly slice of your sandwich when your sister comes through the doorway, yawning loud to announce her presence.

“G’morning, bedhead baby,” she greets, and you use the non-knife-holding hand you have free to rake through your hair. “Big rager last night, huh?”

“Yeah — wait, how’d you know?”

“We live a door down from Jaemin oppa’s house? Na Jaemin? Our next door neighbor and his whole family? We can see out the window into his lawn? Sometimes we get our sidewalk trash cans mixed up with theirs? Hello?” Sooyeon smirks, albeit a little sluggishly, as you wave her grating words away. “I saw you out there with him, you know.”

“With who? Where? Who?” You demand, your jelly-laden knife freezing in mid-air, the grape blobs slipping dangerously off the edge onto the middle of your bread.

“You. And Jaemin oppa,” she says each syllable slowly. “In front of our house.”

“Oh.”

“So usually how these conversations go is: I bring up a juicy piece of information pertaining to you, and because you experienced it first hand, you have to then expound on the piece of information, thereby making it juicier. ‘Oh’ doesn’t cut it. Not by a long shot.”

“There’s not much to tell.” You wonder, briefly, if you’re now obligated to bring up the Jeno aspect of the night — which, for all intents and purposes, honestly felt like more of a big deal than anything else — but you quickly decide against it, chickening out when she approaches you at the counter and starts unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar. That might be giving too much away, considering she didn’t even seem to notice that you’d been bawling when you’d crossed the property line. “He just walked me back here.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s what people who live next to each other in a not-so-close-knit community do: walk each other two steps home, to keep the baddies away.”

“He’s just a naturally nice person, I think. Most people are, aren’t they?”

“I thought you guys were close. Didn’t he give you his varsity jacket? That sounds like a closeness thing.” She knots her index and middle finger together, and you slap it away.

“We’re close only in the same way as you are.” When she gives you a quizzical look, you sigh. “Proximity-wise.”

“Still doesn’t explain why he was out there, caressing your hair lovingly.”

You freeze, as opposed to Sooyeon’s comically relaxed posture as she scrapes the peanut butter across your other slice of bread. “He… was not. Caressing me. My hair. Lovingly.”

“I have eyes for the sake of seeing.”

“There was just something in it. In my hair. A leaf.”

You’re not sure why you lie; the largest part of the reason is that you don’t want to have to go into the horrifyingly awkward details of your emotional state last night, but there’s something oddly nagging at you that you can’t quite place. It takes a minute of staring at your sister spreading the peanut butter evenly across the bread and humming to herself while closing the sandwich up that you realize that you don’t want her getting the wrong impression about anything.

Which is weird, because there’s nothing to misunderstand.

Jaemin, albeit the fact that he’s been chattier to you as of late, more so than any other time in your life, is still just your neighbor. Maybe he’s graduated from being your sort-of acquaintance to something that vaguely resembles an arm-distance-ish friend, but the notion that you’re anything closer than that makes you feel a bit strange — almost like it… scares you, which is extra weird to think about, because there’s actually nothing inherently harmful about being casual buddies with some guy who lives close enough to wave at you from his window.

Maybe it’s because it’s Jaemin, and that’s what might be tripping you up the most. He’s not just Jeno’s friend; he’s practically some kind of counterpart to him, and it feels weirdly like a line you can’t cross. Or maybe it’s because… Jeno had asked you about him last night, which had made you feel even stranger. Like he’d been worried about something — like Jaemin was a no-go zone for him, specifically.

As you dully watch your sister take a bite off of your breakfast, it dawns on you: maybe you just don’t want people to think you like anyone other than Jeno.

“Okay, well, you know better than I do,” she singsongs in a tone that tells you that you actually don’t. Sooyeon doesn’t press, but she also doesn’t make you feel like the conversation is over — even if she trills I’m going back up; thanks for the sandwich in that same voice before leaving you alone in the kitchen with half of it on the plate.

Because the truth is that you don’t really know; you don’t know what’s so unsettling about being associated with Jaemin. Your sister’s not aware of the intricate ins and outs of your (delusional) relationship with Jeno, apart from your (apparently evident to everyone) crush on him, but you also know she’s not really deeply invested in where your heart lies; all she does is make conversation, as is her personality, as a form of bonding you’ve never really quite been able to navigate well.

You just don’t get why the mention of Jaemin, now, makes you feel… something. What that is, you’d rather not dwell on. So you just won’t.

You’re walking out of the kitchen, cheeks filled with peanut butter and jelly, when you see block letters on cloth, spelling out a familiar last name: Na.

You still haven’t given back Jaemin’s stupid jacket.

Today is the day, you decide. This seems to have started the whole conversation to begin with: the jacket that somehow brought Jaemin two steps closer into your life, the article of clothing that had opened the door to what shouldn’t even be a talking point between you and anyone else.

This should be the proverbial swan song for this whole topic; you snatch up his jacket (and immediately regret doing so in such a brutish manner, noticing you’ve got a few specks of breadcrumbs on the lettering) and head out of your house, your bedroom slippers absorbing morning dew as you march yourself over to your neighbor’s. You should’ve done this earlier, really; there was no reason for you to hold on to it.

Honestly, you’d just forgotten, given that you were more preoccupied with things that started with L and ended with ee Jeno, but you’d rather not extend any more misunderstandings.

And even if Jeno isn’t here to see this grand closing gesture, maybe, just maybe, this will help you stop feeling so cagey about everything he’d asked last night.

I want you to like me — just me.

Because why would he even think you liked Jaemin at all? Or make it sound like he thought you did? Ridiculous. Unfounded. Kind of alarming.

There’s noise in the air the closer you get to the Na household porch; it sounds a bit muffled, like it’s fighting the breeze, but you realize thereafter that it’s music coming from a tiny speaker sitting on the hand railing. It’s playing Dongbangshinki’s Here I Am, and something about that song stirs your stomach into swooping ten miles down as you approach.

Your initial plan was to ring the doorbell and pray that Jaemin was still knocked out cold on a Saturday morning so you could pass the jacket off to one of his parents and be done with it, but you’ve no such luck; it seems like he’s an early riser, considering how he’s seated right there, on a wicker chair by his door, hunched over a half-played chess board. There’s no one across him to block his view of you coming up the steps, and he looks up the moment he hears the creaks of the wood under your feet.

“Hey, ______________,” he doesn’t look surprised; in fact, he looks a bit relieved, for some inexplicable reason. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“Could say the same for you.” You have no idea what causes heat to flush across your cheeks; has Na Jaemin’s gaze always been this intense? “Um. Good morning?”

“Morning.” His laugh is an easy one; it always has been, and it kind of suits him, you note, before you realize how weird it is to think that. “What’ve you got there? Gift for me?”

“Wha — oh, yeah, I mean — no, but it is for you.” You hold up his jacket, hooked on your forefinger, to reveal it to him. “Sorry it took so long to give it back.”

This time, he actually looks a bit taken aback. “Did you stop needing it?”

“Um… I haven’t really used it, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh. Well, there wasn’t any rush. You could’ve kept it for as long as you needed. No pressure, or anything. I’ve got others.”

“You don’t need it at practice, or anything like that?”

“No; most guys don’t even keep theirs. They give them away, for… you know. So it’s no big deal.”

You fall silent; for some reason, his tone makes it seem like he wants you to keep it, which is just preposterous. You instead hang the jacket onto the back of the wicker chair opposite him and step back, like you’ve just set up a land mine you’re afraid of detonating.

“Well, thank you all the same. I really… appreciate your help. That day. You know.” You’re not sure why you can’t form any sentences long enough to signify you do actually belong in the same year level as him, but he at least doesn’t comment on your ineloquence.

Instead, he just stares for a bit, at the jacket and your retreating hand, before piping up over his music.

“You wanna play a round?”

“What? Oh, I’m…” You wave your hands aimlessly. “I’m not good at chess. Actually, I barely know the rules. Plus, you seem kind of busy playing against… your imaginary friend?”

He chuckles again. “Just playing myself.”

“Trying to outfox the old fox?”

“Sometimes it helps to know how you’d get out of a sticky situation you made by your own doing. Helps you see what your opponent sees when it all boils down to it.” He gestures again at the chair across him. “Humor me a little. It’s not as fun just talking to yourself.”

You hesitate for a second; you came here to return the jacket, and that much was done easily, albeit a little more awkwardly than you ever wanted to. Jaemin’s aura is laid back and friendly, but you’re not sure why you’re teetering on the edge of panic again. Jeno’s words seem to be echoing in your head.

And Jaemin is…?

Jaemin is your next-door neighbor, it’s true, but you can’t say that’s really your only point of connection; if it were, he wouldn’t be expectantly waiting for you to take the seat across from him. And when you look at his hand now, idle against the chessboard, you can’t say you aren’t thinking of the way it patted your hair soothingly the night before. All that does is make you wonder the exact same thing Jeno asked you.

What is Jaemin to you? A friend, perhaps, and definitely a nice person — nice enough to help you out, keep you company during a few low points. He’s a person willing to listen to you, funny enough to lift your spirits, and genial enough to not break your fingers for returning his things way too late (a low bar, but a good one nonetheless). Na Jaemin is a good individual, with pretty good music taste (based on the fact that his playlist, trudging on next to him, is now playing H.O.T.’s Happiness), and a good disposition about him that seems to make no small amount of people gravitate towards him.

But you don’t really want to dwell on what Jaemin is to you; more than that, you can only really be reminded of what he isn’t.

He isn’t Jeno.

And Jeno knows you like him; he’s not only noticed it but confirmed it multiple times in a single conversation. Surely, then, nothing else should matter to him — or, for that matter, to you.

You swallow down the refusal and nod, trying not to read into the fact that Jaemin’s face lights up when you pull the chair back and settle down on it.

“So let me get this straight; you don’t know how to play chess?”

“I know a couple of pieces go in weird directions,” you admit. “That’s about it.”

“Perfect.” His long fingers drum against the wood of the table. “I’m going to whip you into competitive chess-playing shape, my young pupil.”

What starts off as a casual, humor-filled lesson on the roles of each chess piece suddenly becomes an actual lecture; you’re not sure if Jaemin is getting a kick out of instructing a rookie like you on the different plays — which are infinite, a fact he’s drilled into you several times — or if he’s really just enthusiastic about the game (no, sorry, sport, since he’s chastised you about three times on this terminology already), but whatever the reason is, you have chess pounded into your brain for the better part of an hour. By the time he asks you to actually start playing against him, the sun’s fully up in the air and you’ve had to tie your hair up to keep it from sticking to your neck.

