#maybe this will finally get me to learn how to sew better (i wanna make clothes for my plushies) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plus-size-reader · 3 years ago

Text

Just a Kid

Daryl Dixon x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2453 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Taking Lydia in as your own with Daryl

Hi, I couldn’t get this concept out of my head.

—————————————————————————————————

“She’s just a kid, D” you hummed, carefully working at the knot in his neck that he’d been complaining about for days.

You knew that this thing with the girl, and Jesus, and all these people wearing faces was really starting to wear on Daryl’s nerves.

You could tell, because every night when he came back to your house, he was even more tense than the last and at this point, you were really starting to get concerned that he would burst a blood vessel.

There was just too much going on right now.

...but you knew what you had to do.

Lydia was just a child, and even if her people were the purest evil you could ever imagine, that didn’t mean that she was. If nothing else, she was little more than a battered little girl who had never known any better.

That was how you saw her, and you knew Daryl did too.

He just wasn’t ready to take on so much yet, and honestly, he didn’t know if he could. It was hard for him to have to take over all this at Hilltop, and that girl they’d brought was only making it worse.

“You still on that?” he grumbled back, really hoping that you would have gotten over this pipe dream of yours already.

The two of you had talked this conversation to death, and while you knew there was a good chance that nothing was going to change, you would continue to do so until he changed his mind.

Ever since she had come to know this group, you had gotten it in your head that the two of you could give her the home that she had never had but Daryl wasn’t so easily convinced.

It just seemed like more than you were ready for.

He saw that look in your eyes, when she was finally safe behind those gates, but then you’d gone and made it even worse.

You met her.

Maybe it hadn’t been the greatest idea, and maybe it wouldn’t help but you knew that at least you could try to understand better.

You could only imagine how a girl in her position would be feeling. You knew that if you were her, you would have been absolutely terrified.

After all, she was surrounded by strangers, in an unforgiving and new environment.

It was possible that one friendly face would make all the difference to her and as it happened, you had one of the friendliest faces around here.

If anyone was going to get through to her, it was you.

Course, Daryl was against the idea from the start but you knew that no one else was going to stick their neck out for her if you two didn’t. That made it more than worth it to you, even if no one else understood.

She didn’t say a word for the first few days.

Lydia had nothing to say to you and frankly, you couldn't blame her for that. You were a stranger, the enemy as far as she knew, and there was no reason she should have trusted you at all, but that wasn’t always going to be the case.

The more you came, the more she realized that you may have been the only person willing to stick their neck out for her. Once she decided that you weren’t going to kill her, or sell her out, it was pretty much settled.

You needed to help her.

It wasn’t up for debate, but for some reason, convincing Daryl was proving to be an even more difficult task.

“We aren’t her parents, it ain’t our place” he tried, desperately hoping that you would see how insane what you were proposing was. Still, you weren’t letting up, and he knew you well enough to know what that meant.

You were invested.

You were going to do whatever you could to get through to her.

Perhaps it was because you two found yourself comparing her to Daryl or perhaps it was your own soft spot for kids.

In any case, the damage was done.

“She doesn’t have parents D, that’s why she needs us” you sighed, leaning down to rest fully into his back, your head nestled in the space between his shoulder and his neck. It gave you just enough leverage to look at him.

It was hardly up for debate.

Lydia’s mother saw her as little more than an asset, something to abuse and control. After all the things you’d endured with Daryl, it made her well being that much more personal, for both of you.

It took months to get Daryl to tell you about his past.

He trusted you more than anyone else in the world, and his greatest pain was still too difficult to share until he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

You had no doubt that the hold this girl’s mother had on her was even stronger.

At least Daryl had Merle, he knew how much of an asshole his dad was.

Lydia was brainwashed.

You would be lucky if you were ever able to break whatever her mother had done to her, due to the extreme circumstances, but you knew that you had to try.

No one deserved the way she had been treated, and you wanted to make sure that she understood it wasn’t her fault.

Her mother was cruel, and there was nothing more to it than that.

The best way to prove that to her would be giving her a real home, proving to her that not everyone was going to treat her the way that she did. Maybe, if she felt safe, she would finally start to open up.

When the two of you first met, Daryl hardly spoke to you and when he did, it was always in a gruff, unfriendly tone. It took him some time to warm up to you and once he had, that tone warmed up to one of love.

It just took time.

The same thing could apply to Lydia, if you just gave her some time.

If nothing else, it had to be worth a shot.

She was worth it.

“You really wanna do this?” he hummed, after what felt like an eternity of silence between the two of you.

Daryl heard you, he got the message, he just couldn't be sure that being with you, and him, would be enough.

He knew what it was like to be in her position, and he knew how hard it was to let people in. It was possible that she would never allow herself to be cared for in the way you wanted to, and he didn’t want you getting your hopes up.

You would be crushed if she rejected your offer, but it couldn’t hurt.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with either of you, at least you tried to give her something. That was much more than anyone else in the world had ever done for her.

“Yeah, I do. I really do” you smiled, not even bothering to hide the wide grin that spread across your face at the idea of what he was saying. It wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was as much of a yes as you were going to get from Daryl.

It was more than enough.

At the end of the day, even if it was a bad idea, Daryl knew better than to argue with you. What you were suggesting was crazy, but it was so very you that he couldn’t even worry about it.

He fell in love with you and that heart of gold of yours, so if this was what it was telling you to do, he owed it to you to let you do what you thought was right.

You had to, just as he had to.

...and of all the crazy ideas you’d ever had, this was hardly the most dangerous one.

All you wanted to do now was give a little girl a place to live and a family, it wasn’t like you were suggesting some kind of suicide mission. You and Daryl had faced far worse than a child, desperate for belonging and acceptance.

What you were doing was new for all of you.

Lydia wasn’t sure, at first.

After all, she had never really had parents and you and Daryl had certainly never been parents.

It just wasn’t something you had any experience with.

However, with all that you’d lost recently, it didn’t make sense to turn her away too. She was a product of her circumstances and nothing more. It wouldn’t be fair to make Lydia pay for the sins of her mother.

Instead, you chose to put all your effort into making sure she never felt like a burden again.

You knew that she blamed herself, in part, for what her mother had done. Henry was gone, Tara was gone, Enid was gone, it was just too much.

You’d lost too many people in the months it had been and you weren’t interested in losing any more.

You certainly weren’t interested in letting a little girl take the blame for what her people had done, not when she first arrived, and not now.

Lydia was good, she was trying, and that wasn’t something you were going to debate.

Thankfully, that was something you and Daryl could both agree on, without all the initial back and forth.

You were both winging it, of course, but you knew that you had to try and stick up for her. Even the smallest gesture would make a world of difference.

She deserved to feel safe for once.

When you and Daryl had decided to take her in, it wasn’t supposed to be perfect. You weren’t going to move into a little cottage surrounded by a white picket fence, with flowers and a dog.

It was making the best of whatever shit show situation you’d been dealt.

It was all you knew to do.

“You wanna help me with this?” you hummed, addressing your words to the young girl at your side.

What you were asking wasn’t really all that much of a question but considering that you were sewing up a huge hole in Daryl’s button up, she wasn’t interested.

“D does it himself, mostly, but he’s clumsy about it. The stitching always comes undone” you reminded, thinking about the last time he’d offered to stitch up a hole in your jeans, and it had unraveled by the end of the day.

He meant well, he really did, but he had never really had the patience for more delicate things like this. Sewing of any kind, even stitches in flesh, had never really been his foray.

...but that was okay.

You told him that you would take care of this, and he could pick up the slack somewhere else, making dinner or cleaning blood and dirt out of the laundry.

“I don’t know how” she tried, looking at you in the way she often would when she ran into something she had never done before. The two of you’d had this same conversation when you suggested she go to school with the other children.

She didn’t even know how to read when she came to you, and now, she is making great progress.

It was just a matter of learning what she had never had a chance to learn before.

“I’ll teach you, it's easy” you smiled, handing her the garment with one hand, and the needle with the other.

She looked unsure, lost even, but she took it nonetheless.

“Hold the fabric with this hand, and move the needle with the other, up and down in as straight a line as you can manage” you instructed, keeping it as simple as you possibly could until she got the hang of it.

You knew this was probably a tad bit overwhelming, and if she didn't go it right the first time, she would get discouraged but luckily, years by Daryl’s side had taught you a patience that nothing else ever could.

You could sit here all day if you had to, as long as she got the hang of it.

Lydia had been living with her pack of skin walkers all this time, only doing what she was told, but that wasn’t the life she was living now.

She was part of a community, and she had a family, but that also meant that she had to learn to protect and provide for herself when you weren’t there. If something ever happened to you or Daryl, she still had to live.

Her clothes couldn’t be ripped or ruined, her wounds couldn’t stay open to fester, and eventually, she would need to cook and clean for herself too, but for now, a helping hand was all you needed.

People were what kept your communities running, and your home was no different. You and Daryl were a team, communicating without words most of the time, and she was part of that now.

She was part of the team.

“Like that?” she tried, hoping that some part of what she was doing was right. There was no real way to tell but you didn’t seem upset so that had to be a good sign.

It was a strangely domestic task for her, one that brought back memories of her people, her old people, sewing up masks of tanned human skin. The motion was the same, the idea was the same, but there was something normal about this.

She was just fixing a shirt.

There was nothing volatile or aggressive about this, and it wasn’t for anything other than someone she cared for. That made it a little easier to stomach than any other chore may have been.

This was for Daryl after all, and if anyone had earned something like this, it was him.

Lydia wasn’t blind.

She knew what the two of you had done for her, always making sure she had something to eat and sticking up for her when the others got a little too comfortable with their distaste for her.

“Exactly, just a little closer together” you prompted, smiling when she did just as you asked. She was a quick learner, and you knew that she could do this.

This was normal, real, and the sooner she learned that she could live a completely normal life, the sooner she would really adapt to life in a community like this one.

“Once you’re done, you can help Daryl with dinner. I’m sure he’d love the help”

It was hardly where she expected to be, but it was more than where she’d been. At least, with you and Daryl, Lydia knew that she was safe.

443 notes · View notes

shyestofhearts · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Shy~

Sooo, I have this headcanon that Damian is like this wonderful child prodigy genius. Like, super smart. So smart, that when Bruce tries to enroll him in Gotham academy, they tell him that Damian has tests for college level. Which, Damian just rolls his eyes at, because duh. After discussing it with professionals and yada yada, Damian gets enrolled into college. He’s like, twelve-ish. He is STILL bored in class, and knows most of the information they are trying to teach. His advisor is so sweet and invested into Damian though. And observant. After noticing Damian lack of enthusiasm, he asks Damian what the problem. Nothing interests him, none of his classes.this advisor is an old timer, in my opinion, and has seen so many kids pushed to do things they never wanted to do, and decides he can’t let that happen with Damian. So the Advisor pulls out every department, every major, and goes through it with Damian. After a few hours, because it takes a while to convince Damian that it is alright to do anything he wants, Damian has his majors narrowed down to a few things. Art and pre-med. Damian’s advisor suggests he visit a few of the clubs on campus to really get a feel of what he wants. Thing is, even after going to the students’ art club gallery and one of the pre-med club meetings, neither really speak to him. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s alone on campus. Damian is about to call Alfred, when a student from Damian’s organic chemistry class spots him.

