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thenon-fictiondays · 2 years ago

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Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 3-1

Chapter 3: Present.

Part 1

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“Long time, no see…well, not really, huh? Your casual clothes are cool, Hirano-san.”

At the meet-up spot just outside the ticket gate, Kagiura smiles carefreely.

When complimented this straightforwardly, Hirano can’t help but be flustered. His cheeks tinged with red, he replies, “Ah, you too,” raising a hand in greeting.

Their large bags are hard to handle when they’re walking side by side, and they almost collide.

After Hirano had gone home, they had talked on the phone almost every day in order to solidify their plans. Although they just talked for five minutes before lights out, he’s gotten used to hearing Kagiura’s voice over the phone, and his tone is different in person.

Now seeing the soft-spoken Kagiura face to face, Hirano gets the feeling he’s even taller than he remembered, which elicits from him a wry smile.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, yet Kagiura hasn’t even been absent that long.

Summer vacation hasn’t even been going on that long.

When Hirano had brought up going to the countryside to hang out with his kouhai, his mother had looked surprised, and his father had seemed amused.

After he finally received the taken-aback response of “Well, that came out of nowhere. I suppose it’s fine, though”, he’d realized the hypocrisy of him telling Kagiura to get permission from his parents.

And after I’ve been acting like an older brother to Kagi-kun.

He hadn’t shaken off the sheepishness of this blunder, and they made none of the conversation that usually follows after saying hello.

Hirano has two pieces of luggage, a gray Boston bag and a tote bag borrowed from his mother. Inside the tote bag is a hostess gift. The day after they’d discussed his trip, his mother had prepared something that would keep for a long time at room temperature.

When’s the right time to hand it over?

In his day to day life, he’s always playing the role of dorm senpai or disciplinary committee member, but in the grand scheme of things, he’s still only just a high schooler.

Playing in the river, swimming in the ocean, fireworks.

He had imagined how they’d spend time in the countryside, and had diligently researched how to get a ticket for the long-distance bus, but he hadn’t even considered the right way to give his greetings.

The night bus, with four seats to a row, leaves the terminal at 10:30; they expect to arrive at Kagiura’s countryside house at around 9:30 the following morning.

There is no way they won’t get hungry while traveling for roughly half a day.

Which is to say, as soon as they checked where to board the bus, Hirano and Kagiura decided to stock up on snacks at the convenience store.

As the two stand side by side in the blindingly-lit store, all the awkwardness of not seeing each other for a week melts away.

“I wonder if the 500 milliliter bottle of tea will be enough.”

“We’ll be stopping at a rest stop along the way, so we can probably buy more then.”

“Should I get karaage?”

“It’ll have a really strong smell.”

“Yeah, you’re right…what should I get, then…?”

It’d be prudent to get something that won’t spill easily, smell strongly, or make a loud noise when eaten, so they won’t bother the passengers around them.

Once they consider those conditions, their options are narrowed down quite a bit.

“You should get something that’ll keep you full overnight. Like onigiri or something.”

“That might be enough. Ah, I’m gonna get konbu.”

“You’re a fan of konbu, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Being away from school, in addition to being totally caught up in the excitement of the trip, makes the boundaries between senpai and kouhai fade away.

While they test out the various furnishings, each of their appetites subdued by onigiri as soon as they’d boarded the bus, the speakers crackle to life to announce that the interior lights will be shut off.

As they were instructed to do so as not to bother the passengers around them after the bus lights shut off, the reading lights flicker on all around the bus.

Hirano was among those who turned them on for the sheer novelty of it, but he had packed most of his belongings in the Boston bag, so he actually doesn’t have a book on hand.

Not quite ready to settle in yet, he looks to the side, where Kagiura has spread out a blanket and made himself completely at home.

He has turned his sling bag round to the front, as if trying to cradle his valuables. The seats must be cramped for the long-legged Kagiura.

“You’re not sleepy, are you?” His voice fading to a whisper, he adds on, “I kinda want to sleep since we ate all that food”, and his words are illustrated by the drowsy look in his eyes. There’s no helping it. It’s already past 11 o’clock.

Hirano turns off the reading light.

“...Now I’m kinda tired, too.”

Hirano spreads out his blanket, adjusts his footrest and reclining seat, and unfolds the eyemask he’d taken from his bag.

When he glances around the bus, there’s just a few people left who still have their lights on.

Hirano slowly opens his eyes, having become conscious of the tap tap of his arms being lightly poked. The aisleway lights are on, glaringly bright.

At some point the eye mask had slipped upward, and is now hanging on to the top of his head by just a hair.

“Hirano-san, we’re here—at the rest stop, I mean. Let’s go outside.”

The person whispering into his ear while gently touching his arms is Kagiura.

“Oh…Kagi-kun…”

He faintly remembers the schedule. The break at the rest stop is indeed late at night, around 1 a.m. They’d only gotten to sleep for a few hours. Hirano, who is bad with mornings at the best of times, normally wouldn’t be able to get up this early if the world was ending. But he’s been woken up by Kagiura, who is even worse at waking up in the morning, which never happens. He can’t very well just not get up.

Upon rising from his seat as prompted, he quickly realizes that his arms, bared by his short sleeves, are freezing. Just standing up is enough to get his blood moving again.

“They said the break will be 15 minutes. We’ll be more comfortable if we get off the bus and stretch. Just about everyone else’s already gotten off.”

Sure enough, when he looks around all the empty seats stand out. Walking up the narrow aisles to use the bathroom in the bus is an unappealing prospect, so it seems they’d be better off going outside.

When he follows Kagiura off the bus, the lights of the buildings shine brilliantly below the night sky as far as the eye can see. There are multiple buses stopped besides the one Hirano and Kagiura are taking, and the carpark is also bustling with personal automobiles.

“The night bus is colder than I expected.”

As they walk towards the facilities, Hirano regrets not having a long-sleeved shirt on hand.

“Yeah. If you only have that blanket, it’s a little chilly.”

It’s probably because of all the greenery. Even considering the fact that it’s night, it’s still the middle of summer, yet the open air is refreshingly cool.

“It doesn’t feel much like summer, does it?”

“It’d be nice if it felt like this during the day, too.”

As they walk, he stretches his wrists out and rolls them in relief. For Kagiura with his long legs, the seats in the bus are probably way too cramped.

Hirano had bought corn soup in a cup from a vending machine after quickly using the facilities.

He isn’t hungry, but it warms his stomach.

“Ouch!”

Even though he blew on it, it doesn’t cool down the way it would in wintertime.

As he lightly sips it to keep from burning himself, Kagiura, having returned from buying more onigiri, tilts his head.

“Hirano-san, are you gonna take that onto the bus?”

“Nah. The smell is pretty strong.”

“Can I eat some of it then? We only have three minutes left.”

“Geh. I’m leaving it to you, then.”

“You got it. I’ll take care of it for you!”

Kagiura’s refreshing smile brings his defined features into prominence, and he looks a bit like an idol. A pair of college-aged girls passing by whisper to each other, “God, he’s hot,” and “I know, right?”

After gulping down more than half, Kagiura hands the cup back to Hirano.

“It’s not hot anymore, so you should be good.”

Just as he said, when Hirano tilts the cup, he can feel the warmth where his lips touch the rim.

“Oh, you’re right.”

He drains the cup in two large sips and throws it out, and they hurry back to the bus.

Apart from the two of them, it looks like all the passengers have already returned to their seats. They made it back in the nick of time with one minute to spare.

After sharing a silent smile with Kagiura, Hirano pulls the blanket firmly up over his shoulders. There’s a short announcement, and then the bus quietly pulls out of the rest stop.

Thanks to the warmth in his stomach, he slips back into sleep easily.

****

They take their time eating a breakfast of curry at the cafe in front of the train station; the car comes to pick them up as they look around at the station tenants.

“You’ve come such a long way. Thank you for looking after Akira.”

The person who receives them fondly is Kagiura’s aunt.

Apparently, the plan is to head to a place they call the main house after stopping at a supermarket on the way for some shopping. Noticing that the side profile of the woman in the driver’s seat resembles Kagiura, Hirano says, “you look a lot like Kagi-kun,” to which Kagiura replies, “you think so?” with a grin.

Their affable expressions especially look alike.

Upon arrival and disembarkment, Hirano stands in front of the house in amazement.

“.....It’s huge!”

“Right? It makes it really easy for us all to get together.”

There are spots for six vehicles in the parking lot, a fact by which he’d been overwhelmed. And when taking in the full breadth of the house with wide eyes, he is once again at a loss for words at the vastness of Kagiura’s grandfather’s house.

He’d heard it was big ahead of time, but this is several times larger than the scale he was imagining.

The construction seems old, but it wouldn’t be out of line to call the meticulously maintained house a mansion.

Just as he’d expected from Kagiura’s description, the countryside spreads out around the house as far as the eye can see.

The sky is wide and open, and a river flows nearby.

Narrow irrigation channels for agricultural usage flow quite quickly, and it seems dangerous for small children.

“Wow…no way, this place is frickin’ huge. Do you guys have barbecues and stuff on that riverbank we passed by earlier?”

“I haven’t. It’s easy to get down into the river there, and there’s a lot of fish and other critters, so we play in the water there a lot.”

“Huh...”

The pathway leading to the entrance is paved, so he looks around at their surroundings without worrying about getting tripped up. The buildings are set quite far apart from one another, and he can’t even begin to guess the distance.

Through the front door that had been left open, he just catches a glance at the more than ten pairs of shoes lined up. The foyer itself is also wide, as is the entryway step.¹ It looks as if someone had reproduced it from a picture of a classic Japanese building.

“We’re home!”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

Following Kagiura’s lead, their larger luggage is left in the entryway for the time being. Hirano takes from his tote bag only the hostess gift and heads into the house after Kagiura.

They are greeted by a group of small children.

“Akira-kun!”

“Akkii!”

“Oh, I haven’t seen you guys since spring break!”

Going by their ages, they might be his cousins? It seems as though Kagiura is acting like the adult of this group, and his expression looks more mature.

But where are the actual adults?

Kagiura’s aunt, who’d driven them here, had gone around to a side door, so they had parted ways a bit before reaching the entryway.

Who should I give this to?

The presence of the paper bag, the corner folded down, has made him uncharacteristically antsy.

“Ummm…..Hirano-san, this way.”

Kagiura, who at some point had procured a sword fashioned from newspaper, is heading down the hallway while engaged in mock swordplay with a boy of around five.

Rather than going easy on him, he is fending off the attack strategically so as to avoid taking any hits; he seems to be taking the match seriously as he grins. He’s not even pausing for breath.

As he trails behind, a small girl follows close by Hirano’s side. As expected, she vaguely resembles Kagiura. Particularly, the part of their hair.

The girl’s eye level is only up to his legs, so he figured she must have mistaken him for a family member, but when he asks her “how old are you?” she cheerfully replies “four!”, so he probably doesn’t need to worry about it.

The fingers she has confidently thrust upward, presumably so Hirano can easily see them, are only three in number; he’s tickled by not knowing which was the correct number.

He probably did stuff like this, too, he thinks—he’s starting to get an image of how his kouhai was as a child, despite not having known him at that age.

Thanks to that, his nerves settled, and even giving his greetings to Kagiura’s grandfather, who was relaxing in a Japanese-style room listening to the radio, was enjoyable.

The hostess gift that he’d finally managed to hand over will, after being used as an offering at the household altar, be put out as today’s afternoon snack.

In the meantime, everyone is called to their seats for lunch, and proper introductions are made.

As far as Kagiura’s parents and siblings go, apparently they plan to arrive around the time of Obon.

When asked why he’d chosen to come at a separate time, Kagiura had replied, “I wanted to come before the jellyfish start coming out,” but this explanation comes under fire as a “weird reason”—the residents of this house don’t play in the nearby seaside much, since rip currents form easily there.

At that moment, Kagiura’s eyes had flitted to Hirano, meeting his gaze before darting away.

Well, it was probably just that if they came for Obon, it’d be uncomfortable to let friends tag along.

After lunch, their troupe, led by the kids, play in the river, and as soon as they return to the house to rehydrate start playing a game with a ball, so there’s no time to rest between the nonstop activities.

Hirano had intended to keep up with Kagiura, but the difference in their stamina had been made painfully clear, and before he knew it he’d found himself surrounded by a growing number of small children.

They kept on playing, but they told him, “we’ll save you!”, so they’re just putting up with the guest.

The sunlight was strong, so he had borrowed a straw hat, but having changed into a swimsuit and entered the river, his upper half had gotten quite sunburnt.

The prickling pain had been getting progressively worse, and if his skin wasn’t damaged before he got in the bath, it sure was after.

Hirano is suffering away in the second floor bedroom he’d been given when Kagiura, who’d taken a bath after him, returns holding a tube of cream in his hand.

“Hirano-san, I heard your back is bright red. Put this on. It’s for sunburns, so it’ll help a bit.”

“Oh, they told you?”

“Yeah. They said it looked super painful when you washed your back.”

Hirano, who’d ended up in charge of the kids and even been put on bath duty before he knew what was happening, had taken his bath with the three boys, aged lower grade to kindergarten.

Among them was the young boy who’d enthusiastically brandished the newspaper sword.

“Yeah, for sure. It wasn’t bothering me that much, but it hurts like a bitch when something rubs against my back.”

“Getting that lot to behave must’ve been rough.”

“They didn’t behave…they weren’t even still when I was drying them off.”

Luckily, they weren’t cowed by Hirano’s blond hair, but they kept jumping up to play with it, so they got wet again as soon as he dried them, and he’d had to put their pajamas on with their hair still soaking wet, which was a pain in the ass.

“Huh? At that age, they can dry themselves off, you know.”

“...Are you kidding me?”

Kagiura giggles.

“It’s because you’re so nice. You’ve been spoiling them rotten. …..Will you take off your top for me?”

“You gonna put the cream on for me?”

“Of course.”

He pulls his shirt off, flinching at the feeling of the fabric grazing his skin.

The sensation of the refreshingly cool fingers stroking his shoulder blades feels indescribably good.