“I’m glad you got home safe last night,” he hums, pushing his black pawn to meet yours in the middle of the board. The Italian Game, he called it — not to be confused with serenading someone over pasta, a different kind of Italian game. That had gotten a long laugh out of you. Your hands flit over the white pieces, unsure of your memory. You only respond when you’ve moved your bishop to the same row.

“Well, it was a very long and tumultuous journey, but I managed, with some help.”

His knight comes out next, smoothly and quickly; you pause, rubbing the back of your neck. Surely, there was something else he’d taught you?

“What a chivalrous, ah, knight, that person must’ve been.” He raps a knuckle onto the table, starting you out of the act of racking your brain. “Perfect joke. Well-timed. Excellent chess pun. I think I deserve an award.”

“Does whooping my ass two moves into the game count as a prize?”

“I don’t want to rob you of the feeling of hope this early in the match. Take your time,” he chuckles, leaning back against the throw cushion behind him. He fiddles with the speaker, and the songs skip one by one, until he lands on a song you don’t know — some Japanese track that sounds suspiciously like an animation opening. It’s lively and admittedly a bit loud, and Jaemin hums to the guitar riffs with surprising accuracy. “Anything interesting happen when I left?”

You freeze for a moment, your fingers still hovering over your own knight in hesitation. You know what he’s asking, and for some reason, you’re tempted to tell him — then you remember that it actually isn’t really his business, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

“Not really.” You feign casual disinterest as you move your knight above your pawn line; from here on out, you have no clue what to do. Jaemin, on the other hand, is so sure-footed about his own skills (which are infinitely more advanced than yours) that he doesn’t even take his eyes off you to look at the board as he moves his next piece. You’re stuck thinking about what to do again — in the game, that is. Not about his gaze, which you try to avoid. “Just, you know. Talked with Jeno for a bit. Nothing major.”

Nothing major to him, you remind yourself. To you, your entire world had just been flipped over onto its belly.

Jaemin hums again, this time in understanding, but you notice (from your very surreptitious glances of him) that this time, it seems like he’s choosing what to do. You think it’s for the game, but when he counteracts your own (poorly planned) move with a swift response from his own pieces, you get the odd feeling he’s trying to choose his words carefully.

“Was it a conversation where you all got along?”

You hadn’t argued, but you’d never really thought about the whole stint long enough to classify it as good or bad. You supposed it wasn’t anything horrible in the end, although the fact that it had robbed you of precious hours of sleep wasn’t exactly the best outcome. But Jaemin’s not watching your expression now; he’s intently looking at the board, even if he’s not the one about to make the next move.

You get the feeling he’s suddenly avoiding eye contact too, which is weird, because he’s never been one to shy away from looking you straight in the eye. For some reason, that makes you feel like he doesn’t want to hear an answer.

“It was fine. Nothing… bad happened.” You know that’s true, but somehow you feel like it’s still not truth. “He explained… stuff. Who she was. Why it happened. Totally understandable stuff, I think.”

You choose not to mention anything apart from that — that he’d asked you to like him, nor that he’d asked you about your relationship with Jaemin. More than deciding it wasn’t going to be anything contributive to the conversation at hand, you also just didn’t want to.

Jaemin stays silent for a while; he moves his piece, then taps his queen — for some reason, he’s letting you know something about his next move. What it is, you haven’t puzzled out; it’s not like you know which direction he’d be taking, and even if you did, you’d surely not know how to respond to it, anyway. You guess he’s just throwing you a bone, but why he would, you also just don’t see the reason for.

You’re pushing your pawn hesitantly diagonal to capture one of his when he speaks up again.

“Did he tell you how it ended? With the two of them, I mean.”

He says it so calmly, capturing your bishop with his queen in the process, that you feel like you’re just talking about the weather and who won yesterday’s league basketball match. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, clearing your throat, but you only actually manage to shake your head.

“She cheated on him. Some college guy that she met during her orientation; you know she’s older than him, right? He’s never dated seriously since then. I think he was really hung up on her for a while — until recently, that is. I think. He hasn’t been that close to many girls.”

“That’s… that’s awful.” You’re not sure why Jaemin’s telling you this; it honestly feels illegal to know. “I didn’t think… anyone would. Cheat on him, I mean.”

“Even good-looking bastards like him can have rotten luck.” Jaemin’s smile borders on wry. “I don’t know why she showed up, honestly. Word probably got around… but she probably just wanted to know what would happen if she stirred something up with him one last time. He likely didn’t see it coming.”

You stare at the board, unsure of what to say. It makes sense, but something doesn’t really sit right with you either — why Jeno would let her come close to him at all, let alone allow her to completely eliminate the distance between his mouth and hers for longer than a second. Even thinking about it makes you want to throw up all over again.

“But deep down, I don’t know if Jeno completely got over her.” Jaemin continues, snapping you out of your short trance. “For a while after, they kept in touch. I think they even tried to work it out, but… obviously, it wasn’t easy. Until now… I’m not really sure.”

“Why,” you swallow hard. “Why… are you… why should I…”

“It’s not easy to be a player when you don’t know much about the game, is it?” He’s still staring at the board, but you get the sense that he isn’t just talking about chess. “Like I said, Jeno’s a pretty complicated guy. It’s not really my place to say anything, but…” Jaemin’s eyes flit upward for a second, and he offers you a small, almost pitying smile. “I think you need to know anyway.”

“But it has nothing to do with me. His life… I mean, his ex, and stuff.”

“I’m not too sure about that. If you like him that much… doesn’t that just mean you want to be part of his life?” He topples a pawn of yours, but you barely register the clattering noise or the fact that he drags it unceremoniously off the board. “I think you should at least know what you’re getting into. Jeno hasn’t liked someone seriously for a while, but you seem… to be the opposite. How much do you actually know about what he’s like?”

You don’t know why that kind of hurts your feelings; maybe it’s just because you have to face some kind of truth about how you don’t know much about Jeno’s private life, as badly as you want to. You even have to hear about it from someone else — someone easily kicking your ass in a dumb chess match.

“I think everyone has baggage,” you say slowly, pushing your rook forward. You realize it’s trapped behind two different pawns, so you’ve essentially backed the piece into its own corner. Jaemin doesn’t seem to care; he’s too busy executing what clearly is a ten-stage strategic win on the other side of the board. You don’t really care.

“That’s true,” he concedes, toppling your knight. “But some more than others, I think.”

“If he wanted me to know, he would’ve told me, right? Yesterday, I mean.”

“That’s may also be true, although I can’t say that with absolute certainty.” He looks thoughtful, and the pause gives you a bit of reprieve — enough to make a bad move that you instantly regret the moment you put your one remaining bishop on a square. Something like amusement flickers across Jaemin’s face, but he doesn’t make a move immediately. “Do you know what makes chess such a great game? In my opinion, anyway.”

“No?” The uncertainty in your voice is from a lack of understanding at the sudden shift in topic.

“Whenever you play someone, you get to see what they’re like — what their priorities are, you know?” His finger lands on a rook, inching it back and forth with idle intent. “You see how their mind works, what they’re like when they’re winning or losing, and what they think of you. Check, by the way.”

You’re silent as his rook captures your bishop, and he picks your fallen piece up and sets it aside with his growing pile of white.

“I’ve actually asked Jeno to play with me a few times, just for the fun of it. Sore loser,” he laughs lightly, one hand reaching out to lower the volume of his music. You notice the opening bars of Winner’s Really Really come through moments before it’s toned down. “Doesn’t really know or care about the rules, but he really likes to win. That’s kind of what makes him the star player on the team, actually. He really hates being backed into a corner, but all that focus on winning kind of tunnels his vision sometimes. Leaves him open to some attacks from another angle. He really hates that — which is probably why we barely play chess together in the first place. Apart from the fact that he thinks it’s boring.”

You’re staring at your pieces, now very pitifully winnowed down in number, and you feel stuck. You’re not sure what to do, but you’re pretty sure any move is going to make you look dumb in front of Jaemin, who’s clearly a pro — so much so that he seems to know what you’re going to do before you even decide yourself.

“You know what I like about your playing style, though?” He interrupts your train of thought again. You look up from the board, bemused; you’ve just been struggling to humor him since your first move, and it obviously isn’t working, since he seems more invested in the conversation than in the game. “You’re just trying your best, even if you’re new at this — even if you think you’re going to lose.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten everything you just said,” you respond, smiling weakly.

“You can’t always predict what’s going to happen in a game, even if you know the pattern anyway. Isn’t that just natural about anything in life?”

“You seem to know, though,” you grumble, tugging on your ponytail. You throw in the only option you have left: pushing your queen in front of your king as a last line of defense. “You’re barely paying attention to the board.”

“It’s just constant practice — a lot of hard work on my part. I don’t mind the grind of it, if it gets me somewhere good in the end.”

“So is that the kind of player you are? Just… a hard worker?”

“Maybe. I like to look at things from every possible angle. I guess that’s why I like chess when most people find it a headache.” He picks up his queen, rolling it in his palm. “Although, I guess Jeno and I have one thing in common — as players, that is.”

“What’s that?”

“I also really hate to lose.”

His queen knocks over your own with a pitiful clatter, taking its place on the board. When he picks up your piece, instead of adding it to his knockout count, he offers it to you. You take it gingerly, opting to focus more on it than on the soft smile that’s now playing on Jaemin’s lips.

“Checkmate,” he announces lightly. “Good game, _____________. You’ve got the makings of a star player.”

“You’re patronizing me, aren’t you?” You sigh as the two of you start resetting the board; you have to watch Jaemin’s pieces get rearranged to position your own.

“Only a little bit. I see a lot of quiet drive in you.”

You place the last of your pawns in a neat row; the board looks like it hadn’t even been touched. “Jaemin, how did you and Jeno become this close? You seem… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, we’ve definitely got our unique quirks,” he chuckles softly. “But Jeno and I… we just go way back, I think. When you’re friends with someone from a young age, you tend to grow with them. He’s a good dude, really, even if our personalities are different, and it’s always a fun event so long as he’s around. Well — mostly. I’d say a good ninety-nine percent of the time.”

You pointedly ignore the sheepish smile he throws your way.

“You said before that you’re not the type to… you know, share your feelings, and all that. Then how do you… like what do you guys even talk about?”

“What do you and Renjun usually talk about?” Jaemin grins. “Anything and everything, really. Movies, games, why the jerk from Yongsan International gets on our nerves when he chews his gum. We just… have a tendency to be interested in the same things, no matter if our perspectives are different.”

While talking to Jaemin is fun, you can’t help but feel like he has a tendency to speak in riddles. You still don’t really see any strong similarities in their approaches to their interests, similar as they may be, but what do you know, anyway? It isn’t like you and Renjun are exactly peas in a pod on paper.