“Damian!” Jace, a slightly round student with soft curly hair smiles at Damian. “Are you here for the show?”

“Show?” Damian scowls?

“Yeah, the fashion show. This year’s theme is sustainability,” Jace smiles. They one of the few people who never ogled at Damian for being a Wayne or looked down on him for his age. They are just genuinely nice, and Damian knows that.

“I didn’t know we had a fashion show,”

“Really? I swear I thought I mentioned it,” Jace says, surprised. Jace may have mentioned that, but Damian probably was zoned out during the time.“Tickets are $15, if you wanna come”

“Oh,” Damian frowns, “I used all the money I brought with me for the art gallery and lunch earlier,” He says, cursing internally for not bringing more cash with him.

“If you want to go, I’ll cover you.” Jace smiles, “Think of it as payment for help on our last exam” Damian would usually say no, but Jace is just so nice,

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Besides,” Jace smiles, turning towards the stadium, “I have a feeling you’re going to love it”

And Damian did love it. The designs were amazing, some more haute couture while others were casual, and each designer explained how their designs involved sustainability. Some were statement pieces, designed to address political issues, others were just to demonstrate that sustainability could still be cute, and while others highlighted affordability and sustainability.

Damian wanted to do this. Running through his head were endless possibilities. Perhaps he can enlist the help of Poison Ivy to create a vegan leather that was also bullet resistant, or…

The next Monday he is waiting for his advisor at 7 in the morning, because he spent the rest of the weekend coming up with ideas, sketches, creating a portfolio, and practicing hypothetical arguments as to why Damian should go into fashion. At 7:15 his advisor sees him, and can tell by the light in Damian’s eyes, determination on his face, and the way he’s clutching his sketchbook, Damian has found it.

“I want into the fashion program!” Damian all but bursts, unconsciously on his tippy toes in excitement.

“Okay,” His advisor smiles, ushering him into his office. “Let’s make it happen”

“Just like that?” Damian asks, eyes wide, voice surprisingly small. His advisor smiles at him kindly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

It takes a bit before Damian can actually get into the program, he has to work on some prerequisites, and also create a better portfolio with samples, but Damian is determined. By the end of the school year, he has been accepted.

Damian doesn’t tell his family, not in the beginning. He actually doesn’t want to tell his friends either, unsure of how they’d react. He is still insecure, and just entering his teen years. He worries about what any or everyone will say. Eventually, though he tells Jon and Colin, swearing them to secrecy. They both are excited for him, asking if he’d design their costumes for them. Damian blushes but says,

“Tt, like you can afford me”

He eventually tells Alfred as well, because he needs help learning how to use a sewing machine, and fast. Sure, he can stitch someone up flawlessly, but sewing machines weren’t part of the League’s lessons. Alfred is in charge of the one at the Manor, so it only makes sense to ask him. Even so, Damian is reluctant. When he does finally ask, he nearly gives himself an attack, worrying about being scolded for not using his “full potential”. Alfred simply squeezes Damian’s shoulder, and agrees with a kind smile. The young Master finally seemed passionate about something besides vigilante work and violence. Alfred would do everything in his power to foster that.

“Just,” Damian looks down, hands clenching into fists at his side, “Do not tell the others. I would prefer this between us,” He looks at Alfred, unsuccessfully trying to hide the vulnerability in his wide emerald eyes. Alfred agrees, for now. On the conditions that Damian would have to tell his father and siblings himself, and not to far in the future either.

Damian impresses everyone with his designs, and people learn he is actually quite adorable when he’s doing something he enjoys. His classmates and professors encourage him to join the fall fashion show, which is covering “multiculturalism and the media”. Damian hesitantly agrees, though he has been making designs since the theme was announced. His room is full of crumbled paper on his floor, designs he deigned not good enough. Many of his designs are heavily influenced by his Arab culture, but he also has some Chinese-influenced designs as well. His statement piece is the hardest to get right. It involves a hijab and beautiful colors, but he just can’t get the right patter. Ripping another page and crumpling it,Damian is too concentrated to realized Tim and Dick have been creeping into his room.

“What’s this Dames?” Dick asks, startling Damian, as he looks at some of the rejected designs. Panic makes Damian defensive as he yells at them to get out, frustration fueling the dread of his family seeing such unsatisfactory work. Tim flinches, shocked by the emotion coming off of Damian, rushing out with a few crumpled papers he snuck from the floor. Damian is literally trying to shove Dick out the door. Dick turns around, because he can hear the panic in his little brother’s voice. In his Robin’ voice. “Damian,” he says softly, easily deflecting Damian. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Damian, reversing the situation. “What’s wrong, why are you reacting like this?” After a few minutes of struggling, Damian gives up. Slowly,he explains the situation, how he’s in the fashion program and the fashion show coming up, all the pressure to do well, the frustration of not having his statement piece yet. Dick listens, his hold turning into a hug. “From what I’ve seen,” Dick says softly, “these are all wonderful designs,Dami. Whatever you end up making will look amazing, if they look anything like your sketches.”

“It’s not enough!” Damian complains, eyes burning, but he refuses to cry. “You don’t understand!” He says, frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, why is this so important?”

“Because it is about me!” Damian’s voice cracks ask he turns away rosiness his eyes harshly. “When I was introduced to the public, as “Bruce Wayne’s biological son”, do you not remember how the newspapers reacted? They didn’t know me, or my mother, but because—because of my skin, the country I was born, I was mistrusted. Scorned. Yeah, maybe I’ve killed people, but that isn’t because of my skin color or my culture or the language I speak. I have this opportunity to speak out against that!” Damian turns to look at Dick, “I’ve tried to become better, to do better. It’s hard and unfair that none of that matters, because guests are invited to galas hosted in the house that I live in, only to make snide racist comments about “nukes” or the desert or bombs whenever Father and you all aren’t around me. How can I be better, when I’m not given the chance because people can’t see past my skin?” Dick wraps Damian into a tight hug, as wetness drips down Damian’s cheeks. “I’ve been here nearly four years—and it still happens” Damian whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything Dami?”

“What could I say?” Damian whispers back,

“Bruce—”

“Invites these people because they are important to Wayne Enterprise.” He scoffs. “What could you do, especially if I have no proof?”

“Believe me, Damian,” Dick says seriously, pulling back to look into Damian’s eyes. “Bruce won’t invite anyone who’s racist or derogatory towards his children, back to a gala, let alone do business with him again.” He smiles a hard somewhat vicious smile. “I know because when I was first adopted, he did that for me” Damian’s eyes widen. “And if Bruce can’t defend you, you can bet your brothers will,” Damian looks unsure, but nods. “But I get it now. You’ve always used art to vent and express yourself. This design is something that would allow you to address what the media has done to and said about you.”

“It’s been,” Damian shrugs, looking down, “therapeutic. In a way I never imagined it would be.”

“Well, I think, whatever you end up designing will be amazing,” Dick smiles, and Damian looks up at the sincerity, giving his own smile smile in response. “And I expect an invitation to the fashion show!” He chuckles, causing Damian to blush. “And I bet the whole family would want to come as well,” Damian blushes, looking away once more.

“Tickets are $15 each, and available online,” Damian replies, making Dick belly laugh. “You can invite the others, if you’d like” Damian mumbles.

“Hmm,how ‘bout I invite the siblings while you invite your dad,” Damian grumbles, but agrees. “Great! Now, take a break. One night not designing won’t hurt you.” Dick says, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulder. ‘Might do you some good, in fact.”

Things get better after that, because after his talk with Dick, Damian gets an idea for his design. Ziba, a Persian student Damian met in his Literature class, agreed to be his model for his statement piece. She wore her hijab proudly, a solid black color, which helped with the down-to-business look the rest of the outfit screamed. Ziba’s makeup was beautiful, as Damian was putting the last touches on her. They both were quiet, nervous excitement pulsing through them both. Ziba had on white trousers that flared out a bit, to give an almost flowy feel, with black basic vegan leather square pointed toe mule flat accented by a silver buckle. Damian had made the top a cross between a tunic, a blazer, and a cape. It is white, and goes over a plain solid black turtleneck. Printed on both the buttoned blazer tunic top and the trousers are past racist articles written about Damian. In red graffiti styled letters sprayed across the news paper articles are phrases like “Lies” “Warped Perception” “Western POV” “Racist” “I was only 10”. The red paint matches the red lipstick Ziba is wearing.

Damian was nervous with his family in the audience, everyone including Alfred was there. Apparently Superman and Superboy were in attendance too, as civilians of course. Colin was there too. Damian had told his father about the fashion show, and was surprised to see how supportive he was about it. Of course that may have been the shock, as Damian had told him that morning before leaving for school. Bruce blinked, stood up and hugged Damian, before saying he couldn’t wait for the show.

Damian’s set is the last, ask the show is in alphabetical order according to last names. When it’s his turn, all of his model’s line up, and Damian is running around making sure everything is perfect. He hears the speaker introduce his collection, inviting Damian to join him on stage. Damian rushes out, brown cheeks turn red. Together they introduce all seven outfits of the collection one by one, as Damian describes his designs, the material, and the inspiration behind each one. When it get’s to Ziba’s turn, Damian’s nearly choked up. He manages to discuss this piece and it’s significance to him. At the end, Damian received a standing ovation from nearly everyone. Looking over at his family, he has to duck from hiding his flamed cheeks. All his siblings were cheering for him, while Bruce and Dick dab their eyes. Alfred has a proud look on his face, and Damian couldn’t have been happier.

He ends up getting second place, but also his own work room at the Manor. Damian begins selling his work after getting it patented (Tim demanded it), and is surprised when a number of orders are for the galas around Gotham. Dick told Bruce and the others about all the things Damian has been hearing at Galas, and they are justifiably angry. Duke begins chants of “Eat the Rich” every time he hears someone says something problematic about Damian, and that because Tim’s signal on who to take down next.

Damian’s designs become more widely popular as his family starts wearing them, as they love talking about it and how he uses sustainable methods and materials. This earns him big named clients, who start wearing Damian’s designs on the Red Carpet and premiers . Damian also likes to do work for charity, often donating dresses to high schoolers who cannot afford prom dresses or making clothes out of extra material to donate to shelters so people have clothes for job interviews and such.