With the hectic day finally over, he thinks he’ll go to sleep early, but strangely, drowsiness doesn’t come.

“There’s a ton of manga in this room.” At Kagiura’s prompting, he decides to begin reading a volume—it’s halfway through the series, but it’s just a gag manga.

He was under the impression that reading while lying down makes your eyes bad, but there are no chairs, so it’s the most comfortable position.

Have the younger kids fallen asleep already?

When it occurs to him to check the clock, it’s drawing near midnight.

When did that happen? Surprised, he looks over at Kagiura beside him.

Up until yesterday, he would always be asleep long before this time, but right now he’s wide awake.

“Kagi-kun, you’re not tired?”

“Nah. We had a slow morning, so I’m fine.”

Ah, that’s right. With the night bus arriving so late, he’d gotten to sleep in three hours longer than on days he has practice.

Hirano, who like Kagiura is not a morning person, had also slept in quite a long time today.

But if they don’t sleep soon, before they know it they’ll be ringing in a new day.

“We should go to bed soon, though.”

“Wait, just a little longer.”

“Hm? Didn’t you already get to a good stopping point in your book?”

The manga had already been put away, and Kagiura’s the one who finished getting ready for bed first, but for some reason he shakes his head.

No sooner has he pulled his sling bag towards him than he has withdrawn a small paper bag.

“Your birthday.”

Hirano’s eyes grow wide at Kagiura, who had passed him the bag as he spoke.

“.....Huh?”

At first, he’s surprised.

After a moment, he glances at the clock, and lets out a little huff of laughter.

It is August 1st, 12:00 a.m. on the dot.

He’d managed to get the time to the minute—and Hirano’s giving his abs quite the workout, suppressing his laughter out of respect for the fact that it’s the middle of the night.

Kagiura is stumped by Hirano’s laughter, which had continued for a while, but eventually he smiles, as Hirano certainly seems satisfied with the present, firmly clutching it in his hands.

Kagiura is stumped by Hirano’s silent laughter, which had continued for quite a while, but eventually he smiles, apparently satisfied by the fact that Hirano’s clutching the present tightly.

“Happy birthday, Hirano-san.”

“Dude, you’re such a try-hard! ….Thanks. Ah, sorry for laughing.”

He’s as overjoyed as he is shocked.

He hasn’t said as much, but with the way he can’t stop grinning, he probably doesn’t have to.

“I’m glad you’re happy about it!”

Hirano’s pretty sure his own expression now matches the soft smile on Kagiura’s face.

He checks the contents of the bag to find a small box. It’s clearly some kind of accessory.

“Now what do we have here?” With a feeling of trepidation, Hirano opens the box with a click. Inside is a set of earrings in an understated blue color lined up within the velvet fabric.

“These are…”

“I’ve been thinking it’d be a shame if your piercings closed up. Wear them every day, Hirano-san.”

“Yeah.” He nods, then goes to the mirrored dresser in the corner of the room to put them in.

The holes really have started to close, and rather than allowing the earrings through smoothly, they feel slightly obstructed.

After affixing them to each ear, he goes to stand in front of Kagiura, whose eyes are crinkled in apparent satisfaction. Like this, it is unclear which one of them had received a gift.

It’d be easy to lose them if he wore them to sleep, so Hirano takes them out soon afterward, but he’ll wake up before Kagiura tomorrow and put them in first thing.

Having made up his mind, Hirano went to sleep.

And how soft he felt.

*****

Long chapter, but we made it 😭🙏 I feel so bad it took me this long to get chapter 3 out to yall but the past 6 months have been nothing but suffering and I've basically been working on this in bits and pieces around all the other bs I've been juggling. Thanks for being patient with me!

T/N: (1) I don't know what this is called in English. I don't think it even has a name in English though I feel like I've seen it in some houses here. Basically, it's when you walk into a house and there's a step beyond the foyer leading to the rest of the house. Like this

(2) Obon is an annual event meant for honoring your ancestors. Families tend to get together and visit their family graves, and it's believed that the spirits of the deceased visit household alters. So Hirano thinks that the reason Kagi wanted to come at a different time from the rest of his family is because it might be weird to have a friend hanging around during Obon, but really it's just because Kagi wanted to be able to celebrate Hirano's birthday with him lol

(3) I don't think this is true I have no idea why he thinks this lmao (but then again, it'd be explain my terrible eyesight, so maybe he's onto something)

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A very big thank you to reading list members @jeizet, @jujupanic, @massyworld, @umbreonwolfy, and @acidsuzanne-blog (who tumblr won't let me tag for some reason?) You guys are the reason I'm still doing this and I'm very grateful for your support 🥹

#wow im tired #hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano to kagiura light novel #hirano to kagiura translation #kagihira #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #harusono shou

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imfinereallyy · 1 year ago

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when you said I scared you, well I guess you scared me too

Steve looks over the pamphlet in his hands. The smooth surface shouldn’t feel so rough on his hands. He supposes that’s because of the scars and callouses over his fingers. Nothing is able to be soft for him anymore.

Steve moves his gaze from the pamphlet to the door, to the pamphlet and the door once again. It shouldn’t be so scary. It is a community center door, similar to the ones they have in Hawkins. It’s made of beat-up wood and foggy glass. Steve’s sure if—no when, he pushes the door open, it’ll squeak. Rusting hinges that need replacing long ago, reminding him of his worn-out limbs.

Steve knows he shouldn’t feel so achy at 25, but when facing his own mortality year after year for so long, he knows a few aches is probably the bottom of the barrel of problems he has.

Steve lets out a breath. Circles his thumb around the edge of the pages and gives himself a paper cut. He doesn’t flinch; he knows it will happen. He isn’t sure if he could look someone in the eye and tell them he didn’t do it on purpose. He probably would tell the truth instead; he has many vices, but lying isn’t one of them. The truth being he just wants a reminder that he is alive.

That this is real.

“Okay.” Steve breathes again. He can do this. He promised Robin he is going to try. Even after all this time, he can’t say no to her. Can’t break her heart. So even though they move to a new city, even though Steve has already been sober for two months, she thinks this will be good for him.

Narcotics Anonymous: 6pm-8pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Fucking N.A. Steve thinks. He doesn’t want to do it. It is already hard enough trying to avoid all of the Upside Down stuff, a major contributor to his problem. But the other big part, the abuse part, the queer part, isn’t always safe to talk about. No matter how anonymous it says, it is. Steve isn’t stupid. Sure, there were other things he could talk about. His neglectful parents. His struggles with depression. The countless head injuries. How one of his best friends hasn’t spoken to him in over five years. How he is pretty sure he is dead. How the other friends of his he met when they were 13, and he is nearly 18.

All really good stuff to work out.

But Steve knows he won’t be able to move on unless he can talk about everything honestly. Well, everything that isn’t signed away in an NDA.

“Isn’t the point to be able to heal?” Steve tells Robin when they are unpacking boxes. “It’s either this or therapy dingus, and this is free,” Robin says while wrapping bubble wrap around his head.

She does the research, of course, because she’s Robin. She finds the one group in all of Chicago that is considered “friendly to all groups around.” She even admits to having Dustin help her, and Robin doesn’t ask anyone outside of Steve for help, let alone admit it. So Steve knows she is serious.

Steve groans loudly. His voice echoing throughout the hallway. Using the pamphlet as a barrier between the wood and his palm, Steve pushes through the door.

As usual, Steve underestimates himself, and the door slams against the wall, echoing throughout the room. Everyone in the room turns away from the podium to look behind their seats at Steve.

Steve glances at his watch. 6:04 pm. Shit. He supposes punctuality is supposed to help with recovery. “Sorry,” Steve says to the room with a grimace and a little finger wave.

“It’s okay.” The man at the podium states. He has salt-and-pepper hair and round-frame glasses. He isn’t particularly old, though. He’s handsome, and well-aged. Like a fine wine that Steve knows he can’t touch anymore. “You actually arrived a little early for a first-timer. Please have a seat; we just started.” The man laughs lightly, waving to the empty back row.

Steve rushes to his seat. Thankful that most people here have the humanity to face back to the front. He brings a little relief to Steve, knowing these people can sense when not to push.

Well most people.

See, while everyone else turns back around, one head stays perfectly on Steve. He can feel the eyes boring into him so furiously that Steve can’t help but turn in their direction.

Steve expects an older gentleman who is fed up with young people's disrespect of punctuality. Or a younger person, wanting to move addictions from drugs to sex. Which Steve isn’t looking for right now. He even thinks that maybe it’s a family member someone brought with them today who doesn’t understand the etiquette of N.A.

What Steve doesn’t expect is to turn and see the very best friend he hasn’t seen in five years. A man he thought to be dead. A man whose last words to Steve were that he rather would be.

Because there, staring at Steve with wide eye curiosity and sorrow is Eddie Munson.

And he is even more beautiful than the last time Steve saw him.

***

just an idea I had bouncing around….

part 2? Maybe if people are interested, cause I have so much I could write on this. Either way I think this interesting on its own. Also I’ve dealt with addiction close hand with loved ones, but I am not an addict myself so if I get anything wrong please feel free to correct me. I want to handle this with care.

The title is from “Joey” by concrete blonde. An amazing song, everyone should listen to.

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asexualsoup · 2 years ago

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So I don't really write fan fiction and I never planned to but here we are I guess lol 😅

**Cannot emphasize enough that this is a WIP. It's not finished lol. But if you yell at me enough I probably will finish it.**

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

Remember That I Love You

Juno Steel/Peter Nureyev

Post Season 4

So far, everything had gone exactly to plan. Rita had hacked the pharmacorps’ computers and, from the safety of the Ruby 7’s driver’s seat, had set enough fires across the compound to draw most of the guards exactly where she wanted them. No matter how many times Juno watched her do this, he always found himself in awe of how easy it all was for her. Like a kid with a magnet drawing little shapes in metal sand.

Once the guards had been dispersed, it was just a matter of using their stolen map and the Ruby’s own scans to figure out exactly where they needed to go. That’s where Juno came in.

“There,” he said, pointing to a cluster of moving dots on the Ruby's screen. Taking the hint, the Ruby 7 zoomed its three-dimensional map onto a hallway at the bottom of the complex. “That’s where we’ll find him.”

“You sure, Mista Steel?” Rita asked, unconvinced. “How can you be so sure? We only get one shot at this, so you gotta be exactly right—”

“I know, Rita. You don’t need to remind me. When the fires went off, the executives left their meeting and ran down to this hallway. The Ruby’s showing them all leaving the hallway, but they’re just phasing through a wall. There are no rooms marked there on the map. The Ruby’s scan isn’t faulty, so that means—”

“A safe room!” Rita finished. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses. “That’s so cool! And there’s a buncha them, too, from the look of it. A whole row of safe rooms! How can we be sure which one is his?”

“Ruby?” Juno said with a smile. “You know what to do.”

It was over in seconds. The Ruby had scanned their target so many times, it could recognize him instantly, even from this distance. Juno didn’t fully understand it either, but he knew he could trust the Ruby to be accurate. It had helped him find Rita on that asteroid, after all.

As soon as it found him, it sang a triumphant little tune.

“Good job, Ruby,” Juno said. “Send that scan to my comms. I’m heading in. Let’s go get Nureyev out once and for all.”

* * *

Juno moved quickly through the compound, listening and reacting to Rita’s directions in his ear every step of the way. With her help, he avoided all the patrolling guards long enough to sneak into one of the server rooms she hadn’t set ablaze.

Keeping his voice low just in case, he asked her, “You sure the code you’ve put on this chip will eliminate his debt?”

"And all his accounts and bio-records, yeah, yeah," her voice chirped in his earpiece. He chuckled, imagining the way she was rolling her eyes at him. "You’ve asked me that about a hundred times, Mista Steel. It’ll work. Trust me."

“Like you said, we’ve only got one shot at this. It’s gotta be flawless.”

"We’re Aurinkos, boss. It don’t gotta be flawless to be successful."

“Yeah, well,” Juno said, feeling that old reliable flicker of nerves and self-doubt in his gut. “I’d rather have both, if I’m honest.”

With Rita’s assistance, he inserted the chip. The computers beeped and popped for a bit until Rita finally squeaked again.

"That's done it, boss. You can take the chip out now."

Juno did as she said, slipping it back into his pants pocket. "Great," he said. "Now it's just the hard part. Getting to him, taking out the guards, and then the escape." He sighed, suddenly feeling his age. "No biggie."

"It'll be fine, Mista Steel," Rita said. "Once you find him, you won't be alone in there anymore. You'll have him to help you with those last two steps. And Mista Nureyev has always been good at fighting guards and sneakin' outta places. It’ll be fine!"

"Still weird hearing you call him that. Even on private comms. But you make a good point. Once I find him…."

Juno trailed off, his mouth feeling suddenly very dry. He hadn't been this close to Nureyev in months, not since he'd smelled his cologne at Aurinko Permanent Corrections. The realization sent a torrent of butterflies through his stomach: fear, panic, and a good amount of excitement too.

Nureyev was in the building. And within minutes, he'd be in Juno's arms. Safe and sound at last and with his whole life ahead of him. The future at his nimble fingertips.

It was the same gift he'd promised to Slip Jackson all those years ago. And while Nureyev couldn't give that future to Slip in the end, Juno could make sure Nureyev got it now.

So, with a deep breath to swallow his panic down, Juno pressed on to the next phase of the plan.

* * *

Juno had taken out so many guards over the course of his career that a few localized in one closed off room should be no problem at all. And with all the tricks he’d picked up from Nureyev during their year of crime together, they wouldn’t know what hit them.

He crawled on his belly through the vents, Rita and the Ruby still guiding him around every corner, until finally he peered through a grate into the room in question.

As soon as he saw Nureyev, he felt his heart fly into his throat. He was sitting in a chair against the wall, looking like a prisoner in that tiny room with four armed guards around him.

But that wasn't what made Juno so upset. Nureyev… didn't look like himself. He was thinner than the last time they'd seen each other. Paler, too, like he hadn't seen the sun in weeks. He was still dressed to the nines and covered in makeup, but none of that could hide the new slump in his posture and the deadened look behind his eyes.