His eyes lose focus for a second, hitting somewhere behind your ear before they quickly turn back to you. You have no idea why this makes you feel a little put on the spot.

“Hey, you want to have brunch here? My mom makes a mean soybean paste stew.”

“Oh,” you press your hand against your stomach, wondering if the swooping feeling in it is from hunger or something unrelated. “No, I actually just ha—”

“_____________?”

You swivel around in the chair, and your heart stops; you're not the least bit prepared to see Lee Jeno standing at the foot of Jaemin’s porch steps, a quizzical look very clearly etched on his sharp features.

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th3-p-a1-nt3r · 5 months ago

Text

Okay im literally so bored soooo

@pastelclovds ' isekai AU for Wren again bc i LOVE WRITING!!!

Wrens Isekai life!! Pt. 2!

When they get to the apartment luckily it seemed furnitured but bland enough to still decorate

Wren began to sign to CAM

"Which room would you like, oldest gets to pick first"

RAM a bit offended sighs and takes the L on this one

CAM picked the middle room, not too big, not too small

"RAM would you like the bigger room, I don't wanna be selfish and take it if you want it instead!"

RAM would take it normally, but with the size of the big room it would be better for Wren to take it, since they need the wheelchair in there...

Or maybe they can share this room?

"We can share, the smallest room will be CAM and I office"

"Fair, and sorry if Im being annoying but can you place me on the couch? I'll fidgure out something i can do, don't want to be a mooch ahah!"

Wren felt bad that their useless this time around

Normally they'd be dancing, helping move anything, preparing dinner or even going to their job

But in this world they really can't move with any support

For now they'll just be doing laundry and unpacking boxes for RAM and CAM

Speaking of the two

"Hey RAM, get CAM I need to talk to the two of you!"

They both sit next to Wren as they look at the two

"Okay now that were in a world were I'm familiar with we need to get you better names, I think CAM will be Cameron or Cam for short, its obvious, but RAM...Why don't I call you...Ramon? Just for now! I'll still call the you Ram and Cam but more as nicknames...luckily my name is a normal name so unless the two of you want to share a last name then we need some type of household name"

RAM was barely following along while CAM took notes\

After Wren's rambles they finally got RAM's attention

"Now Ram, Cam if anyone ask you two are born from the same mom different dads, also we should find out if AM is here as well..II know you all don't get along but it'll be nice to see if he has a new identity here as well"

"He won't live here right?"

"Of course not, if he has a house or whatever we'll visit him"

Ram nodded and Cam seemed a bit off with that idea but Wren knows how to lie better than the two of them

"If we can...I kinda wanna see if we can live here as long as we can.."

Wren spoke with a bit of sadness, Ram and Cam knew somewhat why they would wanna stay here but not for what they think

"So, lets fine jobs and I'll lie my candy ass off to make sure no one knows of who we we're before"

They both nod

Night falls and Wren is sitting on the couch knitting a blanket for winter, Cam usually gets cold often so this would be a nice surpise for Christmas

"Wren..."

"Whats up Ram..."

Ram sighs as he sits next to Wren trying to keep them as close as possible

"What is bothering you..I know something is wrong...I may be apathetic to others but for you it's different..I've been in you're mind but I know you kept secrets from me..You're in despair...i know it..."

"I..its..its a long story....And I know I've known you for a while I just...I don't know if you'd hate me for it"

Wren confested as they pinned the chain they were on and packed it into a bag for safe keeping

"When I think you're ready I'll tell you the truth"

Ram seemed a bit upset but he knows its for the best

"I'll put faith you'll tell me"

Ram spoke so softly

Even with his accent he still manages to sound so soft

"heh...I love your scars by the way...they look really cool, can...can I touch them? If you want you can touch mine as well!"

Wren smiled as Ram shook his head

"You may...but you don't have to if you don't want to"

Wren smiled wider as they removed their jacket for him to see the tank top they wore

Their scars ran up their spine and into their hair, they had some on their shoulders and knees but most where on their head

"Oh but I do Ram~"

Adding spicy moments soon~

#pastelclovds isekai au #OMFG I FEEL LIKE A GOOOOD #ram x wren #cam x wren #human cam ihnmaims #human ram ihnmaims #human ram #human cam #cam #ram #russian allied mastercomputer #chinese allied mastercomputer

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thelampisaflashlight · 1 year ago

Text

Just Some Guy pt. 2: Hate

[Guy meets Mountain. It goes about as well as can be expected. Part two of this fic. Poll at the end to determine who teaches Guy a lesson after this.] Below the cut.

It's weird, Guy thinks, how peaceful the abbey is.

The monastery is never so calm and quiet, there's always something to be done, people to see to, problems to solve and then fret about when nothing can be done to fix them entirely.

He feels... decidedly useless here.

His orders are just to pass the time, and stay out of people's way.

Even Cardinal Fiero seems less uptight staying in this place, but, then again, he'd always envied the funding this branch of the church received.

"They house the ghouls who are part of the Ghost project, so of course most of the donations find their way here. It's favoritism plain and simple." he'd told Guy one evening after dinner, "If you had a lick of talent in you, I would have sent you here in a heartbeat, but instead I had to find another use for you."

"At the very least you could sing, but you've even gone and managed to screw that up as well."

Guy tries to imagine it, living here at the abbey instead of being hidden away in the monastery... but he really has no frame of reference for such things.

What would his life have been like if his fingers weren't so clumsy?

If his mother had stuck around long enough to pass on her knowledge, her gift, to him instead of leaving him to his fa- Cardinal Fiero...

Not father, never father.

They're not so close that he can say such a thing... and the only way he'd call him anything like Papa would be if the cardinal got his wish and the rest of the bloodline dropped dead.

He prays to the lord below that such a thing never comes to pass.

May a thousand and one bastard sons keep the title out of his hands.

"Are you alright?" Vespera worried voice snaps Guy from his thoughts, "You've been looking a little pale since we left the greenhouse... I already told you, Mountain really isn't upset you broke one of his flower pots, it was an accident."

Ah, right.

Guy sits up straight, regaining his bearings on reality as he recalls the events of his morning so far.

Vespera had been excited to show him around the abbey, to introduce him to her friends, or rather one "friend" in particular.

He isn't sure what her relationship with the tall earth ghoul is, but even someone like him, who has spent the entirety of his life thus far amongst celibate -yes, indeed, such people exist among the clergy- men, he knows whatever the two have going on goes beyond what he'd consider friends.

They, he and Vespera, don't talk about those kinds of things.

She's too much like a sister to him, and with how often he trailed after and pestered Vespera in his younger years, the older woman surely felt a similar familial bond.

Or, at least, he would certainly hope so considering the first words out of her mouth about him to Mountain were to introduce him as her "precious brother".

And, ah, how the older ghoul had looked at him then.

So... so strangely kind and... and hopeful.

It made him mad.

Guy has never had the best handle on his emotions, and though his tongue has been in disuse for some time now, he could still taste the acidic bitterness of jealousy burning inside of his mouth when Mountain and him were alone in the greenhouse.

Vespera had left them for a moment, having to attend to her duties elsewhere, but promising to return as soon as possible, treating it like a chance for the two ghouls to bond.

But Guy...

He doesn't often break things out of anger.

He knows better.

But he couldn't help it, not when Mountain started telling him about Vespera's life at the abbey.

Not when he quietly offered to put in a word for him with the ministry to get him transferred, implying that he knew.

That he knew how Guy was being treated back home.

That he'd been told in some compacity of the pain he had endured, when the only person who could have told him was-

It really had been an accident.

"Are you alright??"

Fuck, Mountain had sounded so genuinely worried for him.

"Let me see your hands-"

His touch was...

"Oh, thank goodness..."

...Excruciating.

Vespera leans into his field of view, brow pinched, "Guy?"

It's no wonder so many people have abandoned him over the years.

"Oh, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?"

He's so pathetic he can't even handle the idea that someone... that more than one person... might actually see how broken he is.

"You should try going for a walk, a bit of fresh air before bed can do wonders." Mountain tells him later that afternoon, having decided not to give up on him over one broken flower pot, "I could come with you, if you'd like?"

...he should have broken two.

Guy merely shakes his head, doesn't meet the older ghoul's gaze.

"Alright." he concedes, "But if you're not back before dark, I'll come find you, if you get lost, look for the steeple, you can see it no matter where you go on the property."

Right.

"...Are you really sure you want to go by yourself?"

Guy nods and walks away before Mountain can continue talking to him.

Hopefully giving him the cold shoulder will make him stop trying to be so... so...

"Be careful out there!" Mountain calls after him.

Guy covers his ears as he rounds the corner, seething.

He's not a child!

Mountain should just stop-

"Stop pretending you give a damn, you're just trying to get on my good side because you're fucking my sister!" He hisses internally, "I hate you! I hate you! I hate-"

...Why does he hate him?

Why is he acting like this?

Guy places a hand on his chest, he can feel his heart pounding.

It makes him feel sick.

And what makes him feel sicker is the fact that Mountain was absolutely right.

As he trudges along, each step fueled by an anger he cannot seem to quell with positive thoughts alone -like leaving, like going home- he starts to feel better.

The air around the abbey really is... calming.

The sun has long since dipped past the trees, but there's still enough light that Guy feels safe enough to continue wandering, circling around the large lake Vespera had pointed out to him earlier during their tour.

It was much bigger up close, and hauntingly deep.

Living in a humble monastery, he'd not even had the luxury of a pool or a pond to swim in in his youth, and as a result he'd never learned how to swim, so as dark and beautiful as the waters looked, he found himself less enticed by it and more... frightened.

Growing up, he'd never put much thought to what scared him beyond, well... upsetting the cardinal or the dark, but the latter fear he'd grown out of.

So this.

This fear pooling in his belly was a new one.

As he stands paralyzed on the shore, already his mind is working against him, his vivid imagination conjuring up different scenarios in which he falls in and drowns.

He gets so lost in his thoughts he barely notices the sky growing darker around him.

He shakes his head and has to force himself to move.

"Let me go." he tells himself, "C'mon, please..."

It's a terrible thing, being held hostage by your own body.

Mountain is waiting for him when he returns, looking very much like he was about to step out and come find him, if the lantern in his hands is any indication.

Vespera is beside him, already opening her mouth to scold him for worrying her so much, but she stops as soon as he reaches for her.

His hands tremble.

"...Did it happen again?"

Guy isn't sure what to call it, when he slips away.

Vespera has thrown a few words out there before, none that he remembers, all he really knows is that sometimes he has a hard time... pulling away.