(He also makes his pets clothes when he’s bored, so it’s normal to see Titus wearing a doggy hoodie with slits in it for his ears)

ANYWAYS, this is my headcanon lol

What do think about it?

—🧵🪡

Headcanon?? Bestie this a whole ass au!

As for my thoughts-

💳 💥💥 💳 💥💥💥 💳 💥💥💥💥

#shy's asks #sewing anon #anon #damian wayne #batfamily #batfam #dc comics #ANON PLEASE #ANON I LOVE THIS??#ANON IS A GENIUS #ITS LIKE 3AM AND IM BARELY COHERENT #BUT NOW I CANT STOP THINKING OF THIS AU #Anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cool tonight #I hope your blanket is softer that a cloud #long post

115 notes · View notes

pennyserenade · 4 years ago

Text

tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy. word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt. notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark. original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all.

He takes his hands away slowly.

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.”

She watches his face fall.

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.”

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops.

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come.

She frowns.

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him.

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake.

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know.

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide.

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done.

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to.

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her.

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless.

“I can’t,” he repeats.

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad.

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect.

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them.

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her.

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything.

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart.

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him.

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them.

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows.

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers.

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers.

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it.

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates.

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in.

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her.

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments.

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward.

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this.

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss.

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man.

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point.

“No,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear.

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good.

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked.

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did.

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him.

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him.

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does.

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long.

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his.

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage.

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo , @amneris21

scenes tags: @gravegoth , @sarahjkl82-blog , @cmonkeepmoving

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x oc #javier pena x nameless oc #javier peña x nameless oc #javier pena x female reader #narcos fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #fanfic

135 notes · View notes

swan-of-sunrise · 4 years ago

Text

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Twelve)

Summary: Din and (Y/N) grow closer after opening up about their pasts, and they begin their search for the Jedi Ahsoka Tano on Corvus.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of panic attacks and trauma

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Twelve The Past (Previous Chapter)

Since bringing (Y/N) on as his partner, Din had slowly grown used to having someone around to fill the deafening silence; if she wasn’t striking up a conversation with him, the captain was talking to the child or humming to herself while she piloted and worked on her sewing projects. But since leaving Nevarro the day before, she’d been unusually quiet and he suspected that her silence had something to do with what happened inside the Imperial base.

She’s always so considerate when it comes to the feelings of others, Din thought to himself as he recalled how understanding she’d been whenever he opened up to her and how kind she always was towards others, but maybe it’s time someone returns the favor. He switched the ship’s controls onto autopilot before making his way down to the cargo hold; (Y/N) was sitting cross-legged on her makeshift cot and absentmindedly cleaning her blaster, her (Y/E/C) eyes unfocused as she stared off into nothing.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

(Y/N) jumped a little, quickly looking over to where Din was standing and offering him a small smile. “My blaster saw a lot of action yesterday; I wanted to make sure it was ready for whatever we come across on Corvus.”

Din nodded. “Good idea.” He walked over to the open armory, grabbing his pulse rifle and a rag before taking a seat on one of the loose storage containers; they both worked on cleaning their weapons for several quiet moments before Din finally spoke. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He kept his gaze trained on his work, but he could hear her set aside her blaster and sigh. “You might’ve already figured it out but in the Rebellion, I was one of a few dozen smugglers who was tasked with smuggling civilians off of Imperial-controlled planets and past their blockades. We would visit the cities and villages that were the hardest hit and get as many people off-planet that we could, and the majority of the time our missions succeeded. But…”

When he glanced up, the captain was staring down at the floor with a hardened expression on her face. “But?”

“Sometimes, the Imps would catch wind that we were coming and rather than see civilians fall under the protection of the Rebel Alliance, they’d raze their homesteads and slaughter everyone in them. It’s been years, but I can still remember all those times I’d arrive too late; Stormtroopers used flamethrowers to burn down homes while a battalion shot down anyone who was left standing. As long as I live, I’ll never forget just how bright those flames were.” She looked up at him and he was struck by how weary her eyes looked. He recognized that they were the eyes of someone who’d seen far too many horrors in their lifetime, because they were the same eyes he saw whenever he looked into his battered mirror.

“So when you saw the lava in the heat shaft, all those memories came rushing back.” (Y/N) nodded once before glancing away. “…I know what that’s like.” She quickly turned her attention back to him and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “When I was a child, the village my parents and I lived in was attacked by Separatist battle droids; I was saved by the Mandalorians but everyone else…I was the only one who survived. The memories of that day – the explosions, the screams, seeing my mother and father for the last time – would always play through my mind whenever I had new armor forged by my Covert’s Armorer. It’s something I’ve learned to live with, but only because I try focusing on the good; the Mandalorians took me in when I needed a home and they raised me as a foundling, and without their kindness I would’ve died a long time ago.” The damning words of Bo-Katan came to mind but Din quickly pushed them aside; no matter what Creed they followed, the Mandalorians who took him in had helped him survive. “You saved innocent lives during the Rebellion. Thousands of people are alive because of you, alor’ad, and that is what’s important.”

After taking a moment to absorb his words, (Y/N) slowly began to smile; she didn’t say anything, but he could see the understanding in her eyes and he couldn’t help but return her smile beneath his helmet. The sound of his sleeping compartment opening broke the spell and they both turned to see the child blinking the sleep out of his wide eyes.

“Did you have a good nap, little guy?” (Y/N) asked, standing up and making her way over to the compartment; the child responded with a small coo and the captain chuckled, picking him up and glancing over at Din with a widening smile. “Well, I don’t know about you, Mando, but I could do with another sparring session right about now. What do you say?”

Getting to his feet, Din rested his hands on his hips and tilted his helmet as he met her challenging gaze. “Sure, why not? I’m always ready to take on cocky ex-smugglers and win.”

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the child in her arms. “You think I can beat Mando, right?” The child giggled and wrapped a clawed hand around the finger she was tapping his tiny nose with. “That’s what I thought! Mando doesn’t stand a chance, does he, little guy?”

Din watched their interaction with a fond smile on his face and in that moment, he made a decision. “Din.”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) distractedly asked as she glanced up at him. “What was that?”

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

While interacting with different cultures on his travels throughout the galaxy, Din had heard his fair share of fairytales and superstitions and although he respected the differing beliefs, he never put much stock in any of them. But in that moment, while he watched the blinding smile stretch across (Y/N)’s face, he could honestly say that he believed in the existence of angels.

“Well, Din Djarin, are you ready to get your ass kicked or what?”

Din couldn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard as he did at that.

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

Hours later, they dropped out of hyperspace and Din piloted the ship towards Corvus while (Y/N) went down to the cargo hold to pack up their supplies. The child sat on top of one of the nearby control panels, staring out the viewport at the stars with widened eyes, and Din couldn’t help but smile sadly when he glanced over at him; if Bo-Katan’s lead on Ahsoka Tano’s correct, then this’ll be the kid’s last ride in the Razor Crest, he thought to himself.

“Corvus. This is the place; I’ve detected a beacon. I’m starting the landing cycle, so you’d better get back in your seat,” Din ordered as he began flicking switches and pressing buttons, looking over and frowning when he saw that the child hadn’t moved. “Hey, what did I tell you?” He gestured with his helmeted head to the passenger seat behind him. “Back in your seat.” With a disgruntled coo, the child clambered off the control panel and over to the passenger seat, and Din tried not to think about how much he was going to miss having the stubborn kid around.

The ship flew through the upper atmosphere and into the smog-filled air of the planet, and they soon landed on the outskirts of the small walled-off city of Calodan. Din and the child climbed down into the cargo hold just as (Y/N) was slinging a knapsack over her shoulders; since they didn’t know what to expect on Corvus, the captain’s blaster was concealed beneath a long-hooded coat and a vibroblade was tucked into her boot.

“Ready to go, alor’ad?”

(Y/N) looked over at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes; he knew that she’d grown attached to the child in the short time she’d been with them and it was obvious that she was trying her best to hide her conflicted feelings for the sake of their quest. “Yep! Let’s go find ourselves a Jedi.”

They lowered the ramp of the ship and walked out onto the planet’s surface, Din’s hand resting on the blaster holstered at his hip as he glanced around. The yellow-tinted smog filled the air and surrounding them was a forest of dying trees, among which a couple of creatures were slowly moving. When he turned back to (Y/N), his words died on his lips and his brow furrowed in concern as he took in her stiff expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Something feels…off about this place, Din.” She bit her lip and gave a decisive nod. “I’m gonna go get the little guy’s satchel.”

(Y/N) made her way back into the ship while Din stayed where he was; the longer he looked around, the more uneasy he felt about the planet. The sound of tiny footsteps behind him made him turn around to see the child sitting down on the ramp, his favorite silver sphere clutched in his hands, and he sighed in exasperation. “What did I say about that?” He knelt down and took the sphere from the cooing child, tucking it into the pouch at his waist with a firm head-shake. “This needs to stay on the ship.”

The captain returned a moment later with the satchel in hand and once Din slung it over his head, she helped him place the child in it. “You won’t be in here too long, little guy, just until we know that everything’s safe.” She ran a hand over the child’s wrinkled head and looked up at Din, a small crease forming between her brows. “You feel it too, right?”

Din nodded, resting a comforting hand on the small of his partner’s back as he urged her forward. “Let’s head into town, alor’ad, see if we can pick up a lead.”

As they started towards the city of Calodan, Din’s gloved hand dropped back to his side and he found himself clenching and unclenching it, silently wishing that he could’ve left it where it was. His impulsive decision to place her hand on the skin of his face back on Nevarro had plagued him; he tried focusing on other things, but all he could truly think of was the feeling of her soft hand on his cheek. Her touch had ignited something within him, and he’d quickly come to realize that he wanted nothing more than to be close to (Y/N); it was torture, especially during their sparring sessions, but he tried his damnedest to keep his hands to himself and remain focused on their quest.

They neared the gates of Calodan and Din’s eyes were instantly drawn to the three guards standing on the wall above; stopping in front of the gate, they both looked up as one of the guards stepped forward and called down, “State your business.”

“Been tracking for a few days,” Din called back, careful to keep the child hidden behind his cape. “We’re looking for a layover.”

The guard who’d addressed them raised his brows, seemingly impressed at the sight of them. “Nice armor. You a hunter, then?”

Din nodded once. “That’s right.”

“Guild?”

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Din replied, “Last I checked.”

The guard’s eyes flicked over to (Y/N). “And you?”

“I’m his pilot,” (Y/N) confidently called back. “And his business partner.”

After several tense moments, the guard nodded and glanced over at one of his companions. “Open the gate.”

The gates slowly opened and the two of them walked inside, acutely aware that the gate had been closed behind them. Beside him, (Y/N) adjusted her fingerless gloves and mumbled under her breath, “Not exactly keen on strangers, are they?”