As wonderful as it was to see him again, it was frightening to see how only half a year away had changed him.

That ended here and now.

In one hand, Juno held his blaster. And in the other, he held a small pebble-like ball. Another trick he'd picked up from Nureyev.

Slipping the ball through the grate, he watched as it hit the floor and exploded into vapor, instantly surrounding the guards in a thick curtain of smoke. As the guards coughed and sputtered and shouted to each other, he kicked open the grate and dropped himself into the room.

Darting out of the range of the smoke, he planted his feet firmly in front of Nureyev.

“Juno?” came that beautiful voice from behind him, the one that made his heart flutter.

“Yeah, yeah, you can swoon into my arms later,” he said. And even though he was joking, he wanted nothing more. “Whatever you’ve got to use against these guys, now’s the time to use it.”

“But, Juno, I—”

Whatever Nureyev was about to say would have to wait. The guards had finally collected themselves and were starting to stumble out of the smoke, blasters raised and searching for a target.

Ducking beneath the nearby table, Juno sent a pair of stun blasts out between its legs, completely incapacitating the first two guards he saw.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch, dear detective,” Nureyev said, sliding in beside Juno. “Shall we take this to the next level?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It was a maneuver they’d learned together during their time on the Carte Blanche. That time felt like so long ago now, and yet Nureyev fell into position as smoothly and easily as if they’d practiced it only yesterday. Juno would have to thank Buddy for those lessons later, among a million other things.

Grabbing opposite ends of the table, they swung its legs out from under it and in one fluid motion, launched it flat-side first into the smoke. Both of the remaining guards grunted in pain as they were struck, and somewhere within the haze, they both collapsed under the weight of the table.

“You truly are a sharpshooter, aren’t you?” Nureyev said as he leaped to his feet again and reached out a hand to help Juno. “You hit them both even through all that fog.”

“Hey, it was a big table,” Juno said, taking that proffered hand. “And anyway, you’re just as likely to—”

But his words were cut off. As soon as he’d gotten to his feet, Nureyev’s mouth had found his. The kiss was hard, desperate, pressing his lips almost painfully against his teeth. But it was exactly what they both needed after all that time apart. Juno couldn’t help the moan that escaped his throat, and his hands found Nureyev’s collar, pulling him in even closer.

Once they’d separated, Nureyev narrowed his eyes. “I told you not to come after me.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Juno said, hopping up to swiftly kiss Nureyev’s lips again.

“I suppose not. Though we’ll definitely have words about this later. A lot of words.”

Nureyev released him and without another word, flew gracefully into the depths of the smoke. Still a little awestruck, Juno found his feet again and moved to follow him.

Squinting through the fog, he peered around quietly for any sign of the two guards they’d knocked down. The table was easy enough to find, its legs splayed like a dead spider on its back. But the two guards that it had hit? Those were a lot harder to spot. And so was Nureyev.

Juno slunk low to the floor, crouched near the table’s legs and stared into the surrounding fog for any sign of movement. It only took a minute for him to spot something. A glint of metal in the fog. He stared in its direction, trying to find it again, but couldn't.

Instead, when a guard finally did appear in the smoke, it was to his far left. They stumbled near him, their shirt pulled high over their mouth and nose. They made eye contact with Juno, who already had his blaster raised, but before either of them could make a move, a dark heel swung out from the fog and hit the guard right in the back of the head, knocking them out cold. With another glint of metal, Nureyev emerged from the smoke and crouched at Juno’s side once again.

“That was brutal,” Juno whispered. “I always forget you can kick that high.”

��So did they, apparently.”

“You might want to take off your jewelry before we handle that other guard, Nureyev. I can see it shining through the fog.”

For the first time since their reunion, something made Nureyev pause. “Juno… there’s something that you should—”

“Let’s deal with the other guard first, Nureyev. Do you have any idea where they are?”

“Juno, I—”

But whatever Nureyev was going to say, it was cut off by the cracking sound of a blaster shot. Nureyev gasped and flew backward, hitting the ground hard.

“Nureyev!” Juno shouted before he could stop himself.

Flying onto his feet, he whipped around and pointed his blaster in the direction the shot had come from. The fourth and final guard stood there, grinning through the smoke. Her blaster was pointed right at Juno’s head.

“Really?” Juno gasped, trying desperately to think straight through the panic now flooding his brain. “You sneak up behind me and decide to shoot your own guy instead?”

“I was following my orders, lady,” she said darkly, her hand flexing against the trigger. Ready to send another laser directly through Juno’s brain.

He wasn’t going to give her the chance. With one hand, he grabbed her wrist and twisted, sending her laser up to the ceiling. Bringing around his own blaster, he struck her hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor where his own shot struck her right in the chest a second later. Her eyes went hazy as the stun wave overtook her body, and then she closed her eyes, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Juno dropped his gun and rushed to Nureyev’s side. Nureyev was panting hard, one hand over his face. His hands were shaking.

“Goddammit, Nureyev. No,” Juno wept, searching Nureyev’s body with his hands. “No no no. Where did they hit you? Oh, goddammit.”

But no matter where he looked, he didn’t find any blood. All he could find was a small laser burn on the front of Nureyev’s shirt.

“It was just a stun blast,” he said, relief flooding him once more. “You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

But as Nureyev gave another groan of pain, Juno felt his relief crack once more.

“N… Nureyev? Come on. Snap out of it.”

Nureyev groaned again, his mouth twisting in pain and all four of his limbs starting to tremble. The fingers by his forehead curled, as if trying to grasp at something, and between them, Juno could see that glint of metal again. It was only then that Juno realized Nureyev wasn’t wearing any jewelry. No rings, no earrings.

Nothing but whatever was shining on his temple.

Grabbing Nureyev’s hand, he slowly pulled it away.

His stomach dropped. “Nureyev… no… please, no… Is that a…?”

Nureyev groaned again and Juno swore he could hear the pops of electricity coming from it.

Because right there, stuck on Nureyev’s temple, was a little gray chip. Smaller than the Theia Soul had been, but otherwise the same.

“Goddammit. Nureyev, what do I do?” Juno asked desperately.

In response, Nureyev cried out as the chip zapped him again, and this time, Juno actually saw the skin beginning to sizzle around it.

He fumbled for his comms, knowing somewhere in the back of his panicked mind that if anyone could fix this, it would be Rita. But a second later, as Nureyev’s body went slack, Juno’s heart stopped.

Nureyev’s eyes peered up to meet his, bleary and unfocused. Lines of blood began to form around the edges of the chip.

“Nureyev?” Juno asked breathlessly.

“Ju…no…” was all the man managed to say before his eyes closed and unconsciousness claimed him too.

(to be continued?)

#obviously not finished lol #tpp #the penumbra podcast #penumbra podcast #juno steel #junoverse #peter nureyev #jupeter #tpp fanfic #wip #ladyshakesqueer #asexualsoup

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orangemoonxworks · 4 months ago

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KINGDOM HEARTS: DIVERGE, VOL. 0 MARCH OF THE FOOLS, PART I — III WRITTEN BY: Naude Lucem -------------------------------------------------

The First District was the central point of Daybreak and at its heart stood a massive clock tower that rose into the clouds. If one were to reach the highest point of it, not only could they see all six of the districts surrounding it but a vast stretch of grasslands, an endless ocean to the west, and a barren wasteland far out in the distance. The clock tower, Arx ad Arbitris Tempus (“Stronghold for the Arbiters of Time”), was the base of operations for the Foretellers and the Lux Unitas. Of the seven districts that made up Daybreak, the First was naturally Ira’s jurisdiction.

As the others gradually arrived in the assembly chamber, finding their place around the long oval shaped table at the center of the room, Ira stood by the row of wall-sized windows gazing outside. Once everyone was fully present, he made his way to the head of the table. Since this was a private gathering, none of the Foretellers wore their iconic masks.

Ira cleared his throat then began. “Good. You’re all here.”

“You summoned us.” Gula snarkily replied.

“Well, I know you’re all busy – myself included. I’ll try to keep things short.”

Invi asked a question. “Is this about the Second District? Has any progress been made?”

“That happens to be one of the purposes of this meeting.” Ira replied. “We’ll be discussing what’s been happening lately concerning the scourges and the catastrophe that befell the Second District. I’m sure you’re all eager to know what’s going on, so that’s where we’ll begin.”

Ira continued. “We’re still eradicating the darkness. It hasn’t been easy, and we’ve lost some people in the process. I imagine it’ll be a long time before the district can return to any semblance of normal. Still, we’ve made some strides. We’ve managed to clear out a big portion of the district which has allowed our Guardians to advance further in. We’ve also strengthened and condensed the size of the barrier as we’ve progressed to keep the remaining darkness contained, and our mages have been hard at work cleansing the darkness and restoring the aether that once permeated the district.”

“Unfortunately, aether degradation is a serious concern. The black coats the Master provided us do well enough to stave off the darkness, but they were made specifically for us. The Master didn’t leave behind blueprints for them either, so reproducing the black coats is next to impossible. That means our Guardians and Mages are unprotected and perpetually at risk. And that’s something I can’t allow to continue. I’ve asked the Ars Magna Guild to study the coats and see if they can come up with an alternative. For now, we’ll have to lend our spares to those stationed in the district.”

Invi spoke in agreement. “That’s fine. I’m sure no one here has an issue with that.”

Aced interjected. “Tch. I don’t mind handing over the coats, but don’t go speaking for everyone.”

“It’s not as if it’s negotiable. Our Guardians and Mages need them.”

Aced replied, “Even so, our choices aren’t dictated by circumstance. We just happen to collectively agree on the matter at hand. It isn’t as cut and dry as you believe.”

Invi’s eyes narrowed. “These are trying times we’re in, Aced. You can feel however you want but we don’t have the luxury to be selfish and petulant.”

“What was that?” Aced sharply replied, arms folded against his chest.

Ira quickly interjected. “Enough, you two.”

Gula mumbled under his breath. “Looks like the meeting’s starting smoothly as always.”

Ira continued. “Anyway, let’s move on. Putting aside the Second District’s restoration, there is another important matter that must be addressed. Many lives were lost during the scourge – an estimation of 700 according to the Vitalis Registrum.”

Invi’s eyes widened. “700? That’s… so many.”

Ira went on. “An entire district of unsuspecting lives was taken. It has… been a challenge dealing with the aftermath. Understandably, people are in distress. Loved ones, friends, partners and whatnot all perished either due to fatal encounters with the shadows, or affliction of aether degradation. We’re doing what we can for those in mourning, but we can’t alleviate their sorrows.”

Ira extended the palm of his hand in Ava’s direction. “Ava and I have been preparing a grand ceremony to honor the lost. Their names will also be engraved in the Garden of Remembrance’s Wall of Memories. It is the least we can do. From this point forward, our goal – no, our mission – is to ensure something of that magnitude doesn’t happen again.”

Ira briefly paused. “That being said, although we’ve been working to the best of our abilities to pinpoint the cause of the shadow scourges, we’ve not made any significant progress other than detecting them the moment they occur. It isn’t enough time to act or prevent catastrophes. With the recent spike in scourges, our realm is in danger. We need to figure out what’s causing them and why.”

Aced chimed in. “We all have our own theories. You know where I stand, but I’m curious to know what everyone else’s thoughts are. Maybe one of us could add some insight.”

“Yes, and that’s next point of discussion.” Ira declared. “It’s why I’ve summoned you all here today. Of course, if there are other issues you’d like to bring up, they will be accepted within reason and discussed afterward. With that said, the floor is all yours. Any thoughts?”

Invi spoke first. “Hmm, well given the frequency in which they’ve been appearing, I can only assume that gaps have formed along the barrier. Even when the Master was here, it was under constant threat from the darkness. Luckily, he was able to maintain it. Without him here, the barrier likely can’t sustain this realm anymore. I believe the scourges are splinters of the darkness that’s managed to push its way in.”

Ira nodded in agreement. “Then you and I are of the same mind.”

Gula interjected. “Anyone could come to that conclusion. Since this realm’s inception, there haven’t been any run-ins with the darkness. The fact that we’re dealing with this now is reason enough to believe that.”

“Then what’s you’re take?” Invi asked.

“I don’t have one.” Gula replied while sighing, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “We don’t know jack shit and speaking on hypotheticals is a waste of time.”

“If you don’t have anything to say, then don’t speak.” Aced said, irritated.

“You don’t decide that. Gula isn’t wrong, but this is still a discussion.” Ira told him.

“That he should contribute to!” Aced angrily cut in. “He doesn’t get a pass for being a lazy prick!”

Gula grinned. “Wow. Those are some sharp words. Someone’s been studying comebacks.”

“You cheeky little bastard. Don’t make me –”

“Enough. Both of you.” Ira sternly spoke.

Ava spoke up. “If you’re both done, I’ll offer my opinion. For the sake of discussion, let’s assume that there are two truths; one where we have darkness intruding from the outside, and one where there’s someone orchestrating events from the inside. I take it that you lean toward the latter right, Aced?”

Aced responded with a nod, arms tightly folded.

Ava continued. “If there is someone causing the scourges to happen, then that means we’re likely dealing with someone who follows the path of darkness and knows how to wield its power. Darkness warps the heart, the mind, and the soul but it can’t strip away a person’s will. Whatever they decide to do is purely their own choice. The darkness only gives them a nudge.

“So? What are you getting at?” Aced asked.

Ava replied, “If we’re going to stick with that theory, then a reason has to exist.”

Aced’s face instantly scowled at her suggestion. “Tch! Does a reason matter if they’re a traitor? That should be enough for them to be dealt with.”

“Understanding their motives is important for what we’re dealing with.”

Gula responded, “Anyone who follows the path of darkness is either inadvertently or directly carrying out its will – which is to erase light from existence. We all know this from our teachings. That doesn’t help us solve the problem of who’s responsible.”

Invi agreed. “Right. We need to pinpoint a culprit.”