He can feel it, the inability to move, settling into his bones sometimes, and he has to fight it to keep from stagnating.

Other times, it only comes on after he's already been sitting for too long.

He has to force himself to stand, to move at all.

Sometimes he wonders if he's even inside of his body when it happens, if he's not somewhere out in space...

Mountain tries to talk to him about it, probably having heard from Vespera that last night wasn't a unique experience, and Guy he... he...

"I know..." Vespera says forlornly, looking at the mess Guy has made of one of the flower beds, at his hands caked in mud, "...I shouldn't have told him about that, but this is..."

Stop.

"...I really liked those tulips..." she sniffles, "...they took so long to grow..."

STOP.

"...Why are you acting like this?"

STOP.

"It's alright, I can... I can replant them." Mountain assures her, "It's..."

Guy can hear the ghoul trying to justify his actions, to placate Vespera and give him the benefit of the doubt even though he doesn't deserve it.

He did this out of anger.

Out of spite.

Out of... unjust hate and stupidity.

He did it because...

Because...

...Why did he do this?

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #mountain ghoul #ghost band #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #nameless ghoul oc #Guy needs to chill #and maybe go to therapy #sister of sin oc

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xaharadesert · 1 year ago

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Kidnapped MC Turned Bandit Leader — Headcanon Pt 2

Portia Devorak x MC

A/N: every time someone sends me an ask anonymously I get to neglect it for months without guilt :) please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes!

🧡Portia🧡

Absolutely inconsolable when you first went missing

This woman is not afraid to cry whenever she has too many emotions, which is perfectly healthy, aside from the fact that she was constantly dehydrated from the consistent tears

She feels useless since she’s pretty much stuck in Vesuvia waiting for her more powerful friends to help find you

A lot of time is spent pacing around the palace grounds (Nadia, of course, gave her time off) and unintentionally scaring off anyone who didn’t know her (when she wasn’t crying, she looked like she was gonna punch someone)

Fortunately for Portia, she has more healthy coping mechanisms than most of the people around her, and plenty of friends to help her through hard times

Although she never once gave up hope that you would come back, she got back to work pretty quickly and kept busy

She also decided that when you did get back, the two of you would need to celebrate

Honestly, she knew she was steering more into delusion with that last one, but she needed something positive to look forward to

If she couldn’t control any part of the search for you, then she could at least control what would happen when you got back

Luckily for Portia, her naive daydreams actually paid off when you suddenly returned a few months after your disappearance

It was Julian who alerted her to your presence at the Rowdy Raven, having sprinted all the way to her cottage when he first spotted you (he sprinted back to the tavern with her too, so he was thoroughly out of breath and wheezing on the floor for a good ten minutes when they returned)

Portia had spent a good deal of time thinking up a variety of opening lines for when she first saw you again, with a few options for each of the dozens of circumstances

But really, when she saw you, all of that left her head and she once again burst into tears

Doesn’t matter if you were sitting, standing, or dancing: Portia barrelled into you at speeds that even professional sprinters would be astonished by

It might have been a little painful for the both of you, but frankly Portia was so happy to see you that she didn’t even care

Absolutely no coherent sentences were exchanged; the two of you just sat on the floor, clinging to each other while she sobbed

Now, at this point your bandit gang was probably a bit curious, but respectfully kept their distance

Portia didn’t really notice, given that she didn’t care about anything other than the fact that you were back, and you were apparently okay

But it would definitely be a topic of discussion between you and Portia, as well as you and your gang, later

Portia wouldn’t calm down for the rest of the night— all plans for a celebration forgotten— so you would inevitably return to your shared home with a promise to your new friends to find them the following morning

Portia insisted that you have some homemade food, and wrapped you in blankets to cuddle

She sat beside you, really just basking in the fact that you were home

Eventually, she dozed off, and the two of you were stuck on the couch for the rest of the night

So waking up was a little painful, with sore muscles and faces puffy

But it was more than worth it to still be together

Breakfast came first, per Portia’s orders, but the conversation about where you had been came shortly after

Portia was torn between being mad, since you definitely could have come home sooner, and being astonished by your adventures

To her credit, she sat and listened with more patience than she had ever used in her life

And the first question out of her mouth was “when can I meet them?”

The “them” in question was your new gang of bandits that you were apparently now leading

Being one of the more open minded people in Vesuvia (not to mention being Julian’s sister), Portia was more than willing to give all of your new friends a fair chance before passing judgement on them

Although, she may have already been slightly biased since she was still pissed that you hadn’t come back sooner

But she could talk to you about that properly later

For now, it was time to learn all about your new life, and how exactly she could fit into it

And, yes, she would be fitting into it, because you had just become 20x cooler and there was no way she was ever letting you go now

#the arcana #arcana #the arcana game #the arcana headcanon #the arcana hc #Portia devorak #Portia arcana #Portia headcanon #Portia hc #Portia x mc #portia x apprentice

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rosesandmusicsheets · 1 year ago

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My Headcanon Regarding Anthony Strallan’s Shoulder Injury

I’m literally crying because this is the second time I’m writing this post. Pray it makes it this time.

Warning: Long ramble below!

Photo below for reference and ogling.

Disclaimer: I am not a medically certified Anything.

I started writing this as a Headcanon/Author’s note for an Andith one-shot I’m working on. But it’s started getting long lol so I figured it could be interesting enough to share on here!

I know there exists (somewhere) a popular fanon about Anthony’s relatives but I’ve never seen one regarding his injury (please correct me if I’m wrong of course!). Please note, that these ideas were thought up by yours truly and are only backed up by educational guesses, extensive google research, and random nerdy anatomy trivia that I have because I’m into kinesiology. Also, I’m high.

Warning: mention of bullet injuries

Anyways! Below for more!

Anthony’s injury is caused by damage to his brachial plexus which he suffered via bullet wound in the back (below the shoulder). The brachial plexus (google it, it’ll make sense when you see it) is a network of nerves that send signals from the (cervical) spinal cord, to the shoulders, arms, and hands.

The main area of damage is right next to the armpit, below the shoulder’s ball-and-socket joint. The bullet entered and exited cleanly, without hitting bone or leaving a trace behind (which is why his arm was not amputated).

While his arm is often referred to as “useless”, it is not completely paralyzed. He still has his sense of touch, but suffers from bouts of numbing, extreme weakness, and a nearly nonexistent grip. He is able to move, (especially at his elbow with the support of his left arm) but it’s so stiff and heavy that he’s better off not forcing it.

The sling is only bound around his hand, and not his whole forearm or wrist. If you think about it, a sling that supports at the hand still needs muscle support from the bicep (to keep the forearm “afloat”, if you will) - which he is clearly able to do. Otherwise, his “deadweight” would cause his wrist to bend, causing more discomfort in his hand - this is where he would benefit from a sling wrapped around his whole forearm.

The reason he prefers the sling (rather than have his arm hang at his side) is because the position prevents less numbing in his forearm and hand. If he just “deadweighted” his right arm everyday, the weight would only add pressure to the brachial plexus, causing even more numbness - his shoulder would get tired faster and would probably slouch to the right as well.

In the sling, he is better able to support the weight of his arm (again, keeping the arm “afloat”) - no compression, less numbing, and less stiffness. This also keeps his bicep “engaged” daily. The only time he removes his sling is when he sleeps and he follows a detailed stretching regimen from his doctor.

Now, in relevance to my one-shot…

Let’s just say Anthony is going down a similar path to Matthew’s recovery. Nerve damage has always been fascinating to me, so I’m excited to play around with physical therapy ideas to help Anthony heal. Full disclaimer: he will not be cured 100%. It’s just not my thing. No jabs to anyone who’s gone down this path, it’s just not my cup of tea ✌🏼(this is coming from someone who insists the bullet entered and exited cleanly without hitting bone or organs lol)

I have a feeling this one-shot could turn into something more - I was avoiding having to think of some amazing plot line but now that I think about it, I could easily just have his healing journey be the plot! I’ve already thought up a really cool doctor character too (it’s me, hi, I’m the sham it’s me). It could have really extensive medical chapters with smut in between! I kid, I kid, there’s no way I could write PT scenes without angst anyway lol. I wasn’t actually kidding about the smut though… Anyways, for now it’s just a really long one-shot - we’ll see!

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far! If you have any questions or want to start a conversation please feel free to reblog/repost/ask/DM me (or whatever it is you kids do nowadays)❤️ hope to see you on FF!

#andith #Anthony Strallan #headcanon #I’m not a doctor #just a nerd #lieyle writes

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scarlettjade420 · 7 months ago

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Pt. 3

to read Pt. 2 go here ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The homework he assigned” “WAIT, there was homework??? We just started school two days ago!” “yeah..he just assigned it 10 minutes ago?” I exclaimed with a small laugh. “Huh, i wasn’t paying attention-” i said as his attention and gaze got distracted by something shiny across the room. Yeah, I can tell “ I giggled again.

“Go grab a paper copy of it off from that shelf up there, I'll help you, it’s easy.”

Sitting on my sibling’s bed, my back against their wall, I continue telling them about my day again while they draw, as we had been doing all week. “And then he’s like, “wait, there was homework?” and i’m like, yeha, he just assigned it like not even 10 minutes ago. So I helped him for the rest of class. Witch was a little strange trying to help him because it’s still just one of those “get to know you papers. But he was funny and nice too, so it was fine," I explained with giggles and a smile. ‘soooo , tell me. Was he cute~?” My sibling teased.

“Oh my god, KAI!” I playfully pushed them in retaliation for their teasing.

“What! It was just a question!” they continued with a smile, followed by a few giggles.

“I barely know him!”

“and? That doesn’t change anything, you can still think he’s cute.” “kaii! “ I say with teasing and light hearted annoyance. We giggle and continue talking about each other's days. That is, until mom comes in.

“Linda, could you go do laundry, i’ve asked you a- oh look, the too deadbeats in a room. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. “Two dead beats walked into a bar, and they were refused service because they were both useless freaks.” “If you're gonna use insults, at least get original. You use the same child-ish insults over and over again. Aren’t you a bit old? I thought you would have grown up and out of that, like, 35 years ago?” I say with a heavy amount of sass and sarcasm. I wanted to keep her attention on me and away from Kai, she’s already done enough. I watch kai get visibly upset and tense when hearing her dead name. “Oh you little piece of crap, you better watch your mouth mister!” “You better watch your mouth '' I say, mockingly. She marches toward me, stomping like a toddler. I can’t say I was surprised when I felt her hand wack across my cheek, leaving a stinging feeling. Ofcouse she wore rings today.