Din didn’t answer but he silently agreed; the further they traveled into the city, the more apparent it became that something wasn’t right. The people they passed on the street ducked their heads to avoid eye contact, some even darting into their homes before they could walk by, and the few vendors there were eyed the two them with caged expressions on their faces. This doesn’t seem like the sort of place a Jedi would live, he thought to himself as his brow furrowed.

Gesturing for the captain to follow, Din slowly approached a vendor on his right. “Pardon me, vendor, have you heard of anyone…” His words died in his throat when the vendor abruptly walked away and he turned to (Y/N), who’s frown had only deepened as her eyes looked past him towards the alleyway. Confused, he turned to see an older man and two small children in the shadows of the alley; the man was giving the children food and quietly speaking to them, and Din figured that he might be easier to speak to. “You there, we need some information.” He and (Y/N) stepped closer to the man as he got to his feet. “My partner and I are looking for someone.”

The man frowned in displeasure, turning to say something to the two children and watching them run off before turning back to them with a frightened look in his eyes. “Please, do not speak to them, or to any of us.”

“Look, we just need to know-”

(Y/N)’s gentle words were interrupted by a gruff voice. “The Magistrate wants to see you.” They both turned to see two masked guards behind them, whose hands were clutching their blasters as they stared them down. Clenching his jaw tightly, Din followed one of the guards down the city’s main road and he was mindful of the guard trailing close behind them. At the end of the road was a large guarded gate and flanking each side of the road were elevated cages, inside which were people groaning out in pain. Their cries were punctuated by the distinct sounds of electric shocks and Din averted his gaze from the sickening sight.

“Help us!”

“She’ll kill us all!”

Beside him, (Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks and stared up at the prisoners nearest to her; the captain’s horrified expression instantly reminded Din of the look that had come across her face just before her panic attack back on Nevarro, so he was quick to get her attention. “(Y/N)? Alor’ad, c’mon…” He urged, and her eyes lingered on the prisoners for a moment before she looked forward and fell in step with him.

The guards opened the gate and allowed them to walk through into a beautiful garden; they stood on a narrow stone walkway over a large pond that was surrounded by countless trees and plants, a stark contrast to the dilapidated city that they’d just walked through. Near the end of the walkway stood a woman dressed in the robes of a magistrate; a droid guard stood several steps away as she tossed food into the calm waters of the pond for an unknown creature.

“Come forward,” The woman called out, and Din and (Y/N) exchanged a look before complying. They came to a stop closer to her, but she didn’t look up from her work as she continued. “You are a Mandalorian?”

“Yes.”

“And the woman?”

A fiery look in her eyes, (Y/N) snapped back, “I’m his partner. What business do you have with us?” In any other circumstance, Din would’ve been captivated by the captain’s authoritative tone but he was concerned that her aggression would only serve to raise tensions.

The magistrate looked over at the pair, her brow raised in curiosity as her eyes examined them. “I have a proposition that may interest you two.”

Din’s eyes narrowed underneath his helmet. “Our price is high.”

“This target is priceless.” The magistrate countered. “A Jedi plagues me. I want you to kill her.”

Ahsoka Tano, Din thought to himself, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. (Y/N) stiffened beside him and he found himself slowly replying, “That’s…a difficult task.”

“One that you’re well-suited for. The Jedi are the ancient enemy of Mandalore.”

Din suppressed his sigh of frustration and shrugged. “As I said, our price is high.”

The magistrate gestured for the droid guard to come closer, accepting the long metal spear from it and holding it out towards Din. “What do you make of this?”

Together, Din and (Y/N) stepped forward and he hesitated a moment before accepting the spear; it was lighter than it appeared and when he tapped it against his vambrace, a familiar ringing echo filled the garden. “Beskar.”

“Pure beskar, like your armor. Kill the Jedi and it’s yours.”

He bit his bottom lip, a trait seemingly picked up from his partner, before gruffly replying, “Where do we find this Jedi?”

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

The two of them were escorted back through the city to the main gate, their eyes trained on the guard in front of them while they walked past the caged prisoners and frightened residents. Once at the gate, the guard stood beside them and wrinkled his nose when he spotted the child’s head poking out of his satchel.

“What is that thing?”

Din’s nostrils flared in anger but he kept his voice level as he replied, “I keep it around for luck.”

The guard shrugged his shoulder. “Well, you’re gonna need it where you’re headed.” His eyes drifted away from Din to focus on (Y/N). “You got a good luck charm too, sweetheart?”

“I make my own luck,” The captain answered tersely and Din urged her forward before either of them could do anything to the guard that they’d end up regretting later. Once they were far enough away from the city’s gate, (Y/N) heaved a frustrated sigh. “Nice wordplay back there; you got the Jedi’s last known location without agreeing to the deal. But that magistrate…I don’t know if she’s Imperial or not but as soon as we find Ahsoka Tano, I’m going back and helping those people.”

Looking over at (Y/N), Din gave her a firm nod. “You won’t be alone.”

The three of them slowly made their way through the barren landscape of Corvus; Din’s pulse rifle was clutched in his hand and (Y/N) had drawn her blaster, but neither of them spotted any signs of the elusive Jedi. After about an hour of hunting, Din detected a faint rustling in the distance and was quick to place his free hand on the captain’s arm to halt her; he gestured towards the line of dead trees before them and she silently nodded, taking his pulse rifle and slinging it over her shoulder. Din took the child out of his satchel, setting him down on a nearby boulder before pulling out his scope and scanning the horizon. He didn’t spot anything at first but when he looked harder, he finally noticed the two large creatures peacefully grazing in the distance.

“False alarm,” Din sighed, lowering his scope and tucking it back into his pouch. “I-”

(Y/N)’s warning shout mixed with a loud electric hum made him spin around, reflexively bringing up his arm to deflect the two laser swords that were bearing down on his helmeted head. The laser sword-wielding Togruta continued attacking and it was all Din could do to block her strikes with his vambraces; the moment he found an opening, he activated his flamethrower and aimed it at the Jedi, watching as she blocked the flames with her cloak and flipped out of the way. Just as her feet touched the ground, he shot his grappling hook at her and bound her arms to her sides, but the Jedi merely smiled and jumped straight into the air. She flipped over a tree branch high above and pulled him up with her, forcing him to quickly cut himself loose.

Din drew his blaster and turned, bringing his free hand up in a placating gesture as he shouted, “Ahsoka Tano!” The Jedi froze, her laser swords still raised. “Bo-Katan sent me. We need to talk.”

Ahsoka’s blue eyes looked past him and her brow furrowed as she deactivated her laser swords. She slowly straightened her posture, and Din decided it was safe to holster his blaster when she glanced back at him with the ghost of a smile on her lips. “I hope it’s about him.”

He turned, following her gaze to where the child sat atop the boulder and hurrying forward when he spotted (Y/N) clambering to her feet beside it. “You okay, alor’ad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” With a smile of thanks, (Y/N) accepted his hand and stood, wincing a little as she rubbed the small of her back. “Some kind of force pushed me back before I could draw my blaster…”

“Sorry about that,” The Jedi walked up to them and held out her hand towards the captain. “Ahsoka Tano.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The two women shook hands and (Y/N) glanced over at Din with a melancholy look in her eyes. “It looks like our quest’s just about over.”

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

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Thirteen

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95 @welcometothepedroverse @sarahjkl82-blog @zukoyonce @itsnottilly

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #din x reader #mando x reader #grogu #the child #baby yoda #morgan elsbeth #lang #ahsoka tano

119 notes · View notes

ofmythsandmadness · 4 years ago

Text

pretty eyes.

you love diego hargreeves pretty eyes, sober and drunk off your rocker. only, when its the latter, it’s a little harder to hold back your eager compliments.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

WARNINGS & DETAILS: gender!neutral reader. mention of alcohol & drinking, some fighting later on in the chapter (it’ll make sense when it comes), idiots being idiots, mutual pining, a tad bit of angst. WORD COUNT: 6.5k NOTES: at the end (read please).

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“DO YOU KNOW WHY THE SKY’S BLUE?”

Diego didn’t look back, but from the sounds of tiny pants and dull clunks of shoes hitting the ground, he knew enough to paint a picture. You, struggling to rid yourself of the coat he forced you to put on, dropping the heels you claimed you hated so vehemently, all the while probably grinning from ear to ear like he imagined little kids looked on Christmas Day. He knew you’d be waiting for his answer, just as you always did, expecting something greater than he could give you in his own flustered state.

Sometimes you were predictable. But he liked that about you.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“No, silly! I’m asking you!”

“Oh.” His tongue danced across his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin before responding. “I dunno. Sorry.”

Only a sparkling laugh and a thump answered him. He whirled around to see you flat on your butt on the ground, staring up at him with drooping doe eyes. It would be an irresistibly pretty sight, if he knew it wasn’t from extreme inebriation and you were completely off your rocker at the moment.

Still, pretty.

“Help me up?” You laughed, waving your hands aimlessly towards him. “Puh-lease?”

Diego grimaced slightly but moved anyways. He grabbed at your hands (clammy, another symptom of your heavy drinking choices) and yanked you towards him. Only he overestimated you and greatly underestimated his own strength it seemed -- instead of lifting to your feet like any normal person, you practically flew towards him, landing just under his chin and flopping against his chest.

And Diego froze.

Normally he would have pulled away and shrugged it off as a mistake. Neither of you would mention it again and would move on with your lives, forgetting how close your bodies had been and the way your gaze was intoxicating upon itself. He had rules for those things; never getting too close to a friend who made his heart beat in a rather unfriendly way was one of them.

But as you looked up at him, still smiling dopily and eyes almost crossed, he couldn’t remember a single thing about rules or precautions or anything of the sort. All that was on Diego’s mind, was you.

Your smile softened a tad, painted lips closing over your teeth and only hinting at the dimples he had stared at many-a-time before. Up close, he could see flecks of black under your eyes, staining flushed skin with ebony freckles that no one could believe was natural. He didn’t know the word for it, but guessed it was from you rubbing at your eyes and forgetting you had painted them hours before. Despite it, you still looked absolutely radiant.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

Diego blinked, startled by your giggled statement. “W-what?”

“Sooo pretty,” you gushed. One of your hands left his chest -- he hadn’t even realised they had been pressed there, but he suddenly missed the warm sensation -- and caressed his cheek. He shuddered at the touch. “Maybe the pre...prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen!”

If merely standing near you was heart-attack inducing, Diego was certain that all this was going to explode the vessel. Any second at that point, it would just burst and coat your grinning face with its guts--

-- he shook his head, ridding himself of both that image and the foolish thoughts flooding around it. You were drunk. Everyone said and did stupid stuff when they were drunk. Right? Like the time he lost a fight with a lamp post -- he wouldn’t do that sober, but alcohol made everyone a fool. You just chose compliments over actions, maybe.