Ava continued, “In a general sense, you’re right Gula. But apart from the will of darkness, people have their own goals and desires that they pursue. Let’s think about it this way; if there was something you really wanted from the bottom of your heart, then you’d do whatever’s necessary to get it, right? We should look at a potential culprit the same way; what would they want that’s worth the destroying this realm? And what if the shadow scourges aren’t just coincidences but calculated distractions?”

Ira spoke. “You’re implying the culprit is searching for something? I assume you have an idea.”

“It could be many things.” Ava replied then explained. “Our realm’s Heart crystal, the Kingdom key, the Hands of Caelum, the Cubis datums on Project Vitas Replica, or even the Book of Prophecies. These are all things that have been carefully hidden – all of which are important to the future of not only this realm, but also the continued preservation of light.”

Aced nodded. “Hmm, that makes sense. But if what you’re saying turns out to be true, then we’ll have no choice but to address the elephant in the room.”

“Being?” Ava asked.

“The only people who know they exist are the people in this room.”

A deafening silence immediately filled the room. Although Aced wasn’t fazed, the glares from Ira, Ava, and Invi were scathingly sharp enough to stab through one’s soul.

Ira spoke, his voice dark. “Aced, you…”

“I can’t believe you. Are you seriously implying that one of us is a traitor?!” Invi shouted.

“Everything Ava’s said so far falls in line with what I believe to be true. It’s almost uncanny.”

“I was just posing a hypothesis, nothing more.” Ava responded.

“Are you sure? You seem to be very interested in the matter.” Aced eyes narrowed suspiciously. “In the eight years I’ve known you, you’ve never gotten deeply involved with anything other than the Academia. Of course, that is your district so that’s to be expected. But still, it’s uncharacteristic of you. Hmph. I wonder, if what you’ve been saying this whole time is your actual thoughts, or…”

Ava’s brows and voice rose. “So, you think I’m a traitor??”

Invi furiously yelled, “No, I’m not letting that slide! Nobody in this room – including you, Aced – is a traitor! That you would even come to such a conclusion is sickening!”

“And she wasn’t nudging us to this point?!” Aced angrily shouted back. “We’re the only ones who know about those things! A traitor being in our ranks makes perfect sense! If one of us was corrupted by the darkness, then they’d have the power to bypass the barrier and allow darkness to break through!”

“For what reason would any of us need to risk the well-being of this realm?!” Invi responded. “Over the Heart crystal whose domain is protected by the World Gate and can only be opened with the Kingdom Key of which neither of us knows where it is?! The same goes for the Book of Prophecies! And not to mention the Hands of Caelum is a lost art! We’ve barely, barely scratched the surface on that! And Project Vita Replica is nothing more than a fantasy that will never be realized! Don’t you understand that?!”

Gula chuckled. “Wow, Aced. You’re on fire right now.”

“Shut your damn mouth, lazy bum!!!” Aced screamed.

Ira raised his voice. “Aced, calm yourself now!

“I won’t! I’m not backing down from this!” Aced furiously yelled back. “You say the traitor couldn’t be anyone in this room, but what of the people around us?! Anyone could be eavesdropping on us at any moment! Anyone could know about those things and gain an understanding of how to weaponize them against the realm!”

Invi jumped in. “So, what? We’re supposed to be suspicious of the entire realm?! By your logic, everyone is a traitor. The people’s trust lies with us, and ours lies with them! You’d rather we trample on all that just so you can feel some sort of vindication?!”

Aced’s large beefy fists crashed down onto the table. “I’d rather we get rid of the damn traitor so we can keep protecting this realm and the light!! You’re all too soft, naïve, and indecisive!! At some point, after everything that’s happened over the past year, it should’ve crossed your minds that there’s likely a traitor amongst us! Even that know-it-all buffoon we called our master would’ve come to that conclusion!!!”

Invi’s eyes widened and burned ferociously. She could tolerate Aced’s vitriol to a certain extent, but his disrespect for the Master was something her heart wouldn’t let slide. As the air rushed from her lungs to her mouth, the veins in her neck bulged bright red. “Don’t you dare speak about him like that!!”

Ignoring her outburst, Aced turned to their leader Ira. “And you – the man of the hour. You’ve let things spiral this far out of control to the point that the realm is on the verge of collapsing. And you’re supposed to be our leader? Tch! What a joke. I knew he made the wrong choice.”

Invi summoned her keyblade and, in a flash, appeared above Aced swinging her keyblade down on him. Aced quickly drew his own keyblade, blocking strike. The clash sent a small shockwave through the room. Despite the intensity of her strike, Aced’s raw strength easily overpowered her. He swung his keyblade. Invi leapt back, avoiding his attack, and landed on the table. She extended her arm out slightly, turning her keyblade sideways while still gripping the handle, then grabbed its tip with her other hand. Thin streams of water begin swirling in the air around her.

Aced kicked his chair back and readied himself. Suddenly, a white beam of light shot between them. It tore through the table, cutting it clean in half. Instead of piercing through the wall and leaving a gaping hole, it bounced off and traveled around the room hitting several other surfaces before returning to Ira’s keyblade. The chamber was nearly demolished – only the others stood unaffected. Invi, lying on one half of the split table on the floor, glared at him. Ira lowered his keyblade and sighed.

“I’ve had enough. This discussion doesn’t seem to be going anywhere meaningful, and I’d rather this not escalate any further. For now, the meeting will be adjourned. We’ll resume another time.”

Aced withdrew his keyblade and cast it away. “Fine by me. This was a waste of time.”

As he walked away, Gula smirked. “How about that – we actually agree on something.”

Ignoring Gula’s comment, Aced left the assembly chamber. Gula and Ava quietly followed shortly after. Invi pushed herself off the halved table then dusted off the back of her robe. Once she stepped out of the way, Ira cast a restoration art on the room, bringing it back to its former state.

“That didn’t go as well as I hoped.” Ira said.

“You should’ve expected that at this point.” Invi replied. “It was foolish of you to think that we’d all be on the same page, or even come to a collective agreement. That might’ve been true over seven years ago – before the Master disappeared, but definitely not now.”

“Maybe so. But we all took an oath to protect this realm together. As comrades, we should –”

“Look at us, Ira. Whatever comradery we had back then is long gone. Neither of us are who we used to be, and the divide between us keeps growing with each passing day.”

“I’d like to believe we can mend that.” Ira said then cast his keyblade away. “I can’t deny that it’s been difficult for everyone these past seven years. Being thrust into undertaking massive responsibilities all while shouldering the fate of an entire realm is too much for anyone to bear. Being the leader of the Lux Unitas and the overseer of this realm, trust me – I understand. You’re not alone in this.”

Ira paused, taking a short breath and briefly shutting his eyes. “To be honest with you, I find myself questioning if he made the right choice. The Master was known for his bizarre and illogical judgments but, in the end, they were always correct. I can’t help but feel this is the one time he was wrong.”

“Regardless of how things have become between us, I don’t want you to think for a second that that’s a reflection on you.” Invi said as she walked over to him, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “The Master chose you because he believed in you – just like I do. You’ve always been a leader, Ira. No matter where you go or whatever’s going on, you always manage to inspire everyone around you. You’re a light in the darkness. People see you as a symbol of hope because of how brave and selfless you are.”

She moved her hand then continued, “You go out of your way to help anyone – even to your own detriment. You’ll willingly sacrifice yourself for someone else’s sake if it means they’ll survive. And whenever the going gets tough, you never give up and never back down. You’re too stubborn for your own good. And while that does irk me sometimes, I admire that. The Master did too. That’s why, in spite of our differences, we come together whenever you need us. We trust you and you trust us. Tell me Ira, doesn’t that sound like a leader to you?”

Ira’s eyes slowly brightened and the tenseness in his body began to dissipate. All that escaped his mouth were small breaths, but subtle smile on his face was clear enough. But even so, he was still the leader of the Foretellers. Even if her words were enough to temporarily soothe his heart and mind, he had to keep up the role. And so, Ira turned away, averting her gaze, then cleared his throat. “I guess so.”

Invi’s eye lids slightly narrowed. She briefly shut her eyes, then took a small quiet breath. “Even if I think it’s futile, I’ll do what I can to help. You’re right; we may not be comrades now, but we must put our issues aside. We owe it to everyone to continue protecting the light of this realm and ensuring it thrives into the future. That was the oath we took and the promise we made to him.”

Ira’s brows nudged a bit. For some reason, his eyes dimmed.

“I’ll be looking forward to your assistance.” He replied.

“I’ll be on my way then.”

Invi said then started toward the chamber’s door. After she opened the door, she held it open with her palm pressed against it, then looked over her shoulder. “Oh, the next time you step in between me and that hot-headed grizzly bear, make sure you don’t accidentally slash my robe again. This took days to thread, you know. And this robe happens to be my favorite one.”

Ira choked then sighed. “Right, sorry about that.”

Invi closed the door behind her. Standing alone in the assembly chamber, Ira looked around the room. A ray of light broke through the clouds and shone through the thick glass windows, but it was short-lived. It was soon snuffed out by the clouds above – their shadow cast over most of the First District. Going over to the window, his gaze fell to the grounds below.

“The future, huh.” -------------------------------------------------

#kingdom hearts diverge #kingdom hearts #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr #fic #writing #kh #union cross #kh union x #kh union cross #orange moon works #naude lucem #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction

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audioaujom · 1 year ago

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6:00 AM, Pizzaplex Sinkhole

FNaF:SB Hub, < prev, next >

Welcome to the end of the main canon Ranboo section! Hooray! Lots of cheering and hollering! This doesn’t mean that I’m done writing with him, necessarily, but this is all of the main game canon or canon-adjacent segments. Next up will be the section of canon or canon-adjacent segments with Charlie, before we start getting into some more violent alts or potentially some stuff from Ruin. Enjoy the “true ending” with (hopefully) a lot more flare!

Word Count: 2116

Chapter TWs: Blood and Violence, Electrocution, Mind Control, Arson

Standing in front of the slightly rusted metal doors, Ranboo uncertainly bounced back and forth between his feet. “It’ll be fine, right?”

“As long as we are careful, Ranboo. This elevator does not appear to follow any safety protocols. I do not think it will survive more than one trip.” Freddy nodded thoughtfully, Ranboo frowning as he hit the call button.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Freddy.”

Freddy shrugged as the elevator doors opened with a ding, Ranboo stepping inside after him and letting the doors slide shut. There were only two buttons on the inside, so Ranboo awkwardly pressed the down arrow, allowing it to rattle to life and start to slowly descend.

The two were silent until it landed at the bottom, the doors barely opening enough for them to squeeze through and glance around the destroyed basement they found themselves in. The walls were crumbling, mechanical parts piled up against the exposed rebar lit up by a faded sting of fairy lights.

“Okay… this is super creepy.” Ranboo commented distastefully, suppressing a shiver as he pulled the switch on the generator. “Like, everything in here is creepy but this is super creepy. I don't like this one bit.”

He glanced around the dim underground area, spotting another glowing red light off to his left—belonging to another generator.

“Oh good, another one.” He huffed, pulling the switch.

There was more concrete and trash between him and a third generator, him pulling the switch to turn it on and clear the puffing exhaust that was clouding his view of the tunnel that turned off down towards the right. He started to step around it before noticing the bodies of two hanging endoskeletons, immediately on edge.

“AH!” He instantly stumbled back around the corner, before a long moment passed and he didn't hear any whirring. Peeking back down the open hallway, he let out a sigh of relief as he didn't see any red lights. “Oh, they’re deactivated. Whoops.”

Sneaking past the two bodies—just in case—had him finding another generator, turning it on and stepping past it into a widening area in front of what looked to be a large, half-collapsed building. The front was decorated like the Pizzaplex upstairs, but with a damaged sign reading ‘Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place’.

“This yours?” Ranboo asked with a grin, though it quickly fell at Freddy’s confused concern.

“I… do not know.”

Ranboo threw the switch on two more generators right by the exit of the tunnel, spotting one more in the area by the double doors leading into the strange, decrepit pizza place. Ducking around the security bot—that was missing its entire face plate and several other parts—he frowned as he stared down at the third generator.

“How many generators are there?!” He finally exclaimed, annoyed, pulling the lever with a little more force than necessary.

Freddy cracked a light smile at Ranboo’s exasperation, the two pushing onwards through the two sets of double doors into the interior of the building.

It really looked exactly like an old-fashioned pizza place. The floor was a cracked black and white checkered tile, with a boarded up stage off to one side. There were rows of rotted and collapsing tables, set with cone hats and plates for a birthday party that must've never happened. There were glass doors leading in, but they'd been completely shattered—leaving nothing but the black metal outlines to show where they once stood. After pulling the switch on another generator, Ranboo slowly made his way through the busted glass window beside the doors to look around.

“Oh, man… what is this place?” He wondered, steps slow and deliberate to step over the broken glass and scattered party decorations. “And why is it under the main building? Did they build on top of it on purpose?”

All of the doors against the back wall are rusted shut, Ranboo eventually having to cave to his curiosity—and dread—by approaching a half-assedly blocked off hole in the center of the room.

“Are we… supposed to go down there?” Ranboo asked, staring down into the darkness of the sinkhole. “What even is that?”

“I know what this is. I have been here before.” Freddy said after a moment, hesitantly stepping down onto the first concrete platform. “She brought me here. I found myself for the first time when I cleared the path. I did not want to, but I had no choice.”

Ranboo cautiously followed Freddy’s carefully placed steps, listening intently as they picked their way through the rubble.

“Now, I have a choice. I have changed. My friends are here. They are so angry… confused… but I can protect you.”

“Freddy?” Ranboo asked softly, though Freddy didn't seem to hear him as he tested the strength of some wooden scaffolding before stepping across it.

Ducking under bent and twisted security signs and loose rebar, Ranboo followed Freddy as best he could—until they reached a short tunnel surrounded by broken or otherwise unused and destroyed mechanical parts. One top of the pile was a dirty white Freddy head, thankfully deactivated as it was attached to a conglomerate of bendable arms, hands, and other cabling.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think it was sleeping.