“You’re going to be toing double the amount of chores this week!” she yells as she walks out the room. “I already do that!!” I shout back.

As soon as she’s left, I turn my attention back to kai, who has the most uneasy and worried expression. But at least I know they're safe. I pull them into a big tight hug and we sit there that way for a little while.

The following day, I'm in my biology class. I'm sitting at my seat just doing some homework while I have some free time, when someone comes up to me again today. The same boy from history yesterday. “Hey! I didn’t know you were in my biology.” “Yeah, I guess I am.” “Soo, whatcha doin?” he said, just as he had the day before, and in the same way, dragging out a few of his words. “Homework for other classes” I state simply, watching as he pulls out a chair in front of my desk and sitting backwards on it to face me. “Really? You’re using your free time to do homework?” I nod in response as I answer another question on my paper. “Why?” “So i don’t have to do it at home and can have more free time.” “Nerd.” “Dork.” “So, what do you do in your free time?” he asks, placing his head on his hand on the desk as if saying ‘see i’m an innocent fella.’ “I shrug, hang out with my sibling usually, I guess.” “You’re sibling?” “mhm” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ thx for reading! please let me know if you have any sugestions or constructive criticism or name ideas!^^

#art #artists on tumblr #art tag #writers and poets #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing

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rozcdust · 3 years ago

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She’s so mean

Pairing: Kokonoi Hajime x f!reader

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 800ish

Warnings: Canon divergent, profanity, suggestive, ooc, violence, substance abuse, jokes about suicide, the reader is tired and a bitch

Synopsis: Koko thinks she’s the best thing ever. She wants to put a boot through his teeth.

pt. 1 | previous | pt. 6 | next

“She’s so pretty.” Kokonoi sighed longingly, a bit tipsy at this point, staring at you as you tried to wake up Rindou. It was almost 5 a.m., the bar cleared out for the most part, only a few people still ordering.

“She literally looks like she wants to stab you.” Ran smirked, sipping his drink.

“So pretty.”

“Mhm.” Kakucho mumbled, now awake but still obviously not sober.

“I still want her to step on me.” Sanzu was sipping on orange juice you handed him a few minutes ago, sounding like a whiny toddler.

“Hey, y/n,” Ayumi came up to you, gently patting your shoulder, “can you close? My mum just called, our kid has a fever.”

“Yea, sur- Wait, what?” You stopped lightly tapping Rindou’s cheek to look up at her.

“I know it’s really rushed, but he won’t stop crying for me and Kazuo. You don’t have to do anything besides put things together in the bar. Please?” She pleaded, sounding apologetic.

Sighing, you nodded, letting her give you a quick hug as you return your attention to Rindou.

Ran also nodded his approval at Ayumi and Kazuo, bidding them farewell.

Koko watched as you finally gave up on trying to be gentle, your taps turning into a light smack.

“What the fu-“ Rindou jolted, eyes wide as he saw you stand up, now towering over him, “H-hey.”

“Hello.” Raising an eyebrow, your face was full of disdain.

“Oh my God it’s you can you dothatagainmommy-“ Rindou blurted out, dumbly, turning a deep shade of red when he heard what came out of his mouth.

Kokonoi wanted to smack him.

“That is my line!” Sanzu yelled, making Kakucho flinch.

“Don’t be so loud Haru.” He whispered, his face in his hands.

“Hey! May I get some service around here?!” A loud voice boomed from the other side of the bar top, turning everyone’s attention to the man impatiently waiting.

You picked up Rindou bridal style, making him squeal in surprise as he grabbed onto you.

“I am the only bartender, and am helping someone right now. Wait a few more moments.”

Ignoring the man’s glare, you made your way around the bar, dropping Rindou on the chair next to Sanzu.

“Sit! Good boy.” Patting Rindou’s head, you turned to go back behind the bar.

The man was losing his patience.

“Bitch, fucking serve me! I’ve been waiting here for 5 minutes already!”

Kokonoi glared at the man, gritting his teeth.

Ran looked amused.

Now standing behind the bar again, you crossed your arms.

“Who the fuck do you think you are to speak to me like that?”

“You’ve been nothing but a useless bitch, touching that guy and not doing your fucking job! Get me a drink, woman.”

“Don’t. Fucking. Talk. To. Me. Like. That.”

“You whore, what’s your fucking name? I know the owner, he’ll hear all about this!”

“Oh really? I’ve never met you before.” Ran gave him a closed eyes smile as he rested his face against his palm.

The man’s face turned a deathly colour when his eyes turned to the opposite corner of the bar, making Kokonoi snicker.

You may not have known who they were, but he certainly did.

“Mr. Haitani, I-“

“Don’t speak to my staff like that.” Ran opened his eyes, smile disappearing from his face.

The man gulped.

“Scram.” Snapping his fingers, Ran pointed towards the door. The man bowed shortly before doing so.

“Asshole.” Kokonoi muttered.

“Yep.” You agreed with him. and his heart fluttered slightly.

He wanted to smack himself. This is the first time you ever spoke to him without sounding like you want to bash his face in, and he’s already whipped? Pathetic.

The bar being mostly empty except for a few people, you leaned against the counter to take a quick break before cleaning everything up.

As you put a cigarette between your lips, you looked at Ran, raising an eyebrow.

Ran nodded, swiping his hand in a ‘go ahead’ motion.

“Need a light?” Koko asked, shocked when actually you leaned down over the bar towards him, letting him light up your cigarette.

“It’s still bad for you.” He tried to joke, tone sheepish.

“Fuck off.” Blowing the smoke in his face, you smirked when his nose scrunched.

If he was standing, he was certain his knees would have buckled.

Why were you so hot and why was he so weak? He’ll never know.

Meanwhile, Sanzu and Rindou stared at you like you were God.

Kokonoi wanted to punch them, but abstained from doing so when Ran shot him a knowing look.

“Oh, boss?”

“Yes, y/n?”

“Broke a guy’s wrist today, that a problem?”

Ran smirked, leaning on the bar top.

“Not at all, darling.”

Taglist (open):

@1818cigarettes @babu-haitani @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @lagrimasdeglitter @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @hana-patata @uchioni @crybabylisa @spookydraken @lovelybimbo @rorobaijifuyu @yukihime-mikeys-girl @toobsessedsstuff @sammcaav222 @emilywaters @agoddess-inashell @levistiddies @t04dxm @qualitygiantshoepsychic @chilledraft @bontensbabygirl @brokencoinlocker @somniari-94 @yujibhabie @inumaki-s-onigiri @wakasagurl @sup-zfam @nqctre

a/n: taking requests for ran fic if you guys have any ideas! 🤧 and btw! if anyone is ever uncomfortable by the pet names which i use a lot, please let me know and i’ll make sure to stop calling you those! 💕

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #kokonoi hajime x reader #kokonoi hajime x y/n #bonten #kakucho hitto #kokonoi hajime #manjiro sano #ran haitani #rindou haitani #sanzu haruchiyo #akashi haruchiyo

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mae-gi-writes · 3 years ago

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Once Again (PT.4) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART FOUR

Summary

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

----

"Miss Y/N, is daddy okay?" Hoisuke peers up at you from the backseat as you pull up to your apartment unit. You glance at him through the rearview mirror and smile, "don't worry, he's fine. He's just going to be slightly late."

Iwaizumi had called you earlier that day, sounding breathless and stressed out as he iterated how slow traffic was moving. On impulse, you'd proposed to bring Hoisuke over to your house to make things more comfortable and after a slight bout of hesitation, he'd agreed to pick his son up in the comfort of your home.

"This is the first time I come to your place, miss Y/N," Hoisuke's eyes are darting back and forth across the tiny kitchenette to your right to the small tv screen plugged to the wall on the left. Granted, your flat is merely anything special and far from ready for unexpected guests. But the sharp curiosity gleaming in your student's eyes holds no judgement and for that you apprrciate him all the more.

"You hungry?" You ask while settling him down at your tiny dinner table compact enough to fit snuggly up to your kitchen counter.

Hoisuke purses his lips in thought and you swear he's learnt this facial expression from observing his father, "hm yeah. A little bit," before throwing you a sheepish grin.

So you whip up something simple; omelette rice with your special Korean chilli sauce as a sudden downpour splatters through the cityscape, the rain dancing to its own rhythm as it splatters over your windowpane. The TV plays in the background, a random cartoon that gets interrupted with Hoisuke's giggles and that ignites an affectionate smile on your lips as you chide himto eat. And you're not really sure why your chest feels tight and filled to the brim with comfort, but you realise you don't actually mind having the small human around that much.

Teachers aren't supposed to have favourites. But you admit to yourself that teachers are only human. And if you are to choose, Hoisuke would be one of yours.

"Miss Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?" Hoisuke's voice pierces through your thoughts and as you blink down at him, you shake your head, "no, I'm single as a pringle."

"You are not married then."

"No I'm not."

"Great!" Hoisuke jumps up on his seat, eyes twinkling with mischief, "then do you want to marry daddy?"

"What?" You laugh out, "it doesn't work that way Hoisuke."

"But I like you miss Y/N," he replies with the seriousness of a child wanting his way, "You'd be a great mum. Can you be my mum?"

"Oh gosh kiddo," your hand reachea out to ruffle his hair, heart twisting at how easily he leans into your touch, "I'd love to be your mum, but--"

"Then marry my dad," Hoisuke's mumble is muffled against your side. He unconsciously snuggles up to you and you caress the top of his head down to his nape, "daddy likes you too. He really likes you. You make him happy. He laughs a lot when you're around, and he doesn't get sad like he usually does when Mama is here."

"But that would be unfair to your mum wouldn't it?" You say softly, "you can't have two mums. She'll be upset."

There's a slight pause where you can see the cogs turning in his brain, "yeah," he says eventually, "but I don't really like going to Mama's anyway--"

The sound of your doorbell jolts you both to attention. You give Hoisuke's head one more ruffle before getting up to unlock the door.

Only to come face to face with none other than Hoisuke's mother.

You blink. Once. Twice. Unconsciously taking a step back.

She's pretty. Prettier up close, with those feline cat eyes and that full mouth that renders any man crazy. Standing a few inches higher than you, there is no doubt as to why Iwaizumi had fallen for her charms in the first place. She looks like the kind of woman that would still be elegant even dressed in a mechanician's uniform.

"H-Hello," your eyes dart from hers to a blank spot on the wall opposite, "can I help?"

"Where's Hoisuke?" Her voice is smooth, yet hard enough to make you wince.

"I--" your mind races. Isn't Iwaizumi supposed to pick him up? And how the hell does she know where you live?