The saying ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ lingered in his mind for half a second, but he pushed it away. That only worked in late night television or shitty rom-coms, not reality. Not with them.

“You should get to bed,” Diego said gruffly, pulling away from your fingers. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on your face, but tried to push it away for his own emotions’ sake. “You’re gonna want to, ‘fore all this hits.”

“You should smile more.”

Diego froze. He didn’t turn back to her that time, knowing it would only hurt him more, but he couldn’t bring himself to move another inch.

“Your eyes are fu...cking beautiful, but your smile?” Clapping echoed paces behind him; his jaw clenched with every smack. “Diego, you’re so pretty!”

He reached behind him blindly, scrambling and feeling stupid before finally launching onto you. Still avoiding your charming smile, he pulled you along, leading you out and into your bedroom. “I’ll be back to get you some Advil. Sit down.”

“I wish you’d smile more,” you said, completely ignoring every word he said. You fell down to your bed with a plop. “It lights up those pretty pretty, pretty eyes so much...so fucking pretty, Diego! I can’t even think of any other words, that’s how be-yew-tiful you are.”

“Okay, I--”

“-- and you always look so grumpy. It’s so funny!”

Diego should have been long gone, at that point. For his own sake and for yours, because you would hate that you rambled on so much, and he was going to pay for the emotional turmoil you were putting him through. But he couldn’t. He simply stood, still and awkward in your bedroom doorway, watching as you tried to twist your face to look like his own.

It didn’t work at all. Your lips fought angrily to smile again, and your eyelids just drooped, so far you looked stoned, or maybe like a zombie ready to bite. But even if you looked beyond ridiculous, his mind still screamed at how adorable it was, and despite himself, Diego smiled.

“See! See, there - there it is!” You pointed frantically at his own face, like he didn’t know it was there. “God, I wish I had a mirror to show you how pretty you are! Lil...lil sunshine boy!”

Okay, ‘sunshine boy’ was new. It took a little bit of the piss out of everything, and he was able to grumble and walk away finally from your singing self. Calls of his name paired with nonsensical titles followed. Diego tried his best to ignore them, but he knew the coos would haunt him later. Even as he searched for a glass, the sounds bounced through his head like injured bats in a cave; no way out and too blind to escape, forced to flit around endlessly until someone ended their suffering.

But Diego, unfortunately, did not know how to do that. So he simply bore the weight of your compliments knowing that they were nothing but sounds and syllables made up by a confused mind, trying to push through the night with as little baggage as possible.

As he walked back to your room, he sighed. This wasn’t how he planned things to go. It had been a good night -- sure, he might not have had as much fun as you looked like you were having, dancing and drinking and laughing, but at least he was with you. And he liked that, and the lax nature you took on when you drank, making him feel less pressure about constantly being the best version of himself. He hadn’t felt like he needed to put on a show, he was just Diego, for better or for worse. And somehow, you didn’t mind that.

He only wished that he could have more than that and all the time.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat after the word came out garbled. “Uh - got you this, you’re gonna want to drink it and take these now. Okay? And I’m putting these here for tomorrow morning, so you can take that as soon as you’re up. You got that?”

Your head bobbed up and down excitedly, but he knew you didn’t take in a word he said. So as you swallowed the tablets and gulped down the water, he scribbled out a note to remind you of what definitely went right over your head.

Diego paused, pen slightly trembling in his hand, before jotting down two more sentences. Thanks for last night. Had a good time being with you, as always. He hesitated, hovering over the slip of paper before cursing and scribbling out the lines with added violence. He tried again, being a little bit more poetic (which wasn’t much, but words really were not his thing) only to be disappointed again, pushing down on the pen so hard he was sure it would burst. Once he was sure nothing but scribbles could be made of the mess, he put the note under the Advil bottle and stepped away.

“You wanna change out of that?” He asked, gesturing to your clothes. “Doubt that’s comfortable.”

“Nah,” you drawled. You smiled up at him and even dared to wink (it was more of a sloppy, half-assed blink, but it still made his head swim). “I’m just comfortable. Do...you…’re you comfortable?”

Diego chose not to answer that. He pushed you back gently, deciding not to fight with you on changing and instead just going with sleep. You didn’t fight him much. If anything you leaned into it, holding onto his hands for seconds longer than you should and mumbling sweet nonsense up at him.

“You know,” you sang, “you know what, Di...Diego?”

He didn’t pause. “What?”

“I would do anything...and everything...in order to make you smile forever. You know? Anything.”

Those were the words that weighed heaviest on Diego’s conscience as he drove back to his place. It was as though they had erased everything else, anything that had happened that day or any time before and just left that in its place. He didn’t know why, but they stuck, and as he wove through the dimly lit streets, your voice floated about like a bodiless apparition, set to destroy his mind and drive him mad.

Diego had had his heart broken several times before. It happened almost easily in his childhood, normally by the hands of his vindictive father. He had learned how to patch it up, sew up the cracks and try to make it so it wouldn’t happen again, and eventually he got better at that. But it shattered again when Ben died, and he realised that they were just kids, forced to play heroes in a horrifically gruesome world they didn’t belong in. That took a while to mend, but he did, until he screwed up at the police academy and Patch left him too. After that he had let the fragments just sit in piles in his chest, digging at his ribs and leaving him winded after long nights in the cold darkness. He hadn’t cared; he thought that was what was expected of him. Nothing but a broken heart to hold him when the nightmares got too bad.

But when you came along, he didn’t have to stitch himself back together. You did it for him. Somehow without him noticing you had snuck into his chest and unravelled the poor stitchwork and blotted out the stains left that he hadn’t bothered to clean up. Over time, you had managed to make it almost brand new again, and it was a whole new experience of smiling and watching as you failed to finish your joke again, only because you were already laughing too hard. Of getting wasted on Wednesday’s when your job sucked more and dancing down the streets up to your apartment, uncaring of those who watched. Of you chiding him for the cuts and bruises collected from his vigilante expeditions, but always being there to wash them out and make a fresh pot of tea. Of you, merely existing, and allowing him to bask in your sunshine a while longer.

But hearing those soft words leave your drunken lips, spilling out like tar from someone so angelic, hurt. Diego didn’t think that was possible with you.

He sighed, turning down the street towards the gym. It would be a sleepless night again.

YOU WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING CONFUSED AND ACHING.

Not as much as you normally would be, which was a nice change of pace -- you assumed you had enough common sense to take premature headache meds, knowing how bad the hangover got for them. But your drunken self did not have the thought of changing out of your stiff, uncomfortable going-out clothes, instead draping yourself across the mattress smelling like the shitty bar you had careened in and leaving every part of your body pissed off. Sweaty fabric clung to your skin, leaving you feeling soggy and misworn and eagerly wishing you could have made better choices earlier.

You groaned and slipped out of the comforter, already missing its heavy warmth. Slowly you staggered over to your desk where you must have left the Advil for that morning. “Thank you, past me,” you sighed, twisting open the cap with a grimace.

A paper caught your eye, small amongst the stacks of work files you had yet to comb through. Downing one pill, you grabbed it, taking in the scribbled letters through tired, squinting eyes.

Leaving this for you because you’re too drunk to remember what I said. Take these and drink water before you die of a hangover. I’d hate to find your body that way. Also left your things on your kitchen counter, they’re not stolen. Also left your burrito in your microwave -- you insisted on buying one last night, so don’t forget about it. Take care.

Underneath were two lines of thick black scribbles, covering up whatever was written under that and leaving only a scrawled ‘Diego’ as your final clue. But, despite whatever mystery the pen covered up, you smiled and pinned the note to your bulletin board.

“Thanks, bud,” you grinned, speaking like he was there to hear. “Hope I wasn’t too annoying last night.”

You went about your morning with a smile despite the pounding pulverising your muscles, and enjoying the lazy Sunday hours spent cleaning up. You even spoiled yourself with a long shower, eating up your hot water minutes with joy, knowing you’d hate yourself for it two weeks later. After an hour of cleaning up, washing your face free of the makeup smudged across your cheeks and devouring that burrito left for you, you finally felt refreshed and better about things.

You glanced up at the time. Diego would be up, probably manning the desk for Al as he did most Sunday’s (the facet of his job he hated most). But, at least that meant he would be available to take your call. You missed him, even after seeing him just the night before, and selfishly craved the distraction of his low rasp. Maybe you could even make him laugh, cheer him up during his boring shift.

But five minutes later, you were left disappointed when none of the three calls went through. You tried not to think too hard on it -- he was a busy guy, and was either working or doing his other line of work, and ignoring your call meant nothing. Course, it probably didn’t look good for a boxing gym, but...you’d settle.

You would just call back later. He would definitely be available to talk then.

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU LAST TALKED TO DIEGO, which was the longest either of you had gone without even speaking to one another in the history of your friendship.

On its own, the fact wasn’t so troubling. You were both working adults who had their own lives to sort through, jobs and bills and other friends that you didn’t like half as much as each other, grocery shopping and patrolling the streets alike, filling up both schedules easily. But the two of you were closer than that, and definitely more than just friends that saw each other every other week. You didn’t care about those friends like you cared about Diego.

And it hurt, that he was going to such lengths to avoid you.

Every time you stopped by his gym, Diego was gone. Al simply shrugged off your questions with a non-committal ‘I don’t keep track of the shithead’ and even when you went to knock on his door to check if he was lying, you got nothing. No regulars knew either, which was strange; he always liked to spend his afternoons training with a couple people, sometimes you if you showed up at the right time. You considered doing just that and waiting for him to show -- but even after hours of sparring, the man was nowhere to be seen.

You had tried everything, to the point where Al was annoyed and you felt like you were losing your mind. Surely Diego hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the earth. That didn’t seem right or possible and you knew you hadn’t made him up, because you had the pictures and notes to prove it. You could see his face, disgruntled and sometimes smiling in the photos you had snapped of him -- so why couldn’t you find it anywhere else?

With all options exhausted, you gave up for a few days, allowing yourself the chance to catch your breath. However, with that came the exhaustive process of trying to figure out why on earth Diego was avoiding you. And unfortunately, all that linked back to your last night spent together, and the bitter realisation that you must have fucked up the night somehow and left him not wanting to see you again.

And that thought broke you.

Thursday night was spent crying alone on your couch, trying to push past the depressing thoughts and failing miserably. You couldn’t remember half of what you did that night, but you knew he hadn’t been drinking as much as you, and alcohol always rendered you a ranting, rambling fool that he must have had to deal with. He had got you home, but for what? And what if it was all in that stupid note he had left you, scribbling out the real reason he was leaving you high and dry?

You threw the note out that night, staring down at it in the trash with tears pooling in your eyes. If only you could know why.