“Oh, what the fuck…” Trailing off into horrified silence, Ranboo tried to keep his breathing quiet and even as he slipped past the mangled mess of animatronic parts and dropped down through a hole at the end—one that Freddy had already disappeared through.

Landing awkwardly but managing to stay steady on both feet, Ranboo glanced around what seemed like a security office, though the layout was strange and there was a recharge station in one corner. Spotting a desk with a set of rather outdated TV sets and a panel of buttons, Ranboo stepped forward only to freeze as Freddy suddenly clutched at his head with a groan.

“I am not me.” Freddy mumbled, the lights in Roxy’s eyes flickering. “Stop… him…”

“What? Freddy?” Ranboo moved to get closer to Freddy but stopped as the animatronic seemed to glitch and spaz—Monty’s sharpened claws outstretched. “What happened, are you okay? What are you talking about?”

“He is trying to take control of me.” Freddy explained hurriedly, backing up towards the recharge station. “I do not think I can fight it for long.”

“He?” Ranboo stared after him, confused, before turning to see a charred and mostly destroyed animatronic suit on the grainy TV screen moving around. “That crazy horrifying thing on the TV screen is a he?”

Freddy didn’t answer, nodding a little as he stepped into the recharge station and let the doors close to trap him inside.

“I’ll respect his pronouns, but not anything else. I especially will not respect his attempts to mind control you.”

Confused about what exactly he needed to do, Ranboo stood awkwardly in front of the desk until he heard heavy footsteps in one of the hallways.

Slamming a hand onto the button that closed the security door on that side, Ranboo nodded to himself confidently. “Okay, I can do this. How hard can it be?”

Making a note to keep an eye on the draining power bar beside the buttons, he let the door slide back up as soon as Chica gave up and stalked off—screeching all the way.

The TV still showed the same creature as before, Ranboo relying on his ability to peek out down both hallways and his hearing to look out for the animatronics, occasionally sending a worried glance back at Freddy in the recharge station.

“Where are you?!”

Freezing a little at Roxy’s yell, Ranboo readied himself to close one of the doors and pray it would be enough to keep her out. “Oh boy.”

He slammed the door just in time, Roxy sprinting full speed into it and doing her best to claw frantically at the security door—which thankfully didn't budge. By the time Roxy left Ranboo was sure he had everything handled, until there was a loud clanging in the vents on the back wall—Ranboo turning to see Monty’s torso attempting to claw its way out of the dilapidated shaft.

“Oh.” Ranboo mumbled, shutting an internal door in the vent shaft to block Monty. He then heard more distorted screaming from down the right hallway, hitting the button to close it as Chica came flailing down towards him. “Oh.” He paused, watching the battery drain just a little bit faster from having both doors closed. “I hate this.”

His relief at Monty and Chica finally giving up and being able to reopen the doors was short lived, as one of the dirty floor tiles under his feet shifted. He turned down to look just as if shattered open, a tangled mess of wires slithering out to wrap tightly around one of his ankles.

“Ah, man—!!” Ranboo quickly used his other leg to try and scrape it off, only for doing so to send a painful electric shock through his entire body. He felt himself lock up for a moment, before being able to shake off the jolt and turn a glare to the wires that have now made it up to his knee. It shocked him again, his hair standing up on end as he struggled to breathe evenly through the random bursts of hot lightning throughout his entire body. A quick glance at the TV showed what seemed to be the animatronic suit somehow doing this—though it was hard to tell in all 5 pixels the screen offered.

Ranboo huffed and steadied himself, using both hands to grab at the wires now around his waist, ignoring the pain of another shock and quickly untangling himself from it as fast as he could. He tossed the now inanimate wires aside, heaving a sigh of relief.

In an instant the room shifted again, molded and damaged ceiling tiles falling and more masses of wires forcing their way through as the floor cracked and rumbled and the whole building shook.

“This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare, right? There’s no way any of this is real in any capacity.” Ranboo mumbled to himself, shutting one of the doors as Roxy came running towards the office again. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this—!”

As soon as Roxy was gone, Ranboo took another glance at the flailing and sparking wires and the recharge station in the corner, lighting up slightly.

“Okay… I have a really really bad idea…” He grinned nervously, forcing the recharging station open to reveal Freddy clutching at his head and groaning. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be great, even! Yeah… this is fine.”

“Ranboo?” Freddy asked through his daze, confused.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Freddy.” Ranboo smiled, gently pulling Freddy out of the station before keeping a wide berth around his friend. “I promise.”

“Wait, Ranboo—!” Freddy reached out to stop him as he grabbed one of the wire masses from the ceiling—which immediately shocked him.

“I got this, Freddy!” Ranboo tried to reassure, twitching slightly and definitely fried. Getting the wires to attach to the recharge station was easy, since it immediately wrapped around the top and started sliding down. Ranboo ran to the other side of the room with Freddy in tow just in time for another shock to pass from the wires, the recharge station immediately overloaded.

The blast knocked both of them into the far wall, slightly scorching the edges of Ranboo’s clothes and face, his ears ringing loudly and his vision sliding in and out of focus.

“—boo? Ranboo?!” Freddy was frantically trying to get his attention, relief overtaking his expression as Ranboo finally blinked out of his explosion induced haze.

“Oh, hey.” He grinned tiredly, looking past Freddy at the now flaming recharge station. “It worked, perfect. Now let's get out of here.”

Freddy nodded and grabbed one of Ranboo’s hands, keeping him steady as he still hadn't fully recovered from the blast—and was definitely bleeding from the head again. Luckily, Freddy no longer seemed affected by whatever mind control had been going on earlier, but neither were curious enough to stick around and watch the animatronic suit on the TV screen get attacked by the strange animatronic head and wire pile they'd passed on the way in.

The building was collapsing around them, but they'd managed to stay just ahead of it—escaping to an alley outside of the Pizzaplex before everything completely caved in.

Injured but still standing, Ranboo was impressed he'd made it out in (mostly) one piece.

Small victories, he told himself, frantically trying to catch his breath. He turned a small smile to Freddy beside him, who returned the expression.Finally—finally—things were over.

#five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's au #five nights at freddy's #fnaf sb #fnaf #fnaf security breach #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #cross posted on ao3 #whump #angst #ranboolive #ranboo #ranboo fanfic #glamrock freddy #glamrock monty #glamrock roxanne #glamrock chica

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emcant · 4 months ago

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NOW WITH INSTRUCTIONS

Please dogfood this and tell me if I've thrown you off anywhere.

This particular dude is made from

Caron Pound of Love in white

Size D crochet hook

I think 16mm safety eyes

About 3 good handfuls of fiberfill

Yarn needle

Note: Reminder that it’s okay if yours looks different than mine.

I have a really high crochet tension - I’ve broken a plastic hook more than once. Please use the smallest hook you comfortably can (you don’t want your stuffing visible or falling out). It might be bigger than mine. It’ll be fine.

I learned to crochet on amigurumi - I have a workaround for the join at the end of each row. You don’t need to do it to make this look great.

This guy is made top-down. Starting from the head:

Ch 2, sl st in 2nd ch from hook to make a ring.

Hdc 8 times within the ring (8 st).

2hdc in the space before the first hdc of the last round. 2 hdc in all other spaces. (18 st)

[Put one hdc in between the 2hdc in the next st. 2hdc in the next space] around. See image above for reference. Make sure to place 2hdc st in this row after the 2hdc st in the last row. This is how to increase in the round. If you put 2hdc in the space between the last row’s 2hdc, it’s going to turn pointy and not increase consistently. (27 st)

[Two hdc, one 2hdc] around. (36 st)

[Three hdc, one 2hdc] around. (45 st)

[Four hdc, one 2hdc] around. (54 st) (Continue expanding in this pattern here if you would like a wider ghost.)

One hdc around. (54 st)

Repeat until you reach your desired body length. This particular guy is an additional 29 rows long.

2hdc in every space around. (108 st)

[Put one hdc in between the 2hdc in the next st. 2hdc in the next space] around. (162 st)

[Two hdc, one 2hdc] around. (216 st)

[Three hdc, one 2hdc] around. (270 st). I fastened off here but you could keep going for a bigger ruffle.

Butt

With a new length of yarn, follow steps 1-8, then break off.

If you’re using acrylic yarn, I’d recommend taking a break and throwing your parts in the laundry. A hot wash will make the final product much softer.

Assembly

With the ghost’s right side outward, attach your safety eyes.

Turn right side inward. Sew (or sl st, if you want) the butt to the body on the last row before the increases start again. Leave just enough unfinished stitches to turn it inside out again.

Turn it inside out again and stuff it.

Close seam with sewing method of choice. Weave in ends.

Also get spooped idiot

#em can and so can you #crochet pattern #free crochet pattern #amigurumi pattern #free amigurumi patttern

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1-800-simping · 2 years ago

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Not Quite

pairing: jimmy page x reader (insecure)

genre: fluff, with a hint of comfort

tw: stretch marks (let me know if there's anything else I missed)

word count: 547

summary:

you're supposed to be getting ready for dinner with Robert, his wife, and Jimmy, when no outfit feels right.

a/n: jimmy page is my future husband, he just doesn't know it yet. this is also my first fic on here, not really sure how to feel about it.

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“You almost ready, love?” Jimmy called out from the bathroom. You were supposed to meet Robert and his wife for dinner later that evening, but of course, you and Jimmy decided you’d arrive early like you always did. Neither of you liked being late to events, which is how you ended up here, two hours before dinner, stressing as you tried to find an outfit that you thought would look great on your body. You had already emptied your side of your and Jimmy's shared closet. There were clothes all over your bedroom and you were right in the middle of the mess.

“Not quite,” you replied as you tried on your fifth pair of jeans in a row. You hated the way all of these clothes looked on you. They were all either too tight, too revealing, too baggy, or not fit for the occasion. You quickly took off the pants and stood in front of the mirror as tears started rolling down your cheeks. You had so many clothes to wear, but you didn’t like any of them on your body, but you’d worn them perfectly fine before. Though, Robert's wife always had the better fashion sense. She always talked about designer brands and her athletic abilities while you thought about your stretch marks and the parts of your body with any bits of fat.

“Do you need help choosing an outf- are you okay y/n?!” Jimmy questioned as he ran over to your side, his slim body pressing against yours. He embraced you tightly in his arms, your head smashed in his chest. You knew he was wearing a white shirt underneath, so you tried not to get it dirty by placing your hands over your eyes. Jimmy began drawing circles on your back as you cried. “Shhh, everything’s okay, love. It’ll be okay,” he whispered in your ear.

Once you had stopped crying for a bit, Jimmy sat down on your shared bed, placing you on his lap so he could continue to hold you. “What happened, love? Are you okay?” He asked worriedly. You nodded silently as you looked around at all the clothes on the floor. “Did you and the closet get in a fight?” Jimmy joked as you poked at his ribs. “Kinda, nothing in it fits my body right, and especially because Percy’s wife is going, I need to dress nicely.”

Jimmy clicked his tongue in disagreement. “Your clothes fit you perfectly, love. And don’t dress so extravagantly; it's just one dinner. Your body is perfect as it is and so are the clothes.” “No, it’s not, Jimmy.” Your arms slithered around your midriff, blocking anyone from seeing. Jimmy noticed this and quickly pinned your arms above you on the bed. You yelped from the sudden movement, causing Jimmy to smirk.

“You’re absolutely stunning, y/n, and don’t ever say otherwise. I love every part of you, including your stretch marks and your pea-sized brain for thinking that you’re not enough when you are.” Jimmy began kissing every inch of your body, mumbling things like, “ooh, I love this,” and “this is definitely my favorite.”

Shortly after Jimmy finished encapsulating your body with love, he helped you pick out a cute outfit for dinner. He really was your dream partner.

#jimmy page #robert plant #led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfic #jimmy page x reader #comfort #insecure reader #jimmy page fanfic #respectfully hit me with your violin bow jimmy

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years ago

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Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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hyunverse · 4 years ago

Text

more than friends | gojo satoru

✧ part two for friendzoned

✧ gender neutral

✧ genre; fluff

✧ requested by anon(s)

✧ note. i swear i'll put a "read more" line later. i'm on mobile rn 🗿

gojo satoru is late again. he arrives at jujutsu tech an hour late, a result of him stopping by a few shops to buy sweets. he could've teleported but for petty reasons, he didn't. "could use some fresh air", he'd reason.

you're standing by the field, monitoring your students' activities. you laugh as panda spin nobara around in the air, inumaki running after her flying body. they're currently hard at work, practising for the school event.

at the sight of you, gojo's reminded of your confession to him. he gulps, hoping the bitter taste on his tongue will subside. but it doesn't. the bitterness— harsher than the taste of dark coffee, doesn't leave his tongue. he hates that.

"they're working quite hard", gojo says, casually. as if acting like he's fine would somehow make things fine.

"yeah", you reply, doing the same thing he's doing. acting like the confession didn't happen. maybe if you tried hard enough it'll be like you didn't pour out your feelings at all.

gojo watches as you laugh at inumaki yelling "tuna, tuna" at the top of his lungs, chasing after nobara. he notices the way your eyes shine while you laugh and how you don't even try to hold back your giggles. gojo finds them cute. he wonders why he hasn't noticed those small details before. a voice in him screams, "it's because you're always saying you're attractive, you never notice others' physicals", making gojo frown. that's partially true and he doesn't like that.

"hey, we should get lunch after this", you interupt his thoughts.

the sorcerer looks up. looking into yours eyes, he tries to search for any sign of sadness, awkwardness— anything that'll show how you're affected by his rejection but he couldn't find any. shouldn't he be happy that you're okay? he knows he should, but something inside of him feels dissapointed.

"yeah, my treat".

six times. gojo had glanced at you six times now, all in a span of an hour. the fact that he even counted shows just how self conscious he's feeling at the moment.

you're twisting noodles around your fork, vegetables abandoned at the side of your plate. gojo, sitting right in front of you eats his mochi quietly. an abnormal silence— the man usually always has something to say. you don't complain though, you needed some silence after hours of training your students.