She seems to read your face as she says, "I saw you with my son leaving the school. You're his...teacher, aren't you? I was waiting to pick him up."

"I thought Iwaizumi-san--"

"I don't need a reason to see my son," she arches her brows at you in a way that makes you want to crawl under a carpet and hide.

"Mama?" Hoisuke's voice floats from behind you, a tentative waver of nervousness as you hear him pad up to the door.

"Does Iwaizumi-san know you're picking him up?" You hope your tone is diplomatic, but the way her body tenses proves you otherwise, "You can tell him Hoisuke's with his mother," she nods at her child, "now come on Hoisuke. Let's go home."

Maybe feeling the tension in the air, Hoisuke merely shrinks back, "but it's Daddy that picks me up."

"Yes well, Daddy's not here now is he?" She gestures aggressively towards him, "now come on."

"Maybe we should wait until Iwaizumi-san gets here," you try to smooth things over, "he's on his way--"

"Don't tell me what to do with my child," Mizune snaps and without warning, grabbing hold of Hoisuke's arm before pulling him out of the flat. He resists.

"Mama no, let's wait for Daddy--"

"Daddy isn't coming. Now stop being so difficult," she doesn't relent against the way her son twists and kicks at the ground while you stand there, mind blind with panic because you've never actually had to deal with such a situation before.

"Mama please!" Hoisuke cries out with a sob.

You want to move. You urge yourself to. But your feet won't budge. It's like you're rooted in place.

Hoisuke has started crying at this point and in an attempt to smoothen things out, you try again by saying, "I'm sure we can all calm down and talk this out. As a teacher, I cannot--"

"That's right," Mizune's feline pupils narrow down on you, making you flinch at the rage simmering through those dark orbs, "you're his teacher. And as a teacher, you should know how to keep your boundaries. You're not his mother and you never will be. So fucking stay out of my family's life."

The words burn as they etch themselves into memory and you can only watch, hand clutched to the door as Mizune drags her crying son away. His cries are loud enough that they bounce throughout the corridor and keeps resonating even when he's long gone, as you try to comb through the last fifteen minutes where everything has turned upside down.

Fucking stay out of my family's life.

Your brain reels. Your heart feels heavy. You don't know what to do, what to say.

And Mizune's words are as sharp as a knife.

Don't tell me what to do with my child.

A sob slowly catches the back of your throat, eyes slowly brimming with an onset of tears.

You're not his mother.

The truth hurts. You know that Hoisuke is not your child, know that all this time it's merely Iwaizumi and his son, and then you watching on the sidelines. But hearing the cold rejection thrust in your face hurts more than you'll admit.

You aren't quite sure how long you stand there gazing into the empty corridor as if if you will it hard enough, Hoisuke will come running back to you. It is only when a familiar alto reaches your ears that you snap back to attention:

"Y/N?"

Jerking at the sound and looking up to see none other than Iwaizumi, drenched and breathless, standing a few feet away from you, your breath hitches in warning.

He closes the distance between you, frowning upon noticing the tears at the corner or your eyes, "what's wrong? Where is Hoisuke--"

"I'm..." your eyes drop to the ground, "I'm sorry," your whimper is barely above a whisper and you feel him move closee, his hand gently grasping your arm.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle, though ragged and breathy, "what happened?"

It's probably the gentlest he's ever been with you. Turning away to cup your mouth with your hand, your teeth clamp down onto your lower lip in hopes of keeping the emotion from spilling over.

"Mizune came," you murmur out, "she took Hoisuke home."

There's a sharp intake of breath on his part. A pause, "how did--"

"She followed us."

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh as he moves towards you and you stagger back to hide your tears, but it proves useless when his hand grasps your arm to pull your hand away.

Deep brown mocha meet yours. Your throat tightens.

"Sorry," you breathe out a forced chuckle but it's clear from Iwaizumi's face that he's spotted your tears, and that he just knows that there is something bothering you.

But he doesn't ask. Doesn't question your intent or your feelings.

Instead, he pulls you close, close enough you're stumbling into him, before his hand wounds around the back of your head and presses you against his shoulder.

It shocks you, the sudden intimacy of his touch. His citrus smell once again invades your space and you can't find it in yourself to keep on holding on before you break down.

Maybe it's because you had felt-- at this point in time -- that you were someone significant in Hoisuke and Iwaizumi's life that you're not crying into Iwaizumi's shoulder as if everything is going downhill in your life. But you're comforted by the casual way he holds you with his head turned away so that you can bury yourself in the crook of his collarbone.

"Sorry," you manage to mumble out after you've managed to calm down. He's moved you back into your flat and has sat you down onto your kitchen chair, having rummaged through your utensils to bring you a cup of water that you sip on gratefully, if only to act as a distraction from the way he's gazing at you.

Iwaizumi shakes his head silently, looks away and clears his throat, "I'm gonna call her. You good?"

You nod and after searching your face for a few more seconds, he slides out of his seat and walks away with the device already presses to his ear. Bowing your head and gulping down the rest of the water, you manage to block out his angry alto resonating through the compact space as you focus on regaining control of yourself. You rarely fall to pieces like that, rarely give in to the downward pull of your emotions because the nature of your job obliges you to.

"Y/N."

You jump involuntarily and look up to see the said man sporting a frown, "is Hoisuke okay?" You ask.

"He's fine," a sigh escapes his lips as he slides back into the chair as if there's a weight pressing down onto his shoulders, "I'll pick him up tomorrow after school."

You nod. Good, the last thing you need is for Hoisuke to be disrupted by problems that don't concern him.

When he speaks next though, his alto is hoarse and thick, "I'm sorry Y/N. You don't deserve to get in the middle of all this."

"It's okay."

His eyes pierce yours with burning hot intensity, causing your gaze to drop to your fists laying across the table, knuckles so tight they're turning white.

A bout of silence ensues, lest for the pounding in your heart while your thoughts take on a tumultous turn for the worse. What if Mizune is angry? What if she stops Hoisuke from coming to school altogether? What if she makes her child move just for the sake of keeping him away from his teacher who can't seem to keep her nose out of anyone's business? What if--

Warmth floods your hands so suddenly that it interrupts your train of thought. Head jerking up in surprise to see Iwaizumi's hands clasp yours, your blood suddenly pulses through your limbs upon feeling his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles.

Iwaizumi is not a man of words. That much you know, but this evening has been full of surprises for you both. So you force yourself to relax, almost enjoying the gentlest of his touches fluttering across your skin.

"How," your words are choked, "how angry is she?"

"That doesn't matter."

"But what if--"

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," he replies firmly, followed by a gentle squeeze, "whatever you have cooking in that head of yours, stop."

Nodding and sighing in defeat, you lapse into a more comfortable silence as the time dwindles on. It's different to have someone else occupying your flat, considering that you've gotten so used to living along after your horrible breakup. A good kind of different.

When you bid him goodbye that evening -- granted you shall wake up with dark circles and puffy eyes the next day -- he suprises you with another casual, one-armed hug which signifies so much more for the usually reserved man, Hoisuke's bag hanging loosely from the other. He holds you close, his grip strong and secure and making you wish you can melt in a puddle of warmth at his feet, while his cheek pillows atop your temple against the side of your head. You lean in, cozy and warm, while his heart beats underneath your ear like a gentle drum easing you of today's worries and you wish you have the willpower to keep yourself away, in vain.

He pulls away slightly, mutters a soft "night" before a ghost of a kiss imprints itself on your temple.

Your breath hitches but the moment is gone all too son. He's already swivelling around and making his way down the corridor, leaving you to stare after him with a wild, raging heart.

You know, without a doubt, that you're already a little too skin-deep.

----

Iwaizumi is furious. Filled to the brim with a rage that's threatening to bubble over his insides.

He'd gone round to fetch Hoisuke in the morning as promised, just managing to keep himself from knocking his ex-wife's double mahogany doors down only to be greeted by that stupid bastard who'd stolen his wife away.

Todoka had always roamed within the same circle of friends as Iwaizumi and Mixune, having met under the same dormitory roof and sharing common sports interests. So imagine how big of a slap it was to hear that he'd been the one stealing kisses and sharing soft subtle touches with his wife behind his back.

"I could've driven him if only you'd let me," Mizune had told him as they waited for Hoisuke to finish brushing his teeth. is ex-wife's familiar soprano made him tense. Her face was a cold mask of indifference that covered up her silent anger. She'd folded her arms, chin jutted out and lips pursed, "he's my son too, you know."

"Was he still your son when you went and fucked Todoka?"

She'd sighed. As if dealing with the tantrum of a child, "Why are you bringing this up again?"

"Because you never put him first. Not when he threw his tantrums, not when he cried for you. Not even when he was sick," Iwaizumi spat out, the words tasting bitter upon his tongue.

"I had issues Hajime, you know that--"

"Like what? Like we weren't good enough for you? Like I wasn't pulling myself apart while you were out for nights on end?" Iwaizumi would've continued with an onslaught of pent-up statements if his son hadn't spoken out:

"Daddy?"

"Hey bud," Iwaizumi's anger had deflated like a hot air balloon, "you ready to go?"

And so he packed his son up in the car, his ex-wife watching his every move, and just after he'd closed his vehicle door did Mizune mention something about you.

"Do you like her?"

He'd bristled, "none of your business."

"Hoisuke is my son," Mizune's eyes had hardened into steel, "I don't need anyone else filling up his head with stupid ideas, nor do I want him to get hurt--"

"Like you did?" The words were fire burning upon his tongue. His shoulders were squared as he faced her fully, "stop beating around the bush, Mizune. We both know you hate the fact that Hoisuke loves spending time with Y/N."

"That's not it, I--"

"Y/N has spent more time with Hoisuke in a week than you did in a month. She's wiped his tears more timesthat you've seen him cry," he swivels towards his car then, "are we done?"

"You're acting like a child."

"I'm not the one picking a fight because of some petty jealousy," Iwaizumi had snapped.

"I'm not jealous!" Mizune burst out, her patience finally wearing thin, "I'm trying to look out for him, for you! She's not right for you--"

"Don't. Talk about her like that,” Anger had flared at how dismissively she spoke of you, visible as his knuckles tightened and a vein throbbed in his forehead, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck out of my life."

He'd driven off without looking back, knowing full well he'd shocked her into silence and if he were to be honest with himself, that outburst had eased some of the knots in his stomach. Dealing with Hoisuke's anxiety after witnessing yet another argument though, that was something else.

"Daddy, I don't understand why you and Mama fight so much," Hoisuke finally finds his voice when they stop inside the school gtounds. His small chubby hand, fitting into Iwaizumi's large one, cling to him with more force than necessary as they make their way to his respective class.