The issue was, Diego was more than just a friend to you. Sure your relationship had been built on totally platonic foundations, but it soon blossomed into so much more. He was a companion, your partner, the man who made you feel comfortable enough to wheeze into laughter-induced tears with, or just sob against his shoulder without feeling judged. He was the guy who brought you fast food when you forgot about dinner when work ran late, and the one who let you sleep over when you didn’t want to be alone. He made you smile by just being there -- like, you would open your door (or window, usually) and just grin like an idiot at the mere sight of his face. He was just Diego, but that meant more to you than you had ever been able to say.

Maybe, hell, you loved him. Was that so bad? It hadn’t been intentional to fall -- one day you had just been eating pizza on your countertop way too late in the night, and you looked over and realised your heart had only ever fluttered so violently for him. That he was the guy you could imagine spending the rest of your days with and never getting bored. Of course, you didn’t act on it, knowing that it was a platonic relationship and admitting such would destroy it completely -- but that didn’t mean your official break-up didn’t hurt any less.

You skipped work Friday, something you never did.

When your coworkers called, you wrote it off as illness related, while still drowning in the sorrow of being left high and dry.

Friends hit you up to make some ‘end of the week’ plans, but you ignored them.

You fell asleep at nine that night -- the earliest you had in aeons.

You stayed in bed for most of Saturday, staring at the ceiling or the photos pinned to your walls of the two of you, wondering if this was all just a weird dream you were going to wake up from.

Six hours later, you hadn’t woken up from your dream, but you had made up your mind.

One hour after that, at almost ten o’clock at night, you were rolling up to that same boxing gym you had haunted for that week, dressed in dark activewear and parked a ways away from the actual space. Steely-eyed and with your jaw clenched, you marched out the vehicle and into the building, knowing full well what you were going to find. You had a plan, and whatever it took, you were going to put it into motion.

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest plan, and maybe you had only just come up with it, with barely any time to consider it’s workability and whether or not you were just throwing words together, but nevertheless, you persisted.

You were going to get Diego back.

“DIEGO FUCKING HARGREEVES,”

The man, back turned away, stiffened and immediately went to move,

“run and I will end you, boy,” you growled, stomping towards him with force; he could practically feel each stomp echoing in his chest, cracking him down to the size of a pea. Somehow, he couldn’t move, frozen in place by your command. “Okay?!”

“H-hey, I--”

“--why the hell have you been avoiding me?!”

His eyes were wide and panicked and frantically, he searched all around for a way out. Unfortunately, your body in front of him blocked his only exit, leaving him stammering for answers you knew he didn’t easily have. “Look, I--”

“--I have been worried and scared and sad and out of my mind this entire week,” you snapped, jabbing a finger into his tank top, pushing him back in his steps. Your anger dug deep into him, thorns grabbing onto every bit of vulnerable flesh -- and the worst part was, you were absolutely right. “You know that? I have called everywhere I could -- I even called the police, wondering if you were in custody and I just missed that news drop. But no, you were just gone, avoiding me for who knows what reason!”

“I didn’t--”

“--what did I do, Diego? What happened, what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing.”

“Then why won’t you even look me in the eyes?” you hissed back, staring up at him in hopes he would catch your gaze. But he didn’t; his eyes still looked far away from yours, searching for something to give him a way out with. “You won’t even look at me, that’s how pissed off you are at me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I get if I did something wrong, but you can’t just pull away from me like that -- this friendship isn’t built on shit like that. I can’t cope with this void left by you deciding you don’t like me anymore!”

“That’s not what happened,” he insisted, his own voice raising in volume. “I swear!”

“Then what, Diego? What possible reason could you have that isn’t related to me doing something wrong? Because that’s all the evidence I got out of this and unlike you, I have zero detective skills so I’m working on one freakin’ theory here!”

His eyes averted to the ground, staring down at the both of your feet, one pair tapping angrily and the other shuffling in hopes of escape. He felt himself folding in, a habit he had broken a long time ago with you, one he thought he had killed off forever. But apparently it hadn’t.

“You can’t even answer me,” you shuddered. Your sneakers squeaked against the shiny linoleum, leading you back a step. “You - I don’t understand this. At all. And you can’t even give me an answer why? D-don’t I deserve a reason for why I hurt you, Diego?”

“No, c’mon. I…” he hesitated once more as expected. Whatever he was planning on saying died in his mouth and thickened his tongue, leaving him once again stumbling for an excuse. He felt your eyes on him as well as his father, reproachfully clicking his tongue at once again, his stuttering, bumbling fool of a son. “I did...I didn’t…”

“Forget it. Screw this.”

“W-wait, don’t leave--”

“--I’m not leaving!”

He froze, holding onto your bicep in an attempt to stop you. Slowly, his hand fell away, “w-what?”

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, and slowly he watched as a devilish smile stained your cheeks, pulling away the angry lines of before. “I didn’t come here to leave, I came here for answers. And I guess I just have to fight you for ‘em.”

At that point, Diego’s head had been through the wringer so much, he felt like it could just pop off if he wasn’t careful. And yet still, his eyes bugged out and he stared at you in complete shock, unsure just how he was supposed to process that last sentence.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

You shrugged like it was nothing at all, “c’mon. I know you’re better with the physical stuff and I wanna catch you off guard, finally get an answer out of you. I’m gonna, like, fight you for the truth.”

He watched as you toed off your shoes and shrugged off your thin jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with little care. You seemed ready, like you had planned this all along -- and had you? What was the reason behind all this? Was there something that he just wasn’t getting, in his state of emotional disarray? Or were you just losing your mind because of him?

“L-look, I’m s-sorry, but I,” he paused, trying to form the syllables in his mouth so they weren’t so thick and jumbled. “I can’t just fight you.”

“Sure you can. We spar all the time.”

“But w-w-why?”

Once more, your shoulders lifted and fell; ever the nonchalant dramatic. “Call it a bet. I win, you tell me why you avoided me for so long. And if you win, which you probably won’t but if you do…” you grimaced. “I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

Diego baulked. “I don’t want that.”

“Clearly you do,” you jabbed back. “Right?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t want to lose you.”

You huffed; clearly you didn’t believe him, but you also seemed set on the idea that you were definitely going to win, so he wasn’t sure where he stood in that. “Fine, pick your prize and keep it to yourself. I don’t care.”

Diego still hesitated, hovering to the side as you wrapped your hands. There seemed no way out of the situation, but surely there had to be - surely you weren’t just going to hop into the ring for an explanation.

Was this some ill-fated revenge?

You must have noticed his expression, because he heard you laughing from a whiles away. “I’m not looking to hurt you, Diego. Trust me, no matter what you do, I’d never want to do that.”

His heart fluttered.

“It’s just,” you cocked your head, thinking over your words before smiling again, “like you said when you first started training me. Freestyle, baby.”

You had deepened your voice tremendously to mock his own -- and while it was a horrible impression, it did call back to the one you did before of him. Not that you seemed to remember that, you had been piss drunk, but the thought still made him cringe.

All this, because of him. He screwed it all up and for what?

“Rules are the same as always. First person to pin the other down for more than five beats wins. No serious hits, so like, don’t break my nose or anything.”

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, even as he stepped into the ring. “We don’t need to do this. We can just talk.”

You sighed and looked back at him. There was a fierceness in your eyes, a determination for something he wasn’t quite sure of -- like there was a plan in motion, only he couldn’t figure out where the steps lead. “I didn’t come here to walk away, Diego. I’m here to win a bet and get my friend back, and also kick his ass if I have to because I’m desperate. You can’t convince me to leave, so wrap your hands and let’s get this going!”

“But-”

“-it’s either this or I just stare at you until you crack,” you said, no longer smiling. “And I doubt you want that typ’a torture, do you?”

He stared at you askance. “Really?”

You didn’t answer him with words that time.

The fight was fast, and almost evenly matched -- you had a slight advantage with your eye on your prize, and he was faltering with every other blow knowing he couldn’t bear to hurt you. But the pace picked up and soon it was like you were one fluid being, predators locked on and desperate to claw the other away from them while simultaneously, drawing them back in. Fists flew and every so often he saw the sparks fly from the fire in your eyes, catching on everything he turned from and leaving him surrounded by the flames you spilled.

For a moment, Diego thought he had it. He had managed to pivot away from your last onslaught and pulled you away from the centre, edging into the corner where he could finally pin you down. His arms outstretched and for a moment he was actually smiling because it felt like the good old days -- sparring way too late into the night when he should have been working with the girl he secretly loved and the stars watching from way above, admiring the gruesomely pretty sight.

But in a flash, everything switched.

He lunged, you slid.

When he fumbled, your legs wrapped around his own, pulling him back and flipping over one another like beetles rolling in the hot sun.

You were everywhere, smothering his smoke with your body, forcing him down before he even realised what was happening.

Diego blinked, and suddenly you were on top of him, legs on either side of his waist and your hands holding his own up above his head. Your expression edged on feral as you grinned down at him, straddling him and fighting everything he pushed back with.

But he couldn’t fight back. Not when you were on him and everywhere and he could smell your shampoo as your hand dangled around him, dripping your scent around him like he was in that poppy field from Wizard of Oz, ready to give into the toxin and be one with the flowers. Your hands held his own and he wished he could slide his fingers into the clasp, holding them to him and kiss each bruised knuckle with tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your hips, legs, chest pressed against his own, both heaving and waiting for the other to move and interrupt the tension rising with every passing second.

“One,” you began, voice low and teasing. Did you know what you did to him? “Two…”

Diego writhed in your hold, but it was no use. You had him. He was yours and he would be satisfied to be so for the rest of your days, if only you never let him go. His gaze flitted across your face, tracing the way your eyebrows furrowed and relaxed with the numbers, eyes still wide and filled with emotions he didn’t quite know how to read. Sweat beaded on your brow and stained your cheeks and yet still, he thought you were as perfect as you could be, mere inches from his own darting eyes.

“Four...four and a half…” your smile grew and you got a little closer, almost touching his face with your own. “Five…”

He didn’t dare to breathe.

“I win, Hargreeves.”

But despite the hushed declaration, you did not move. Your body stayed over his, hands pushing his own down with gentle force but keeping him locked under you. Your eyes remained on his own, locking them in place as your face grew nearer. Soon enough your nose was just touching his own, nudging softly and turning so it fit better against his lips, which were parted and so close to pressing against your own-

-but you pulled away.

Just as Diego’s eyes had shut, your weight left his and he was left to sit up confused and watch you stomp away. You slipped out of the ring and down to the ground with a soft thump. He watched you unwrap your knuckles and to his surprise, he saw your hands shake with the movement.

“This was a mistake,” you mumbled to yourself. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. “This was stupid, I have to-”

“-don’t go,” he mumbled. In one swift movement Diego had jumped back to his feet and pulled after you. You stumbled back a few paces; he raced after, hurrying to your side with an aggression he didn’t know he possessed. “Don’t go.”