"hey, look at this video", you break the silence, sliding your phone across the table for him to see. hands on the table, your pinky grazes against his. like it's a reflex, you pull away your pinky, leaving gojo even more confused.

the skin contact between you went by so quick, gojo's mind starts to imagine. a picture of you holding his hand pops up in his mind, and he feels goosebumps all over his body. but the memory of you flinching and pulling your fingertips away knocks out all the images out of his head.

they're acting like i'm poisonous, gojo monologues. he watches from the side of his eyes as you put your hands down under the table, tapping your fingers against the wooden table. gojo pushes your phone back to you.

"let's go", he gets up, and you do too. he holds his arm up to you— a muscle memory. he always does that, it's been a platonic thing all these years.

unlike always, you don't link your arms with his.

day by day, gojo starts to understand his feelings. he had realized that they aren't platonic, but he only realized just how intense his feelings are one day at a meeting.

yaga sits at the edge of the table, scanning the reports in hand. you sit between nanami and gojo, legs crossed.

you've always been a professional shaman. you get shit done and you smile at your coworkers. you have fun, and you're dedicated to your work. "classic lovely y/n", people would say everytime one brings up your amazing mannerisms.

gojo knowing you for years is no stranger to those compliments. however, he draws a line when the "compliments" sound like flirting.

"you're a lovely individual, i'd love to work with you someday", nanami utters, before turning his attention back to yaga. gojo can see the blush creeping up your cheeks, and your fingers fiddling with your top.

"flirting in work now, nanami?", gojo wastes no time to call the male out. nanami looks at the sorcerer, an eyebrow raised.

"it's just a small compliment".

gojo grits his teeth. then why does the small compliment irks him so much?

nothing annoys you more than people ringing your door bell when you're sleeping, not even stubborn curses. still in your pajamas you somehow make it to your door (by somehow, you'd stubbed your toe against a furniture and you walked while holding the wall).

"y/n", a drunk gojo slurs. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, inviting him in once you've established that it really is gojo.

gojo walks into your house, crashing right onto your couch. the couch you used to watch movies with him on, sharing laughters and screams together. one time you watched the conjuring with gojo, he spent the whole time during the introduction bragging over how he wouldn't be scared but he'd literally jump at the slightest scary things.

"why are you drunk at 3 am, satoru?", you ask, tossing a mineral bottle his way, "sober up".

he groans and tosses the bottle away, leaning his messy head against the burgundy couch. the leather couch lessens the heat he's feeling on his body.

you chuckle before sitting beside him, closing your eyes shut, too lazy to get into bed. you managed to dodge any private interactions with him for the past few months but since he's knocked out, it should be okay, right? plus it's been so long, you're sure (sort of) he had forgotten about your confession.

gojo suddenly hums a song softly, a song you couldn't quite recognize. he pulls your arm and links it with his.

"you're so beautiful", he says. flat out. just those words. knocking oxygen out of your soul.

"satoru?"

"mhm. so pretty", he says again, making you look up at him to see him looking at you. there are some red hues in his eyes, clearly showing the fact that he's drunk.

that's why you're shocked; gojo satoru is an honest drunk. whatever that comes out of his mouth when he's drunk are truths.

"you think so?", you take advantage of his state. a nod of his head causes your heart to blossom.

"yeah like, i like you a lot. because you're like... really cute. especially when you smile. i really, really want to be more than friends".

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #apollo.html #gojou #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou fluff #gojo imagines #gojo satoru imagines

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desichameleon · 3 years ago

Note

Could I request from the prompt Valentine the number 18 + a kiss for Carlos x reader if possible pls! Carlos being the one who confessed pls! (A plot twist hehe)

valentines special !

stupid feelings

pairings : carlos x gn!reader

request : yes / no

summary : carlos tries to ask out the reader with help from dolores and mirabel

warnings : slightly soft carlos, nosey dolores and mirabel, annoyed carlos, embarrassed carlos, i think thats it !

prompt/s : 18 - “that was so cheesy” “i just confessed my love for you” “and it was cheesy”

“ugh sentimientos estúpidos“ Carlos groaned into his pillow, this was the forth night in a row, why can’t your perfect face and perfect voice and perfect everything just leave his thoughts alone! Carlos got up from his bed and stretched, the boy caught a glimpse of himself in one of his many many mirrors, man this was really taking a toll on him, he looked like his tío. Carlos had eyebags from lack of sleep and his hair was a mess, it wasn’t even covering an eye! Nobody should see two of his eyes at once it would simply ruin the effect so before he left the shape shifter quickly fixed his hair, but not too much so it looked like he woke up like this.

Carlos slipped out of his room and trudged down stairs into the kitchen to get a drink of water at this ungodly hour, looking out of the kitchen window he noticed the sun was rising. Carlos then thought of you, your warm smile, your cute laugh and your... wait no. ‘you can’t have a crush idiota’ the voice in his head poked him, and it was right having a crush would ruin his reputation.

“hola hermano“ a voice came making Carlos jump, turning around he notices it just Dolores, “dios mio, Dolores can you like ever walk with some kind of sound? Thanks.” Carlos says going back to his water. “what were you saying about ‘sentimientos estúpidos’” Dolores smirked using air quotes on the last part, “w-what?” Carlos spluttered spitting out the water, “oh come on Carlos, I know you like (y/n) you’re always mumbling about them” she spoke getting her own glass of water.

Carlos blinked at his older hermana, how did she know? “how do you know? You’re room is soundproof” he says heading out of the kitchen, “because I’m assuming you talk about them every nigh because every time I exit my room I hear you talking about them” Dolores says putting her glass down and leaving. That’s when Carlos had an idea, “Dolores wait” a stupid one but it was still an idea.

“so you want me to confess my love - which is not true its just a crush! - to them” Carlos said with a straight face making Dolores roll her eyes, “put some emotion into it Carlos, they won’t date you if you just stare at them like that, it’ll just creep them out” Carlos huffs while pacing around the room. “you know what I’m going to get advice from someone who doesn’t stalk people” the boy said heading to the door, “oh like from Camilo?” Dolores laughs, “good luck he ran into a wall when he confessed” Dolores laughs harder at her own comment making Carlos rethink his decision, should he really ask Camilo for relationship advice? No. Better stick with his sister, “fine, what should I do” Carlos says sitting on her bed.

“you got the flowers?” Dolores said trying to fix the younger boys hair, “yes now leave my hair alone” Carlos replies ducking away from his sister. Carlos had stolen red roses from Isabela’s flower garden and managed to ask Mirabel to make a small heart shaped pillow without gaining suspicions from anyone else. “ah I can’t believe you like (y/n)! You guys will be so cute together” Mirabel squealed making Carlos slap a hand over her mouth “tranquilo!” Carlos snapped at the both of them.

Carlos then headed off to your house as his sister and prima waved at him wishing him good luck, “tienes esto” Carlos whispered to himself as he approached you. You looked godly, just you sitting there made him want to explode, why did he feel like this?! Just before he got close enough to you Carlos cleared his throat so his voice would sound somewhat normal, “h-hola (y/n)” he said making you jump at the sudden voice next to you, “oh hola Carlos, are you okay?” you ask at the boys random appearance, “sí I just wanted to uh well... these are for you” the boy shoved the roses in your face. “huh?” you let out a confused noise and took the small bundle or roses, “Carlos are you sure you’re okay? ¿Tiene fiebre o algo así?” you ask again and the boy just groans.

“fine I have to do it the hard way.” Carlos takes your hand and drags you with him into an alleyway, “Carlos ¿Estás demente?” you say loudly and the boy just shushes you, ‘here goes nothing’ Carlos says to himself - in his mind of course - “(y/n) ever since I laid my eyes apon you-” “eye” you interjected and Carlos just rolled his eyes, well only one eye was visible, “ever since I laid my eyes upon you you have stolen my heart or whatever and I really think I like you but I didn’t know how to tell you until Dolores told me how.

So um I also have this for you” Carlos awkwardly placed a small heart pillow into your hand making you smile, “so um do you want to be my partner? Or something” the Madrigal whispered the last part making you giggle. “that was so cheesy” the boy was taken aback by your comment “i just confessed my love for you” he shot back, immediately going red at the realisation of the word love, “and it was cheesy” you said back to him, face also flushed red. Before you could even register what happened Carlos kissed you, a kiss you gladly returned,

“does that mean we’re like novio y novia/novio?”

#carlos madrigal #carlos encanto #carlos madrigal encanto #encanto x reader #carlos madrigal x reader #carlos x reader #madrigal x reader #carlos madrigal fluff #encanto carlos #encanto carlos madrigal

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josjournal · 2 years ago

Text

A Part of the Family

Written for @wordplayfics

Theme: Scramble

Zayn groaned when he heard his phone ping multiple times in a row. Rolling over, he slapped his hand on the nightstand until he made contact and dragged it closer, dropping it on the mattress twice in the process and having to start the entire slapping thing all over again. When he managed to pull it close enough to read, he turned it on and realised he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

With great effort, he managed to slit them open enough to wince against the sunlight shining through the curtains. It never failed that he always managed to leave them open on the nights when he got the least amount of sleep. His phone pinged again, drawing his attention from the window.

A string of text messages from his boyfriend filled the screen. Three more appeared before Zayn could unlock his phone. The last text was simply, “ZAYN!!!!” He panicked when the phone started ringing, Liam’s face filling the screen. Liam never called. Something must have happened.

“Who died?” Zayn asked when he answered.

“What? Someone died?” Liam asked. “Who? What happened?”

“Liam, you’re texting and calling me like a madman, so if someone died, doesn’t that, like, mean you would know who it was?” Zayn asked, amazed he’d managed to string so many words together in a somewhat comprehendible sentence. When the only response was silence, Zayn continued. “Why are you calling?”

“Brunch,” he said.

Zayn froze while sitting up and immediately started scrambling off the bed. He’d completely forgotten in his rush to finish the midterm art project that he was supposed to be having Liam and his parents over for a ‘meet the parents' brunch. He pulled his phone away to look at the time and started moving faster. They were due to arrive in less than an hour.

“We can just do it another time,” Liam said when Zayn hadn’t said anything. The hurt in his voice was enough to get Zayn to move even faster, and he managed to get his feet caught in the duvet and fell to the floor.

“No. No!” Zayn said. He already had the food in the fridge. He just had to figure out what to turn it into to impress Liam’s parents, hopefully. “It’ll be fine. I’m just going to jump into the shower. See you when you get here.”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked. “If you’d rather not do this, I understand.”

Zayn swallowed past the lump in his throat. Liam’s last relationship had ended because his girlfriend refused to meet his parents, so he knew how vital this brunch was to Liam. He wasn’t going to lose him over his own forgetfulness.

“I’m sure. I love you. See you soon.”

“Okay,” Liam responded, sounding only moderately happier. “I love you, too.”

Zayn threw his phone onto the bed after Liam hung up. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered. Looking around his room, he decided to keep the door closed while his guests were there. He did not have time to clean up the disaster left over from the work he’d done the night before.

Hurrying into the kitchen, he pulled open the fridge and grabbed two packages of cinnamon rolls. They could cook while he showered, and then once he was done with that, he could start cutting up the fruit and figuring out what he wanted to do with the eggs and veggies he’d bought.

Forty minutes later, Zayn stood at the hob. He’d pulled his damp hair into a top knot. He wore a grey tee shirt underneath a grey and white flannel. He’d put on his one part of jeans without holes in the knees. On his feet were the fuzzy socks that Liam had given him for Christmas.

He stared into the pan as the butter melted. He’d been thinking about making omelettes but wasn’t sure if he should wait for everyone to get there so he could customise or just make a bunch ahead of time and hope there would be something for everyone.

A knock at the door distracted him from the pan in front of him. He knew Liam had a key, but he figured he didn’t want his family knowing that, so he turned off the flame beneath it. “Coming!” he called out as he made his way to the door.

“Waiting!” Liam called back, followed by a giggle.

He heard a woman hiss, “Don’t be rude.”

Zayn pulled the door to find Liam looking properly chastised with people Zayn recognised from the multiple photos Liam had shown Zayn. “Welcome, Mr and Mrs Payne,” he said, stepping back to let them pass.

“Geoff,” Liam’s dad insisted as Karen stepped up and pulled Zayn into a hug.

“Oh, Liam, he’s so pretty,” Karen said. “His photos don’t do him justice.”

“Mooooom,” Liam whined.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Zayn said, returning the hug.

“Call me Karen,” she said, pulling back and holding Zayn’s face between her hands for a moment before patting his cheeks and moving further into the flat.

“Sorry,” Liam said, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek.

“They seem lovely,” Zayn said, still feeling nervous, but Karen’s aura put him at ease. “Now, help me finish cooking.”

When Zayn and Liam got to the kitchen area, Karen stood over the pan, watching a mix of eggs and ingredients. “Mom,” Liam said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just wanted to help.” She turned to Zayn, eyes wide.

“I appreciate the help, Karen,” Zayn said. “Now tell me how I can help you.”

It took about fifteen minutes for the egg scramble Karen had started to cook. Geoff and Liam set the small table in the corner of Zayn’s living room. Once they settled around the table, the ease of conversation surprised Zayn. He’d been so nervous about meeting Liam’s parents, and after oversleeping, he’d been sure everything would be an absolute disaster. Instead, when the plates were empty, Zayn felt like a part of the family.

Cross-posted to AO3

#ziam #jos boys #ziam fic #my writing #wordplayfics #wordplayfics 2022 #a part of the family

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geminixevans-stan · 3 years ago

Text

Bare Pages - Part 2

Pairing: Professor!Ransom Drysdale x Black Female Reader

Words: 1.9k+

Summary: Some old memories can never just be left alone.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, mentions of murder and previous sexual assault, explicit language, smidge of fluff

A/N: andddd we already have a part 2! I won’t lie, I’m so invested in this story and I can’t wait for you all to be too! Like, comment & reblog. Enjoy! ♥

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Part 1

Series MasterList

I do not consent to my work being copied, plagiarized, or translated in any way >:P

No matter how early or on time you were for reading and literature class, the front rows were already packed the minute you got there. Didn’t matter to you much because you were fine being in the middle. You weren’t trying to gain the attention of the Professor and from the looks of things, he didn’t care about the looks he got every time he walked into class.