"Your mama and I...have different opinions on things," Iwaizumi tries to explain, suddenly guilty that his son has to pick up all the broken pieces. Impulsively, he ruffles Hoisuke's locks, "don't worry."

And that's when his son stops in mid-walk, looks him dead in the eye, and tells him, "Mama doesn't like miss Y/N, does she?"

It's a different kind of slap, but he shouldn't have understimated the little five year old. Children know much more than they let on snd here's the proof of it.

Iwaizumi allows both his hands to clasp Hoisuke's shoulders and bends down until they are face to face, "hey," dark mocha meets lighter caramel tinged with a fear of a child desperate for a family that all his friends can take for granted, "that doesn't matter. Do you like miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke nods, eyes wet.

Iwaizumi's heart swells and he swears he doesn't ever want to see that expression on his son's face, not if he can help it.

"Then it doesn’t matter what your Mom tells you," he squeezes the child's shoulder for good measure, "no one can boss you around and tell you that you're not allowed to like who you like," he brushes a few hairs off Hoisuke's forehead, "not me, not even your mom. Got that?"

“Will we be able to invite miss Y/N again?” Hoisuke asks with a trembling bottom lip.

“If you want to.”

“Do you want to, daddy?”

That question takes him by surprise, the familiar guilt lurching through his stomach as he tries to comb through an excuse to hide his growing feelings.

Except, why does he have to hide in the first place?

It takes a moment, before Iwaizumi nods, “yeah,” he murmurs gently with the softest of smiles, “I want to.”

Hoisuke nods once more, which is shortly followed by lurching into Iwaizumi's arms as a sob echoes from his throat. His father holds him close, glad that the earlier tension from Hoisuke's has dissipated into relief for now.

What he doesn’t know though, is that you stand just a few feet away, body tucked into the corner of the wall and holding up your racing heart against your chest.

------

The more you spend more time with the Iwaizumis, the more your heart gets invested in the coaxing warmth that makes up their family. You try to dismiss what you've overheard back in the school corridor but it's an itch you can't quite erase now that you've been exposed to Iwaizumi's feelings, which does nothing to stop the way your heart skips a beat whenever his gaze lingers upon yours for too long.

And you've taken notice. Or you think you do. Of how he sounds more gentle whenever he talks to you, how whenever you play hands they drift towards each other for a few extra seconds that causes your skin to tingle with warmth. How it is so goddamn easy to fall into this familiar routine of playing families with Hoisuke around like a human sunshine.

But there's still one thing nagging you. Which is why you corner him once you have tucked Hoisuke into bed on Saturday night, seeking him out on the small terrace tucked beside his kitchen that overlooks the glowing city lights.

"Can I ask you something?"

His gaze flits to yours. He nods.

Swallowing back the sudden knot of anxiety in your throat, your question comes out more like a soft proposition rather than a demand fot answers.

"I know it's none of my business, but-- I overheard you and Hoisuke a few days ago in the school corridor," your words are rushed and quick as you fold your arms over your chest, "did you and Mizune have a fight...about me?"

Iwaizumi shifts in your peripheral to face you, but your eyes adamantly find purchase onto the cement ledge splattered with dirt. For a split second, you wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to keep your mouth shut.

"What did you hear?" He asks quietly.

With a slow breath, you tell him what you've heard, underlining that this whole encounter was an accident.

"And from the way she acted when she saw me...well, it's not hard to put two and two together," you finish off in a mumble, then quickly adding, "look I--I don't want to come in-between you and your family. I just don't want Hoisuke to get hurt."

Surprise flits through his features. He regards you for a long moment, long enough that you feel like squirming underneath his gaze.

Then, taking you by surprise, he chuckles softly and shifts his elbows onto the edge of the terrace, "No wonder he likes you."

You blink at him. It suddenly feels a little too warm.

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," you wonder since when have the formalities dropped from Miss Y/N to just Y/N and decide that you like the way your name rolls off his tongue, "Mizune gets jealous over stupid shit and if she can't see someone else making her son happy then that's not our problem."

Your teeth unconsciously find purchase onto your lower lip, which he notices. That doesn't stop him from reaching over to press his thumb against your lower lip, "don't."

You freeze at the touch. His thumb is warm against your mouth, calloused and sending a series of tingles down your spine.

He must realize the intimacy of his touch, for he drops his hand away and mutters, "he's...livelier. when you're around. Happier, even. I've never seen him like that with his Mama."

"What about you?"

You feel like slapping yourself. The audacity coming out of your mouth surprises you and you swear your cheeks burst into flames.

Iwaizumi looks at you almost at the same time your pupils focus on his, causing your breath to hitch.

Why the hell can't you just keep your mouth shut?

Iwaizumi's voice is merely a murmur when he speaks next, deep and laced with a roughness.

"What about me?"

Your brain seems to turn to mush, "do you like having me around?" You hope you don't sound too pathetic.

Your heart almost stops at his next set of words.

"I do."

And there's that smile, barely there but enough that your own lips stretch to mirror his action. Until you realize you are smiling at him like a fool and quickly look away like you've just been burnt.

Something shifts in the air between you, spurred on by the way your eyes keep searching each other's with a growing tension that makes your skin rattle. Iwaizumi's frown is present, yet not unpleasant and you're not quite sure who moves, just that he's suddenly a little closer. Close enough you get a whiff of the citrus smell you've come to recognize as his own.

"Miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke's voice suddenly snaps you out of your daze. Quickly whipping around to see the said boy rubbing his eyes, a hand unconscioudly scratching his tummy, your entire countenance softens as he blinks up at you sleepily.

"I can't sleep," he mumbles out with sleep still in his eyes, "can you come back to bed with me?"

"Yeah sure," you're already on your way over to him, scooping the child up in your arms. He takes this chance to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contently.

You turn back to his father, a dark silhouette against the bright landscape, "I'll be right back."

But Hoisuke surprises you by saying, "you too, Daddy."

Iwaizumi stills, "what?"

"Come to bed too, Daddy."

For one single moment, it's like time stops. You can't see Iwaizumi's face but a moment later he straightens and walks over, nodding at you when he's close enough. You don't realize your heart is besting like a hummingbird until you hear it throbbing through your chest as you try squeezing into Hoisuke's bed, you in the corner and his father barely hanging onto the edge, Hoisuke squished in-between.

It's like an instinct for the boy to latch onto your shirt. He turns to burrow himself into the curve you've made with your body, facing Iwaizumi who is half-sitting, half-lying down in an angle that surely isn't comfortable.

So you decide to point it out to him, patting the bed for good measure in hopes that he doesn't notice the warm flush of your neck.

"It's okay," your whisper tickles Hoisuke's hair, "it's only until he falls asleep."

He hesitates, before you see his head nod and he slides his body a little closer, chest curving into Hoisuke's back and close enough for you to get bathed in his warmth.

He smells good. He looks good. God. Why does he look so damn good?

Stop! You squeeze your eyes shut aa if that might help your racing thoughts, and you are so caught up in your own head that you almost miss the gentle brush of Iwaizumi's fingers against your shoulder.

You tense up right before realizing that his action is intentional. Your shoulders slowly relax, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as he takes the chance to linger over your arm a little longer, before falling away onto the mattress.

You fall asleep that night listening to not just Hoisuke's, but Iwaizumi's heartbeat.

----

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png, @bakugouswh0r3, @yatoatyourservice, @ayocee, @marvel-ing-at-it-all, @astrolcve, @lilith412426, @elianetsantana, @schleepyflocci, @oohlalie , @kaashikoi , @tendo-sxtori , @iwaroses , @its-the-aerieljeane , @lalalemon101 , @lanaxians-2 , @dora-the-grownup , @sharin-gone , @nekomavsnohebi , @crayonwriting , @imafan , @random-fandom-girl-24 , @bucinhajime , @izumikunmy , @iwaoioioi , @evesmores , @meri-soni-meri-tamanna , @paintedstarres , @okadaxo , @michaki , @archiepudding , @ysatrap , @cringe-freak , @thatprettybunny

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pan-ick · 3 years ago

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Golden Child Pt. 1

I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader. Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.

(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)

As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.

This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?

They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.

Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.

Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...

He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.

But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?

One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.

Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.

Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.

Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.

Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.

At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.

Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.

If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.

And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.

The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.

"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."

And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.

After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.

During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.

Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.

Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.

After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.

"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"

"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"

"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.

Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.

"So, are they working?"

The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.

Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.

(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)

#sbi family dynamic #sbi x reader #slight angst #gn reader #gender neutral y/n

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

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Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader) Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood/violence and language Genre: Action with a lil bit of fluff Warnings: Lil bit of blood Notes: There's an unnamed character in here who may or may not end up as recurring in my stories. I don't really have anything in particular planned for her, she's kinda just here to fill a role/allow for some easter egg type shit in the next chapter. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1, Pt. 2

{Wounded Love 3: Bloody Valentine (No, not that Valentine)}

“Mother Miranda, I must insist, if these lycans stray any further they might start feasting on the village as well! Pray tell, who will you use for research then? We can’t just-... Forgive me… Mhmm. Yes, I understand. Of course… Have a good night, Mother Miranda,” Lady Dimitrescu said, before setting her phone down with a loud thunk. Her hands shake a little, and for a moment you worry that her vanity won’t survive the coming moments. Then you make eye contact with her reflection, giving her an encouraging smile, watching as her gaze softens. “I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do, my dear. I cannot allow Heisenberg’s negligence to go unpunished, but we will have to take care of it on our own, without Mother Miranda’s support.”

“Is that wise, love? To go behind her back like this? I can’t imagine she’ll be terribly pleased if we cause chaos for one of her favored few,” you replied, clicking your tongue as you thought things over. Again you see anger cloud Alcina’s face, though she makes sure not to direct it at you.

“We are not the ones who started this mess,” she reminded you, through clenched teeth. “But we will be the ones to end it, one way or another. I don’t care if I have to gut that wretched man-thing and bring Miranda his corpse as proof of his incompetence! He has shown his lack of loyalty hundreds of times… and now he will pay.” Gulping, you rise to your feet, wanting to comfort your girlfriend. While you had understood that your injury angered her, you hadn’t (until this moment) realized the sheer intensity of that rage. How much blood would be shed before this was over?...

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

Crimson drips down the beast’s side, across matted fur, before hitting the wooden floor. A stench as awful as you had ever found filled the air, only made tolerable by the nearby presence of scented candles. What a mess, you think, glad that you wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. Why had the girls insisted on bringing the damn thing inside? Couldn’t they have simply snatched a few teeth from its jaw as a prize? Somehow you doubted that the thought had even crossed their minds. Violence was a passion of theirs, and they preferred their trophies to be as large as the effort they put into getting it.