“Diego, I-”

“-I pushed you away because I screwed up,” he said, all in one breath and so fast he wasn’t sure if you could understand him. “I messed this up. We’re only supposed to be friends, I know that, but I-I can’t not be in love with you, not when you’re that perfect and so beautiful and you make me smile e-even when I feel like the shittiest sh-sh-shit and-”

“-kiss me.”

“What?”

You stepped forward, angling yourself just under his chin. Your chest heaved. “Kiss me, asshole.”

And slowly his hands moved on their own accord, cupping your cheeks and holding you to him. His eyes darted down once, staring at the pink lips before reaching your own again for a silent affirmation. When you nodded in his hands he acted, pulling you to him quickly and pressing his lips against his own, finally.

It was fast and passionate, both beings pulling at the other, urging the other closer than the skin they already pressed against. His one hand left your jaw to hold your neck, angling your face so he could better caress it, smudging himself across your lips with little care. He felt your own touch against his back, sliding down to his hips and pulling -- without even thinking, he moaned, feeling your lower body roll up against him and leave his mind in overdrive.

You pulled away for air finally, gasping only to be pulled in again for a softer, gentler kiss. He pecked the corners of your mouth before finally taking your lower in between his teeth, biting softly before sucking on the tender swollen skin. He pulled away then, dropping his forehead to your own as you both took another breath.

“If…” you paused to inhale, grinning through the gasp of oxygen, “if I knew you were holding all that back, Diego, I would have kissed your ass a lot sooner.”

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmured. He felt your hands leave his waist, pulling up to the one he still had cradled against your cheek. Your head leaned into the gentle touch. Even as your fingers held his. “I just...is this why you stopped talking to me?”

Diego shook his head softly against your own. Once more his heart faltered and threatened to burst, but he ignored it. “No, I just...I realised that I was-”

“-sorry, I don’t - you have an eyelash.” He froze as your fingers stroked his cheek, pulling away the evidence that had caught your attention. Your eyes darted up to his for a moment, and he watched as they widened and brightened under his perplexed gaze. “Your eyes really are pretty.”

His heart stopped for a beat.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That’s why I stopped!” he exclaimed. He pulled away from you then, gesticulating wildly around like the air was going to supply you with answers. “That’s why!”

You frowned, cocking your head like a lost puppy. “You...because of your pretty eyes?!”

“What? Wait, no, that’s not why.”

“I’m so confused right now, bud, and I just--”

“--last week,” he rushed, cutting you off before he could lose momentum again. “I took you home. You were wasted, and you kept talking and - and you told me I had pretty eyes.”

Still, you looked bewildered.

“I-I have been obsessed with you since the day I met you,” he said, soft and unsure if any of the words would come out right. Or if they themselves were the right ones to say. “I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t let myself act on it because I knew that it wouldn’t wo-wo-work out, you’d get mad and I’d lose you. I rathered having you as a friend, then losing you cause I was in love with you.”

“Love?” you questioned, barely a breath of a sound lingering between them.

“But that night, you went on and on and I realised then that I was too gone to keep it in. And I realised that you wouldn’t feel the same...and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left. And…”

“Diego Hargreeves, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

His brow furrowed low, anger mingling with befuddlement on his flushed skin. “Hey, I-”

“-first of all, you really think I would just hate you because you thought of me as more than a friend?! Even if I didn’t like you - which I do, by the way - I wouldn’t do that, I value you too much. But second of all, you’re telling me that you never noticed how much I liked you back?!”

“I-”

“-I have felt like an idiot for the past year, holding in my feelings for you and wishing you could feel the same way. And when you left, I thought - I thought that was it, and that I screwed things up when I was drunk, which I guess I did but-”

“-you didn’t screw anything up, I did!”

“No you didn’t, I did! I’m the drunken initiator!”

“I shouldn’t have just left!”

“Okay, so we both screwed up!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. “But dammit, Diego, I have loved you for ages, and you - we - this is what it came to?!”

“Well, I-”

“-I can’t believe this!” you chortled. “All this time?!”

“I guess so,” he said, voice catching on the ‘so’. “I guess, yeah.”

“Holy crap.”

“Ha. Yeah.”

“I love you,” you giggled, breathless and still flushed, messy and beautiful in the shitty gym lighting. “I love you, Diego Hargreeves.”

His heart didn’t break. It didn’t even crack. Diego instead felt the slight twinge as the organ settled in his chest, content and buzzing with the panted cry. The breaklines of before didn’t feel so harsh, mended by your shiny eyes and swollen lips that he wanted to stare at until the end of his days. For once, his heart actually felt whole.

“I love you too,” Diego mumbled, smiling like a little kid. The muscles in his face, rusted over with age and disuse, groaned at the extreme grin but he kept it on anyways, smiling down at you with the strangest feeling of happiness coursing through his body. “A lot.”

And you beamed. “Have I ever told you, your eyes look like, a thousand times prettier when you smile?”

A/N: WHY DO I KEEP WRITING ALCOHOL BASED IDIOTS TO LOVERS FICS?? Have I any other creative thoughts?? Does this make me seem like that’s all I think about?? These are the thoughts that now run through my mind as I rush to post this...and truthfully, I don’t have an answer. I swear I’m a little more creative! I just...have a hankering for these things. Oops.

I wrote this weirdly super super fast and it’s super nonsensical, especially the middle bits? But I weirdly like it. I’m not sure. The plot is a ~little~ wonky but I’m rolling with it!

I’m open to make more stuff on here, I’ve gotten quite bad at it but I like writing these things as practice pieces. So, if you want to read more, requests are open and you can find a list of prompts (if you want them) in my masterlist. I’m putting out an updated list later on in the month, but I also am just open to have any sorts of requests. xx

(also as always - if you enjoyed and you want more, follow, reblog, and consider buying me a kofi! linked in my bio bc tumblr doesn’t like direct links on posts, please check it out if you’re feeling generous because I’m recently unemployed and any bit helps. but sharing this post and showing others the work is appreciated a great deal and i love you if you do!)

#diego hargreeves x reader #mine #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves imagine #tua x reader #umbrella academy x reader #hargreeves x reader #gender neutral reader

209 notes · View notes

decayandfanfics · 3 years ago

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Any port in a storm

Tomura knows a bastard when he sees one, and Chisaki Kai looks like someone who could stab his own mother just to prove a point.

And he’s not only a bastard, but he’s also very full of it. The way Chisaki talks like he knows better than anyone else, questioning Tomura and calling him out on his previous failures, as if he knew anything about dealing with pro heroes and a bunch of overpowered children ruining your plans.

Tomura knows where he’d failed and he learned from it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to waste his time hearing this asshole lecture him about leadership and planning. After all, Chisaki Kai is nothing but a low thug that works for money or whatever the fuck someone like him cares for. The league, on the other hand, has bigger matters to attend.

He sure like the sound of his own voice. Tomura thinks, narrowing his eyes when Overhaul begins to babble about leadership and pawns like they are nothing else than mere meat at his disposition, and not people with interests and wants.

It doesn’t take long before shit goes down. Magne’s remains puring over them like rain because the bastard makes her explode like a piñata with just a single touch.

Yes, Tomura also knows a deadly touch when he sees one, and Overhaul’s looks ridiculously overpowered.

“Compress, wait-!” Tomura shouts, but Chisaki is faster and before they understand what’s happening, Compress quirk goes off and Overhaul blows Atsuhiro’s arm with a simple touch and the fucker is so damn coward that the moment Tomura lounges towards him, he just orders one of his pitiful pawns to act as a fucking shield and die in his place.

The yakuza has the nerve to call himself the next leader and Tomura is almost impressed by the audacity.

“Now I get it. You should have just started with this, saved us all some time.” Tomura spits making a monumental effort to keep his cool for his sake and the sake of the league.

“Where are they come from?! We weren’t followed, I swear!”

“One of them probably has a tracking quirk.” He’s also trying his utter best to not smack Twice’s masked head for being so damn naïve.

“We’ll cool our heads and try again later. I ow your side an arm.”

“Bastard! I’ll eviscerate you!” Twice barks at his side, holding Compress against his chest.

“Tomura-kun. Let me cut him. Real quick.” Toga ask, pulling out her knife.

“No.”

“it’s my responsibility!” screams Twice.

“No.”

“I don’t wanna rush you, but the sooner we talk the better.” Think things over carefully. Consider how your organization should be run, then when you’ve calm down, call me.” Overhaul speaks like he didn’t just killed Magne, comparing her with one of his ridiculous pawns and Tomura hates him, truly. It’s not like when he says he hates society and heroes, no. This is more personal. He hates Chisaki Kai the same way you hate your childhood bully, the same way you hate someone because you had the misfortune of knowing them.

“They’re gonna pay for this. Why can’t I go after them?!”

“Now thinking, we need to get Atsuhiro-san to a doc. “

“Right.”

“That wouldn’t work…damn that hurts” Atsuhiro whispers almost unconscious.

“Maybe we do have time to make them bleed.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Tomura-kun!”

“Another time.” He orders, watching as overhaul and his band of assholes disappear into the night “You’ll pay for what you’ve done today.” He swears already thinking in a million ways he could make him regret this.

“Shigaraki! We need to see the doctor! Atsuhiro is bleeding out!”

Ah, doctor Ujiko really found and excellent time to go missing, didn’t he? Now without his sensei and the hideout completely wrecked by the heroes, he’s between kidnapping some doctor or finding some abandoned hospital and pray there is some supplies that could work. But kidnapping someone would take time and efforts and the nearest abandoned hospital is forty minutes away and Compress doesn’t have so much time.

Ah, the perks of being a villain.

“Tomura-kun! What do we do!?”

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go numb, his mind rushing, thinking what to do besides the obvious, trying his best to ignore that option.

“We need to take him now!”

Tomura rolls his eyes and suck his teeth hating his life because this is the last thing he thought he would be doing when he woke up that morning, something withing him twisting painfully between excited and done with this awful feeling he can’t rid off.

“Tomura-Kun! What do we do?!” Toga presses again, panicking because Compress is getting paler and paler.

He groans kicking some rock completely fed up. Why couldn’t Atsuhiro just stay sit there when he told him to wait? Now the itch gets insufferable out of nowhere and Tomura scratch his neck raw, snarling under the hand that covers his face. He doesn’t want to go there, but Twice needs help to carry Atsuhiro now that the man just fainted, and he can’t do copies of himself, so he’ll need someone else. It could be Toga, but Tomura hardly thinks she’s going to be helpful with that tiny body of hers. Besides, they’ll need someone who can clear out the streets before rushing out, so, he’ll have to go anyways.

Tomura sighs defeated, this isn’t about him, so he decides to ignore the knot in his stomach and the quick drumming of his heart against his ribs, preparing for the imminent headache before barking the orders.

“Follow me.”

______________

A loud bang on your door wakes you suddenly.