It was like any other day, him going over a few literary works, the clock going by fairly slow as you leaned in a bit to listen to him talk. The only time you have ever seen him remotely animated was when there was a book in his face.

Even then it wasn’t some phenomenal show that captivated you the way it did the others. You’d have to admit, he wasn’t an ugly guy but to say you wanted to bone him was the last thing you wanted to do. Honestly, you haven’t even had the desire to do anything close to that after…

“It’s okay honey,” whispered John, your second foster father. His hands roaming your bare legs as he inched closer and close up to you, “It’ll feel good I promise…”

It felt like just yesterday when you were taken without permission. The image still haunting you a few days out of the month. You thought about therapy but the last time someone tried to “help” you ended up in a facility with restraints around your wrists and ankles for 48 hours. Talk about being helped right?

Your mind snapped back to the lesson at hand, listening to the constant whispers in front of you. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the same girls make more thirsty comments about a man who clearly stated he would rather eat sand than touch them.

At some point, you would think once he gave them that clear indication that they would stop but, these girls were ruthless. Whoever told them that sleeping their way to the top was easy, should have told them the truth. But what do you know?

Time was winding down and just as the bell was about to ring, you hear your name being called from the front of the class. You look over in the directions as your professor stared back at you.

You straighten yourself up against your seat to answer back, “Yes Professor Drysdale?”

“I need to see you after class. Nothing major just something quick,” He informed you and right after his statement, you could hear the lovely Samantha retort.

“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” she says low enough but of course you heard it clear as day.

You leaned forward over your desk, tapping her on the shoulder, “Don’t worry your little head, It’s just business,” leaning back to gather up your things. She glared at you, something else that she wanted to say lingering on her lips. Before she could open her mouth again, the bell silenced her along with the shuffle of bags and feet tracing down the stays and out the door.

The last of the students were out the door before you moved from your seat, walking down and in front of the Professor’s desk. Up close you could smell the woodsy scent mixed with… raspberry? There was a faint sweetness to it that you couldn’t put your finger on but the man had taste. You watch as he stares intently at the screen, stopping to look at you,

“Have a seat. I wanted to talk to you about your essay. I’ll never sugarcoat anything and I read every word and… I call bullshit.”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, hoping you didn’t just hear what you thought you did. Bullshit. He called your personal essay bullshit. As you clutch on the strap of your backpack, you give him a pointed stare, “I’m not sure what you mean Professor Drysdale. The assignment was to write why reading and writing was important to me. That seems like a personal assignment don’t you think?”

Ransom leaned back in his seat, staring up at you, “Yes it is personal. But, this unicorns and rainbows piece that you tried to pass off? That’s not you and I’ve watched you.”

“And how would you know that? Not like I’ve spent even a second in your personal space. You don’t know me to say what’s important to me.”

The nerve of him to try and analyze you while he sat on his well-deserved high horse. He may have been a renowned author, but he didn’t know shit about you.

Ransom knew he didn’t exactly know you but he knew enough to know that there was something deeper in you that turned you into wanting to be a writer. He’s read your works in high school and it was far from what you wrote in your essay. The fact that such a young mind had short works like this stunned him. So yeah, he was going to test you.

He didn’t care how he did it or how mad you got, he was going to get you to be real with yourself for once, “That may be true. I don’t know you that well. But there is something else there and it definitely isn’t what was written here. Do it again. I’ll even give you a week to actually write something worth reading,” his decision was final. But he wasn’t going to get the last word in.

Tilting your head a bit, you keep your eyes locked on him, “I don’t know what else you think you’ll get from me. You wanted something personal and that’s what I gave you. I’ll do it but don’t be surprised when it’s the same thing in a different format. Have a nice day Professor.”

And just like that you turned away and walked out the door. You wouldn’t let him or anyone see you fuming. Because why would anyone care? It was just best you saved all the temper until you got back to the dorms. Bullshit… He actually called your essay bullshit.

You could have said your work was better than any book he put out but you would have had to actually read one to know. Having his comment on your brain would only keep you distracted from your other classes for the day. So you stuffed it down with everything else and made your way on to the next class.

The night was filled with a cheesy show on tv in the background as you completed everything that need to be done for the day. You were still perplexed at how your essay could have been anything but stellar so, you decided to pull it back up again. As you began to read the first paragraph, you felt the buzz from your phone going off and your mother’s face popping up on the screen for a facetime.

You had to admit that you were missing her and your dad and you had been so busy that you didn’t even have time to ring them at all. Pushing the laptop aside, you picked up your phone and pressed the green button to answer. Not only were you met with her face, but you were also met with your dad, both of them beaming at you.

“Hi, mom! Hi dad!”

“Hey, baby girl” “Hi sweetie,” they say simultaneously. Your dad gives you his knowing look and you try so hard not to burst out in laughter.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But you guys should have warned me that college was gonna be a job in itself.”

“Oh, I told you,” your father laughed, “You just thought you were almighty and that you had it in the bag. How’s it been treating you?”

Your mother chimed in right after, “Tell us everything! We miss your face so much around here.”

The conversation goes on as you tell them about the first week and how you already had to speak your mind maybe once or twice in class. Your mother gave a light scolding look but your father, the ever so fierce one was proud to know that even from miles away, you still didn’t take anything.

You almost let the ordeal from earlier slip out but you wanted to handle it in your own way. This time was meant to catch up with the ones you loved and you didn’t want to put a damper on the conversation. Why would you want to bring them into something so trivial? If anything, your professor didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

Your parents kept you talking for a good 45 minutes before you let them know that you had to finish some more assignments. This was just what they needed.

To see your face and know that you were okay. But to be honest, you were never okay. You just did a good job at masking it. Something that you learned year after year when life dealt you spoiled milk instead of lemons.

With your daily homework and things done, you climb off the couch grabbing your remote to flick to the nighttime news. A habit you picked up when you became to be adopted.

Your dad would always watch the news before going to bed, his excuse being that you never know what people are up to. Which was true and you were definitely a witness to that.

You walk towards the fridge, opening it to take out the leftover pasta that you made last night when you heard the familiar name that you tried to escape from.

Tomorrow marks the 20th anniversary of the Warner Massacre that claimed Phillip, Carrie, Adam, Lily, and baby Aiden. Their murders shocked the entire state of Massachusetts, the culprit to never have been found. To commemorate the untimely passing of such a loving family, our former newswoman turned author, Monica Shepherd goes into detail in her new book “The unfortunate five” about just what happened all those years ago. She was the first on the scene as the bodies of every victim were wheeled out, Monica questioning the police officers and even the sole survivor…

Your blood boiled as every word was said. Looking at the screen, you remember her face. Her pushing a microphone to your face as the large light from the large camera, blinding your eyesight. Her voice was the first one that you could make out the moment you were taken from the house.

The yellow tape covering the front yard that you once played in. It was all coming back to you and you felt the tightness in your chest, as you slid down the wall, taking quick breaths.

This wasn’t some celebration! Your life was ruined and she got to make a book about it. The anger boiled as the tears spilled down your cheeks. You had no one to help. No one to call for help or to tell you it was going to be okay. Of course, you could call your parents but they would just be a reminder of just why they had you in the first place.

With shaky movements, you crawl over to the counter, grabbing the remote and quickly turning the tv off before falling to the floor and curling yourself in a ball.

“Stay here sweet girl. I’ll be back I promise….” Your mom said with shaky breaths, closing the closet door to encase you in the dark. You heard the screaming and the multiple shots, shooting your hands to your ears until you could no longer hear anything.

You waited and waited for her to come back but…

She never came…

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aemonds-sapphire · 4 years ago

Text

Make a Wish - Hawks x Reader

Summary: You finally asked Hawks to show how flying felt like; he ended up showing you a lot more.

Warnings: Fluff. Cavity-inducing fluff. Friends to lovers.

Word count: 2.1k

“Don’t drop me.”

“Oh! Thanks for reminding me,” Hawks said teasingly, spreading his arms. “Now, come here.”

Against your better judgment, you decided to ask the number two pro hero to take you on a short flight. Even after years of being friends with Hawks, it still took a leap of faith to trust him with something like this.

You didn’t budge, feet rooting you to the ground. “Promise?”

You knew deep down that he would never allow such thing to happen, but fear gripped your heart and lungs.

He wiggled his gloved fingers in an attempt to snap you out of your frozen state, beaming smile spreading his lips. “Why would I drop you? I love you!”

There it was.

Those three words that he’d often toss around mindlessly, and that you wondered far too many time whether it was just a proclamation of his friendship with you, or if there was something else underneath.

“Why are you frowning?” Hawks’ arms dropped to his sides as he stuck out his bottom lip. “You don’t love me? I’m hurt.”

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “Shut up. Let’s do this before it gets too late.”

He reached inside his aviator jacket and snatched a pair of headphones. “Put these on. I don’t want your eardrums busted.”

What a comforting thing to say to someone who was about to be swung up in the air in the middle of the night.

“Anyways! Now I’m matching with the famous pro hero Hawks,” you teased, finally getting your feet to move closer to where he stood. “I wonder what your fans would say.”

His big red wings quivered slightly. “Oh, so you think they’d be upset that I’m taking a beautiful girl on a ride?” he feigned concern before winking at you.

“Should we ask?” you grinned in defiance as you positioned the protective headphones over your ears.

He lifted his arms once more as if offering you a welcoming hug. With a deep sigh, you shortened the distance between you two. It was now or never.

You laced your arms around his neck as your chest hit his. Unfortunately for you, this was enough to get your heart to skip a beat.

“Hold up,” Hawks said, raising a brow. “I forgot to bring another eye visor for you. Damn.”

Your palms started getting sweaty from how warm he felt against you, but you had to push that aside for now.

“It’s fine. I’ll just keep my eyes closed.”

He brought his hands up to retrieve his own visor. “And miss the amazing view? Can’t have that,” he beamed while placing it snuggly on you. “Besides, I know these airways like the back of my wings.”

The visor tinted your field of vision with pale yellow, but since it was already dark, it didn’t make much of a difference.

You adjusted it across the bridge of your nose, and offered a smile before looping your arms around him again.

Hawks was staring at you like you were his pride and joy. “There! Seems like we got ourselves another winged hero.”

“Except I have no wings, you dumbass,” you noted, laughing.

“You have mine,” he winked in response. “Now, I need you to wrap your legs around my waist.”

Your smile faded slightly. Very poor choice of words.

“Just hop on me,” Hawks added, seeing the confused look on your face.

You took a deep breath and bent your knees slightly, just to have your legs spring up and circle his body just as requested.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, both arms tightly holding you. “Ready?”

Your heart skipped two beats; one for because how he had just praised you, even if he hadn’t meant to make it sound like that; the other because the question he had shot at you.

You nodded, propping your chin on his shoulder, instinctively closing your eyes as he took a few steps to stand on the edge of the the rooftop of your apartment.

One hand rubbed your back for a bit as if preparing you. “This part is the worst. But it’ll get better soon.”

“Just go!” you half-shouted impatiently.

And before you could even register what was about to happen, you felt your stomach lurch upwards as he took a dive off the building.

Just as you were about to scream, you felt the air change in direction when his two colossal wings suddenly hurled you up into the night sky. Your insides rolled once again as the young man defied gravity. Was he also defying your ability to keep your food down?

The white fur that lined collar of his jacket would occasionally tickle your cheek as the wind fanned the both of you. For a while, all you could hear were the strong flaps of his wings, and even though you had been flying for a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes.

Hawks’ grip on you never wavered, and neither did yours. Your legs were completely glued around his toned torso just like your arms kept tightening around his neck.

“You okay?” You heard his muffled voice.

You gave him a thumbs up, still keeping your eyes closed.

His hand started patting your lower back. “Open your eyes!”

How did he...

Carefully and slowly, you opened one eye at a time. Hawks had brought you so far up high that all you could see when looking down were faint rivers of city lights spreading as far as the eyes could see.

His wings drifted expertly across the chilling wind, bending into different angles whenever Hawks intended on shifting directions.

Everything was breathtaking. Your fear was replaced with excitement as you felt for the first time ever what it was like to be him.

Soon after, you watched as he started lowering himself towards a very tall building.

Both his wings shot upwards, allowing the wind to flow through them and allowing him to prepare for what came next

He gracefully landed on the rooftop, bending both wings close to his body.

A part of you was relieved, but another was ready for more.

“You know...” he started slowly, still holding you in place with his strong arms. “As much as I like this position—“

“Uh!” you huffed in annoyance as you promptly let your legs slide down his body, bringing your hand to his chest to push him away. “Pervert...”

“Just teasing you!”

His voice was coming out muffled, and you suddenly remembered you still had the headphones on; you pulled them down to rest around your neck much like Hawks would often do. The visor came off next and he took it back with a smile.

“How was it?” he was looking at you expectantly as he placed the visor on top of his head, a few strands of golden hair going astray in the process.

You flapped your hands along your jacket and pants to set everything back in place again. Your body was still coming down from that high, and you could still feel the surges of adrenaline rushing through your veins.

“Very... weird?” you said truthfully, rubbing both hands together from the cold breeze. “But in a good way! You’re approved!” you quickly added when you saw his smile waver.

“You cold? Want my jacket?”

Ever the gentleman. “Just my hands...”

He immediately slid his gloves off and handed them to you.

“No! What about you?” you asked worriedly.

“It’s okay! I’m hot,” he shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows at the not so subtle innuendo.

You stuck out your tongue at him, slipping both hands inside the warm fabric. You then turned on your heels to explore the rooftop and beautiful scenery.

“This makes me feel so...”

“Free?” you heard him suggest from behind you.

You agreed in silence. Up there it seemed like nothing could ever reach you. Then it hit you.