“How close to the path did you find it?” You asked after finishing your examination of the lycan. Next to you, the eldest daughter is rapidly taking notes in a leather-bound journal. Both of her siblings stand near the fireplace, hands held out next to the flames, needing to warm up after being outside for so long. It wasn’t even that cold of a day, with temperatures averaging around eighteen degrees celsius. All the snowfall from the prior week had now melted. While you knew of the family’s weakness, you also knew that they had bundled up before leaving, and had even taken a torch with them in the hopes of using it on a lycan. Their powers had taken somewhat of a hit, temporarily, but not nearly enough to prevent them from killing a single lycan.

“Heard it howling almost as soon as we left the castle. We couldn’t smell it until halfway to the village, though. Once we could we tried to track it, only for the stupid thing to come charging at us. Must have been eight, maybe ten, meters away by the time we collided,” Cassandra answered. There’s a bit of a shiver to her voice, and you can’t help the rush of sympathy you feel in response. Being out on the path, wearing little more than a dress and scarf, had been absolute hell for you. Even if it was warmer outside now, you imagined that being weak to the cold just about made up for the difference. “There was a little more howling once we started walking back here. Louder, if not closer. Heisenbitch isn’t even trying to keep these fucking things in check.”

“Cassandra, language!” Came a voice in the distance, making everyone present look up at once. Strutting down the stairs was a clearly miffed Alcina, eyes narrowed, body tense. “Did you three really have to bring the mutt inside? Surely you advocated against this, Bela? Or did you think I wanted new bloodstains right by the entrance, where everyone can see them?” Next to you Bela winces, but doesn’t respond, too worried about angering her mother further. “And you, my dear, what on Earth are you doing on the floor? You should be resting, in an actual chair, if not lying in bed awaiting my return. There’s enough for me to worry about without you limping around on a useless leg!”

Now it was your turn to wince.

“Please, love, I know you’re stressed, but I can still help. Given enough time I could help ascertain these things’ weaknesses. At the very least I could pass on what I learned during my fight with one,” you pleaded. Then you tried to stand up, wanting to prove yourself, only to stumble, barely avoiding a faceplant- and only doing so because of Bela’s quick reaction time. She helped you to your feet, letting you lean on her, then lead you towards a bench. Begrudgingly you sit back down. “You’re only doing this because I got hurt. Helping you in your endeavor to avenge me is the least I can do.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Alcina snapped, now just a couple meters away from you. Even with that space between you, her presence was intimidating, and you almost felt like a child being scolded. “Were you to get hurt again, how would we avenge you? If you fall by your own hand, there will be naught I can do other than lock you away somewhere without any dangerous elements. What sort of existence would that be for you? I simply can’t allow it, no exceptions.” At this you pout, feeling rather disappointed. It’s not as if you were asking to carry a gun and shoot Heisenberg yourself! Not that you would be opposed to doing so, of course. “Try to put yourself in my place, my dear. Could you live with yourself if you failed to protect me?”

“I suppose I could not, love. Very well, I shall simply root you on from here, and kiss away any injuries you return with,” you replied, at last giving in. Then you found yourself smiling… and on the receiving end of a very soft forehead kiss. “Nothing will separate us, my love. None can tear apart that which the universe has stitched together.”

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

“Like I said, my Lady, I already want him dead. Did you really think that your family was the only one to suffer because of his machinations? I know half a dozen people who would love to put a bullet in that fucker’s skull, bare mims,” the huntress said, white teeth showing in her half-smirk. There was an odd coolness to her voice, like this whole ordeal was just another job, and you couldn’t help but feel uncertain about her. Could she really be the solution to Alcina’s problem? You couldn’t even judge her arsenal, considering she had been instructed to come unarmed. After all, she was a hunter of monsters, with a sizable history to her name. If not for her hatred of Heisenberg, you would never have felt comfortable letting her come within two hundred meters of your girlfriend.

“How can I be sure that you’ll succeed? The last thing I want is to have that wretched man-thing come crawling out of the filth he lives in, angry and coming for vengeance,” Alcina responded, scrutinizing gaze locked on the huntress.

“Didn’t Duke give you my file? Or at least read the good bits out loud? I’ve been in my fair share of scraps, with all sorts of bioweapon mutant freaks. Besides, I don’t plan on leaving any receipts behind. If he manages to survive, which is already one hell of an if, there’s no way he can prove that you asked me to do it. Considering he’s already seen my face, and knows I want him dead… yeah, he won’t bother accusing you, not when I’m in the picture, and certainly not when you’ve got such a big reputation for following Mother Miranda’s word down to the very last letter. So, you gonna make this official, or what?” The huntress asked, gesturing her arms wide. Although you’re still not convinced, Alcina nods quietly, seeming ready to make her decision. Regardless of how you feel about the stranger in front of you, you’re more than willing to support your girlfriend in whatever she planned.

“Very well, huntress. Show us just what you’re capable of.”

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Flames licked at her heels, even as she charged forward, tickling like hot breaths against her skin. Behind her half a dozen lycans roared and screeched in unison. Smoke and ashes flew upwards, into the air, but could not poison her lungs, not when she had come prepared. Still, the mask was not as easy to breathe in as she had hoped, making her chest heave with effort at each intake of air. Good thing I’ll be gone soon, she thought, sparing a glance behind her as she ran. Dozens of trees were aflame, and countless glowing eyes watched from between the branches. They wouldn’t be there for much longer, not with what she had done.

Soon enough an explosion would shake the Earth. Then, finally, both the lycans who had killed her father and the man who desecrated the remains would be dead. And if a certain countess happened to pay her for her services? All the better, really. Funerals could be expensive, especially in such a remote village. More than that… there was no guarantee that she’d be able to outrun Mother Miranda on her own. A little money would make the flight out a hell of a lot nicer.

Assuming she made it that far. There was another scream behind her, this one more human, though somewhat warped by mechanics. It wasn’t a pained cry. No, it was filled with rage. Clearly Heisenberg had come out of his lair, hearing the fireworks, finding his scrap metal and werewolf army in chaos. From the sound of things- metal against metal, electricity crackling- he was coming her way.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” She muttered, desperately trying to get to higher ground. Even if the lycans succumbed to the overwhelming fire, it wouldn’t be hard for their leader to overcome. But the huntress was still too close to her explosives to risk activating the detonator. Just a bit farther, she thought, ignoring the way her lungs ached. Rocks kicked up with every step, loud enough to be heard from a distance, and made traction harder to keep. In the end she had to scramble to get up the side of a short cliff. A few scrapes appeared on her hands, making her curse under her breath.

But with one last movement, pulling herself up with both arms, she was finally far enough to be relatively safe. In one clean second she turned around, pulled the detonator out of its pouch and clicked the trigger. Just like that, a forest blazing turns into a mushroom cloud of pure hellfire. The setting sun makes for a beautiful backdrop, and the sight almost brings a tear to the huntress’ eyes. For a few moments she just enjoys the view. Then, without hesitation or remorse, she starts to walk away, mentally congratulating herself for a job well done.

Until something shoots past her head with terrifying speed. Before she can react another sharp piece of metal flies past her, grazing her arm, and there’s a blood-curdling roar from behind her. Then she’s running, fast as she can, pulse pounding harder than it ever has. One hand goes to the rifle on her back, pulling it out as quickly as she can. The area is rocky, with plenty of outcrops, perfect to hide behind (assuming there weren’t any hidden metal deposits). Quickly she ducks behind one, crouching to keep her head out of sight. Mere milliseconds later another metal spike slams into the ground just beyond her cover.

In the distance, more screams pierce the air, and something heavy drags itself across the ground. It almost sounds like a tank rolling through the woods. The thought alone worries the huntress, but she had never been one to let her fear control her. So she double checks her rifle, adjusts the scope, and pops out of cover. Less than a second later she has her target in her sights. It’s Heisenberg, for sure, more metal than man, but dripping with red. One press of the trigger sends a bullet straight for his ugly head. Unsurprisingly, it’s not enough to pierce his cranium, instead making him mad as hell.

Which is why automatic guns were invented, probably. The huntress holds the trigger down this time, though briefly, before dashing to the next piece of cover. She repeats the process a few times, hoping to kill the man before he could climb the cliff she stood on. If he managed to get up there with her… no, she couldn’t think about that, not now. She had to focus.

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

Hidden among the trees, the Dimitrescu sisters watched as plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Even though they had been aware of the huntress’ plan, they hadn’t expected this much carnage. It was certainly exciting! But they really couldn’t see much from where they were. Getting closer was probably a horrible idea, and yet Cassandra shared a meaningful look with Daniela. A split second later they were forming a swarm, rushing into the trees, leaving their elder sister to yell after them.

“Mother’s going to kill me,” Bela said, before rolling her eyes and following. Maybe she could at least keep them out of trouble?... Probably not.

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

Metal hands wrap around the huntress’ throat, squeezing hard, but do not twist or otherwise break their prey. No, Heisenberg does not intend to end this that quickly. This rodent had taken so much from him, set his plans back by decades. He was going to kill her slowly. When she still fights back, pulling a knife from her boot and trying to stab whatever she can reach, he does little else but laugh. It’s a crazed cackling that echoes through the surrounding rocky hills.

Just barely loud enough to drown out the sound of insects buzzing.

“Fuck that guy!” Someone shouted, right as a sickle descended upon the monstrous Heisenberg’s neck. The first slice isn’t enough to sever the connection, which is why it’s immediately followed by a second, from another sister, then a third, from the eldest, that finally does the job. Just like that the hands release from the huntress’ throat, and she gasps for air. Coughs leave her distracted as the sisters move to surround her. “Good thing we wanted to see the show up close and personal, eh?” Daniela asked, twirling her sickle with a little giggle.

“You idiots are just lucky I followed you,” Bela added, glaring at her sister. Internally, she was relieved that the end result was a success. Still, she worried about what her mother would think, and certainly didn’t intend to voice her satisfaction at delivering the killing blow. “Now let’s get back, before mother assumes the worst and comes to get us herself.” Sighing, she extends a hand to help the huntress up. Though their mutual enemy had been defeated, there was still much to be done. Who knew how Mother Miranda would react? Who, if anyone, would take Heisenberg’s place? There was plenty to be unsure about, and Bela let her mind wander the whole way back, hoping that things would only get better from here...

#lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #I know the reader didn't have a big part in this #but don't worry next chap will have a bigger part #partially cuz reader's leg will actually be a bit better by then #gotta give time to heal!!!

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