Hawks longed for freedom more than anyone else. It was painfully ironic how he was gifted with a set of wings, but was still caged by his own morals.

Looking up, you saw bright specs of stars sprinkled across the night sky, some of them framing a bright and round moon.

“Do you bring every single girl here?”

He chuckled, slightly taken aback by your change of topic. “Only the ones I want to impress.”

You scoffed. “You don’t need to do that to impress anyone,” the words automatically left your mouth, and you inwardly cursed at yourself for the slip.

“Oh? Is that a compliment?” Hawks took the opportunity to rub salt on the wound as it was so typical of him.

You shifted your eyes to the horizon that was lined by a row of light of a nearby city, feigning sudden interest.

“So... are you?” he drawled from beside you.

“Am I what?”

This time you turned your head to face him, and you had to mentally slap yourself as you were met with his handsome face.

He flashed you a boyish smile. “Impressed.”

“Very. Thank you for bringing me here... this is beautiful.”

You were about to shift your gaze back to admire the amazing view when his hand grasped your arm.

“Hey, you have something on your face.”

“Huh? What?” you panicked.

“Come here.”

Hawks leaned in, his brows furrowed. “Ah!”

“What?!”

He merely smiled as he brought a hand to your face, his thumb grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity down your spine.

Oh.

You saw a thin and slightly curved strand on the tip of his finger. An eyelash.

“Make a wish,” Hawks said excitedly.

“You serious?” you widened your eyes at him, but almost did a mental backflip at the sweetness of it all.

He didn’t reply; instead, he brought his thumb close to your face.

You puckered your lips, but he promptly pressed his index finger on them effectively stopping you.

“Eyes closed,” he whispered, looking far too serious. “You’re gonna jinx it otherwise.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, but did exactly what he asked. Once more, you brought your lips together, allowing a swift breeze of air to flow through them.

Wishing upon lashes... this was so... Hawks. You quickly thought of him. No specific details... just him.

“Keep them closed.”

“Why?” You inquired suspiciously.

His face was close to yours as his hot breath fanned your skin. “You gotta wait fifteen seconds for it to stick.”

“You just made that—“

You were cut off by a pair of lips covering yours. Your eyes shot open in surprise as his mouth slanted firmly against your own, causing a wave of warmth to pool in your stomach and a faint shiver to course down your entire body.

Thinking back, you had wished for this moment for a long time. Well, not this one in particular, but your mind managed to come up with very vivid images of Hawks slamming you against a wall only to finally kiss you; or maybe as you both gazed at the sun setting just like in those romantic movies where everything always worked out in the end.

But this was so much better.

It was far better, because of how unexpected it was. Your heart was beating so fast that you could hear the rhythmic pounding in your ears. Once you got over the initial shock, you let your eyes flutter shut as he deepened the kiss, one hand at the nape of your neck, pulling you into his embrace.

Maybe this was the universe’s way of laughing at you. A moment ago you were laughing at the idea of wishing upon eyelashes. It seemed like a childish thing to do, but here you were. You had wished for him, and he was here.

Hawks’ hand splayed across your lower back as the other slid forward to have his thumb caressing your cheek.

A raw moan tore from your throat as you felt all of him pressed up against you, and Hawks followed soon after, a soft groan rumbling through his chest.

Instinctively, you dragged your hands through his thick locks, completely forgetting about the visor resting on his head. Before you could process it, you heard a loud shatter as the fragile object hit the ground.

Fuck.

You broke the kiss at once. “Oh my god... I’m sorry!”

Hawks was glaring at you through hooded golden eyes, and you swore you had never seen that hungry look on his face before. His trademark markings that framed both eyes on both corners were lightly accentuated, and that alone was enough to make him even more alluring.

“It’s fine!” he hurriedly mumbled.

He was leaning for another kiss, but then you smacked his arm as you realized what had just happened. “You asshole! What took you so long?”

“W-what?” the young pro hero looked genuinely confused. “I could say the same to you!”

You pulled him into a hug.

Hawks relaxed against your touch. “I love you.”

Those words yet again... “Do you mean it this time?”

“Always have.”

Masterlist

#hawks #hawks fluff #hawks x reader #mha hawks #hawks x you #hawks headcanons #bnha hawks #takami keigo #mha fluff #bnha fluff #hawks x y/n #hawks scenarios #hawks imagine #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios

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strayen-fx · 3 years ago

Text

Red.

》 HHJ x reader

》 angst, vampirish theme

》 warnings: mentions of blood, hints of physical assault

》 2.1k words

》 a/n: short and simple, after months of writing break. Hope you guys enjoy regardless :)

“Stay away from them, my dear. Save your blood from the horrors of their fangs. Be wary of solitude, and be wary of the crowd.”

It was a day not unlike any other. My morning kicked off lazily, with me waking up almost an hour later than a college freshman was supposed to. Nothing unusual there. I did my usual morning prep, took a cup of grandma’s tea in one gulp, and went my way. I was already late for the train—I had to run after a departing bus with an exceptional speed that would put Olympiads to shame. I got in the room just in time as the bell rang for first period. I came in huffing like an old man, but it’s alright. Way better than walking through the early jam-packed hallways.

The first aberration in my daily humdrum existence happened on my way to fourth period. A student from another department stopped me on my tracks. I knew him; he was a member of the student council. Was I in some sort of trouble?

He introduced himself as Han Jisung, then proceeded to ask if I have seen his friend.

“He’s tall,” Jisung explained. “But like, not super tall. Not the towering-over-people kind. He has a mole under his eye. He’s got black—no wait, I think he dyed his hair again the other day. Anyway, have you seen someone like him? He’s noticeably handsome. I guess. I’m more handsome, though, but you know what I mean.”

The whole school would know who he is talking about. The one and only Hwang Hyunjin: champion swimmer, council member, and just a general talk of the town. The Prince. Even if I did see him around, though, I wouldn’t know. I never pay attention to the people I walk by.

I shook my head and muttered a soft sorry. I did feel bad for Jisung. He looked so worried and dejected, and I can’t blame him—not after after the incident with Seungmin. I can’t really take it against him to worry about his friends. I sauntered off to my next class, my mind still stuck on the fact that a normal person in my school has actually talked to me, and I was able to keep my composure.

Fifth period: P.E. I don’t even know why we still have this subject in college. I opted to take a stroll instead. You see, a huge, dense forest is situated right behind the main school grounds. You could say that the school itself lies within the bosom of greeneries. Unkempt bushes and rows of towering trees stretched over several miles deep, starting from the edge of the campus to god-knows-where. It is my goal to scout the whole area before graduation.

Weighed down by my personal monstrous beast, I trudged through. I walked for at least fifteen minutes before I finally reached the spot—my spot. Sheet of decaying leaves cushioned a huge gray boulder, standing at least ten feet tall, shaped like an odd piece of egg smashed against the forest floor. Against it stood a larger stone, this one dotted with moss and weathered with cracks. They were propped against each other for support, as if stopping one another from tumbling to the ground.

There was a smaller rock at the foot of the smaller stone, and I use it as leverage to climb up and sit on top of the largest boulder. It was my favorite place. Most times I could just pretend that I was alone in my own tiny bubble, at the center of that clearing that nobody else ventures but me. I don’t feel the breath of people suffocating me with every step that I take. I don’t feel my heart thumping with the sight of anyone else. I don’t need to hold back. Here, I don’t feel weird.

But today felt somehow different.

It was awfully silent. The wind felt sharper and colder. Electricity was humming in the air, leaving my skin prickling with discomfort. There was a tension in my veins that I couldn’t quite explain—it felt like an omen of an incoming disaster.

Time ticked slow. A couple hours could have passed—or maybe it has only been five minutes—when a nearby rustling perked up my senses.

Trying to keep my movements as quiet as possible, I hopped down and took up a defensive position, which wasn’t easy to do for a student with no actual weapon aside from an almost-empty bag and a worn-out calligraphy pen. My instincts told me to take cover—but my feet seemed glued to the ground. Sweat trickled from my forehead. My hands started to feel clammy.

And then, just as I was about to scamper away, a figure crashed into view from behind the nearest oak tree. I almost threw my bag towards the person’s direction, until I had a clear view of the intruder’s face.

It was Hwang Hyunjin, wide-eyed and disoriented, with his cheeks and uniform smudged with traces of blood.

“Help me.”

His voice came out as a tiny croak, as if his throat was filled with acid. He stumbled towards me, reaching out his hand for support. I wasn’t able to move an inch—and who could blame me? The situation was way too hard to process.

Hwang Hyunjin, the university prince, was hunched huffing before me, his clothes caked with mud and dried blood, his hair a nest of mess on his head. He had a cut on his cheek, I noticed. His breathing was heavy and labored, as if the mere act of standing on his own two feet required all the effort he could muster.

“Help me,” he repeated.

“What happened to you?” I managed to blurt out. My initial thought was that some random outsiders kicked his butt for stealing their girlfriends. But no—someone like Hyunjin would have been able to handle that. Plus, something in his eyes showed an elaborate fear—something only a beast would be capable of instilling. I should know.

My heart began thumping faster, a colossal drum barreling in my chest.

Just as my schoolmate was about to open his mouth and explain, a loud rustling broke the stillness of the air. Before I could process what was happening, Hyunjin grabbed my hand and bolted away, dragging me with him.

“Don’t look back!” he warned.

I did.

At least a dozen feet behind us was another male, probably as old as Hyunjin. He was sporting our school uniform, walking casually under the shades of trees as if time wasn’t of any matter. What puzzled me, though, was the fact that we can’t seem to distance ourselves from him despite the heavy efforts Hyunjin had been exerting to drag us both away from this newcomer.

I took another glance behind me, and to my surprise, the young man wasn’t there anymore. Nowhere behind us, as if he dissipated without a single trace.

Hyunjin took a sudden stop, causing me to bump my head against his back. I was about to call him out for stopping, but then I saw the looming figure a few meters in front of us.

“You…?” I began, my mind a juggle of unanswered questions. How on earth did that happen? How is he—

Hyunjin's friend, Kim Seungmin, stood before us in his dirty school uniform. He looked pale, his eyes bloodshot, but he was standing there in full grace, very much alive, giving us a toothy grin. “You’re hurting my feelings, Hyun. Why are you running away from me?”

Hyunjin’s grip on my hand went tighter. “Seungmin...”

“Friends are supposed to help each other, am I right?” Seungmin continued, faux dismay dripping in his voice. He bared his fangs, its tips dripping with fresh blood. “So help me, Hyunjin.”

I felt my body run cold. I wanted to scream, run, anything—anything to get away from this. From him. From the two of them. From everything. But Hyunjin's hand remained strong around my wrist, and my legs were close to turning jelly. I could start to feel the fullness in my mouth, the pointy ends of my incisors. Something that only happens when I'm in an extreme hunger or danger.

“Stay away from them,” grandma said. “We are the same kind, but we are different. Weaker. They see us as preys, as special commodities. They can smell your blood despite my concoctions, my dear, remember this!”

Seungmin tilted his head to one side, finally regarding my presence. “And you, over there. I’ve never tried drinking such special blood.” He grinned. “Satiate my thirst.”

The last thing I knew, a strong hand was pressing tightly around my neck, turning my vision green.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Have you heard of the news?”

“What news?”

“Kim Seungmin was safe! They found him in the forest yesterday.”

“Thank goodness! Was he hurt?”

“He had a few gashes, but he’s fine. Hyunjin found him and brought him to the hospital right away.”

Students filled the corridor, everyone bustling and hustling about the news: after his sudden disappearance, Seungmin was finally found by his best friend, Hyunjin. The latter saw him in the forest, hungry and disoriented. They went straight to the hospital to treat his minor wounds, and that was that—nobody bothered to ask how he managed to lose himself in the wilderness, or how we managed to survive seven days on his own. Nobody asked him stupid and unnecessary questions. Seungmin was safe, and that was all that mattered.

I brushed my way past the milling crowd, flinching at every accidental touch. I kept my eyes on the ground, forcing my mind into silence. I was expecting everyone to be in their respective classrooms at this time of the day, but apparently, the news of Seungmin’s return has become enough reason for everyone to wander about and neglect their individual duties. It was a grand miscalculation on my part—I hadn’t braced myself for this huge number of people.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I just have to get back home, and then it’ll be over. My insides would stop churning once I’ve drunk grandma’s tea—that has worked for 18 years now. I can stop this. I can stop me.

I made a run towards the comfort room. To my luck, nobody was inside. I washed my face over and over, as if doing so would cleanse me from the impurity stamped on every drop of my blood. The face on the mirror horrified me—I had to stop myself from punching the glass over and over.

The moment I stepped out, I felt his presence.

He was there, leaning against the wall, lurking behind the shadows. There was a faint gleam of terror in his eyes, but at the same time, I can feel it: the hunger. Lust for meat. Thirst for blood.

“Don’t be like him, Hyunjin,” I pleaded. “Don’t be like us.”

He shook his head in resignation. “It’s too late.”

He took a step closer. Another. He kept on walking until he stood right in front of me, too close I can feel him breathe.

Too close I can see the faint traces of blood on his lips.

“I’m still hungry,” he sobbed. “I’m still hungry…”

Fear was apparent in his eyes—fear of what would happen to him, fear of what he had become. “You will be fine,” I offered, taking his hand in mine. “Trust me on this. It will be fine.”

And then I felt it, stronger this time—the hunger he was talking about. The thirst. My stomach growled in protest at the sight of Hyunjin’s pale flesh. I can smell his blood—I can feel its steady rhythm as it flowed through his pulsing veins.

I need to get home. Maybe my grandma could do something about Hyunjin, too. Maybe she could produce a stronger tea, and both of us wouldn’t have to worry about our instincts anymore.

We stood next to each other for a full minute before he broke the silence.

“We need each other to survive,” Hyunjin whispered. “If we drink the blood of our own kind, we can last for a month without feeding on others.” He freed his hand from my hold and gripped my shoulders tightly. “I need you. And you need me, too.”Hyunjin leaned down until we were staring at each other at eye level. He closed the distance between us. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I allowed my monster to take ove.

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