You observe your room, remembering that you were studying before falling asleep over your desk after a whole day of paper reading and a pack of oreo’s for dinner. Your laptop screen flashes 00:23 am, so you’ve been sleeping for hardly an hour.

Another bang and this time the sound of someone trying to enter your apartment at midnight shoots your adrenaline levels to the top.

“Big sister! Please!” Toga’s voice sounds desperate from the other side of the door turning your fear in worry, so without thinking, your feet tap quickly through the flat to just opening it before some neighbor sees her, but your mouth falls open the moment Toga rushes into your apartment with Twice and Shigaraki behind her, carrying a half-conscious Compress.

In a second that feels like hours, your eyes travel quickly between all three men, to stop on the red ones that bore into you, sending shivers through your spine as you heart do a flip inside your cage because your infatuation with the villain is right there, in the same place he left it last time he touched you.

“What the…” Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you notice that Compress bloodied wound is in fact him missing an arm.

“Shit. Lay him down on the table” You order already running across your flat looking for a hairband. “Take his shirt off, Toga, bring me some towels.” You rush to your bathroom to wash your hands quickly, and Shigaraki follows you without a word, clutching at your side looking for the first aid kit your keep under the sink.

“Tell me what happened.”

“A Yakuza bastard blew his arm of with his quirk.” He spits carrying the kit to the kitchen. “He shoot him something and his quirk went off.”

“You think it’s some kind of drug?”

“Probably.”

“Crap. It could be dangerous if I don’t know the effects.”

You run behind him, taking some latex gloves from the kit before approaching your patient. Atsuhiro breathes heavily over your kitchen table, his legs dangling from the edge as he bleeds all over the floor.

Your quirk activates in full force the moment you get close to him.

“Hello, Mr. Compress.” You talk to him trying to calm him the same way you would talk to a child patient as you remove the poor bandage that wraps the remains of his left arm. “Long time no see.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” He whines with his hand holding the gory pieces of meat that still dangles from his shoulder, a chonk of his broken bone horribly exposed. “It hurts a lot, you know?”

You wince at the sight but straighten yourself to do your job and let your hands hover over his wound, numbing his nerves, keeping his blood from spilling out because he’s already at the brim of drying out.

“I know, but it’s okay now, Compress. I’ll take care from here. Now…sleep…” you lull him with a smile, relaxing him quietly, slowing his heart rate to make him pass out.

“Is he..?” Twice ask watching with trembling voice.

“he’s unconscious now. I can stop the bleeding with my quirk for now, but I’ll need to…sew this…. somehow.”

“Oh! Big sister! Your quirk is amazing to cure people!” Toga says joyfully, leaving the towels close to you.

“Himiko-chan. I need you to wash your hands very carefully. I’ll need some assistance.”

“Okay! I’ll be back.”

You begin to clean the wound, retiring the little fragmenst of bone from between the exposed muscle with some tweezers.

“How bad.” Shigaraki is behind you, towering over your shoulder and you can feel his warmth on your cheek, as he winces watching the mess over the table.

“His arm is destroyed. I need to cut a little of bone, it’s too jagged to just close this, it could lead to an infection. Only after that I’ll be able to rearrange this mess.”

“What do you need.”

You look at him worried. He’s covered in blood and for a moment you panic thinking that maybe he’s injured too.

“A-Are you al right?”

The question comes out as desperate product of your impossible nerves from having him so nearby. It caught him by surprise from the way his jaw clenches before answering.

“…I’m fine. What else do you need.”

Relief washes over you, so you return your eyes to the man over your kitchen table.

“I…my dad had a garden saw in the closet. Disinfect it the best you can. This is going to be nasty.”

___________

When she’s finally done, it’s already 3 am.

Compress lays over the couch, finally sleeping after some gruesome scalpel work that lefts her panting from her quirk overuse, siting in the floor with her back against the front door.

A thick trace of blood drifts down her nose, but she’s too tired to even care, so she just let her head rest on the cold wood.

Silence and shadows fill the apartment. The lights are off so Atsuhiro can sleep, but the lights of the street are enough to see inside the flat. In her room, twice and toga share the bed, already sleeping after helping with the cleaning. Her kitchen looks spotless under the moonlight, none could guess she just operated someone over the table with a gardening saw.

“Are you sure you are okay?” She asks with hooded eyes, her own conscience drifting slowly.

“…I told you I’m fine.”

Tomura watches her, leaning against the wall in front of her. She’s grown thinner and paler than the last time he stood in her home. Her bloodied clothing only accentuating her lack of color and the dark bags that rest under her sleepy eyes.

She stares back, neither of them wanting to look away, not when the three steps gap between them extends so wide and deep that it hurts. The notion of being face to face again stirs quietly inside of him and all his anger and dread goes silent now she’s there at the reach of his hand, and Tomura understand that he doesn’t know how to feel now.

Her stomach growls of hunger and her eyes open in embarrassment and surprise.

“Stop staring at me.” She mumbles cleaning her face with the back of her sleeve, getting up to walk over her kitchen.

“You were staring first.” He mumbles annoyed “whatever…” Before he can even walk to the door, she stops him dead on his tracks.

“You can stay…if you want.”

Tomura looks at her while she prepares a sandwich, trying to avoid his gaze at all costs to no avail. Her hand trembles as she tries to put some butter on her bread, giving away her internal turmoil, because as him, she doesn’t know how to feel about this sudden intrusion in her life. Again.

Well, at least he’s not he only one who feels awkward.

She laughs halfheartedly out of the blue.

“What’s so funny?” he asks looking at the wall, his voice mellow because he doesn’t have the energy to quarrel with her now. Not after everything that happen.

“It’s just…I swore I was going to choke you with my own hands next time I saw you.” She cannot stop the laughing.

He doesn’t know what to do with that statement, finding difficult to keep his distant mask now she’s trying to sound playful. He can feel his anger and awkwardness dissolving into something more bearable so he just smirks amused.

“Bare hands, huh? no quirk involved?”

“Yep. Acapella”

“And how is that working for you?” he asks, gravitating closer to her, standing at her side, very aware of the height difference between them as he leans to see her face better.

“Oh, fuck off.” She smiles.

“Ladies first.” He cannot contain the little smile that blossom in his face.

Tomura feels his shoulders relaxing softly now. He falls in the ease of her company, the roaring turmoil he’s been feeding all these past weeks, going silent now that she’s finally close, smiling tired and lightheartedly.

It was this, and he almost forgot about it. It was the soft wittiness, the clever jokes and back and forth. He liked to talk to her because it was like playing a game, but somehow, he forgot between his bitterness and rage.

“Sandwich?” She asks, handling him half oh her own.

“…Thanks.”

They eat in silence. Atsuhiro’s breathing is the only sound in the house.

Tomura is tired, his eyelids weight heavy over his eyes, but this moment is enough to keep him awake, so in exchange he memorizes the smell of her home, her presence filling him softly and gently, calming the rage and the fury he’s been feeling over a month in a rare peaceful moment that feels dangerously too much like finally coming home.

What a stupid thought to think he could get rid of this sweet softness, the only one he’s ever felt. A foolish desire made of spite and bitterness in a place that can only be filled with their silent bond.

He feels the gap closing slowly, luring him to stay for the night. He should…he could...maybe this…

“I’ve missed you.” She whispers suddenly without looking at him, her eyes fixed in the wall in front of them.

Time stops and he whips his head so fast he could hear something crackling in his neck.

He definitely didn’t though about this when he woke up that morning.

“Like wise.” He raps swallowing hard, thinking about all the things his done in a month, realizing there was not a single minute of the day in which he did not think of her.

He’s truly smitten, isn’t he?

“I’m sorry about what I said…i…I got nervous. I thought you would get mad, I just made it worse.”

“Why would you think that, huh? I thought I was pretty obvious.” He says, hiding his hands in his coat before changing his weight to the other leg.

“Because you are a big bad villain, aren’t you? and I’m just…me.”

“Just you” he snorts “you managed to terrorize one of the most dangerous villains without even touching him. Just you is fine enough to deal with anyone. Even big bad villains.”

She smiles shyly.

“Shigar-“

“Tomura.” He interrupts, finally looking at her.

She looks beautiful under the pale light; the shadows of the night drawing angles and shapes on her face.

“Tomura.” She states, meeting his gaze and he delights in the way his name falls from her lips like a spell and less like a curse. She looks at him decided, certainty written all over her face and he knows she’s about to do something reckless. “I really like you.”

Tomura has learned his lesson. As he always does, so he absorbs her words and weighs them carefully inside his chest.

“A horrible decision, really.” He mocks back with a grin, closing the gap between them until he has her trapped between him and the kitchen counter. “Your parents never told you about big bad villains?” this time he asks close enough for her smell to fill his personal space as he gives her a hungry look, licking his lips.

“Oh, Fuck you.” She sighs laughing quietly.

“I hope you do.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to kiss me already?” She whispers feeling his warm breath against her lips.

He stops entranced with the way her eyes reflect the streetlights from the outside. He’ll think of her like this frozen in time and undercover darkness, just a silver string of light between the shadows of her home and his life.

Tomura kisses her hungry and desperate. His jagged lips bruising against her mouth, invading her, eager to feel her closer, but is not enough. Him yanking her against his chest, four fingers gripping tight over her wrist as his right arm encircle her waist is not enough. Feeling her hands clutching at his shirt pulling him is not enough. Sensing the motion of her rising cage as she began to suffocate is not enough.

No, nothing is enough when he wants to split her chest open to hide inside her ribs, filling her with this feeling that’s been smothering him for too long.

He’s overwhelmed by this unforgiving desire that goes beyond anything physical. Is about the terrifying nature of the world that surrounds him, where she’s the only hideout that could contain his horror and everything that scares him about himself.

Like sensing his despair, she moves her hands to his face, caressing his jaw enamored with the shape of his face, the texture of his skin and the soft locks of white hair that brush over her fingers every time he tilts his head to kiss her deeper and deeper.

A low rumble fills his chest as she opens her mouth fully to him, giving him access to her warmth for him to gorge on her taste, terrifyingly close and needy.

She breaks contact searching for air, but he moves ever so little.

“The things I’ll do with that bickering mouth of yours” He whispers before biting her low lip, giving her a ravenous look.

“Like wise.”

He considers to just shove her against the wall and take her right there over the dishwasher, finally sinking his teeth on her skin, buried deeply in her; but since she was bleeding not long ago, tired and in desperate need of sleep, he keeps it gentle. They are both tired. Tired from the fight, tired from the operation, tired of this game of cat and mouse they’ve been playing for two months, so he shoves his animal instincts under the rug and treats the situation the same way he holds things carefully with his fingers.

Just this one time he promises, knowing he will go absolutely feral on her as soon as he has the chance. So, he just leans over and kisses her gently…surprised by his own tenderness and the warmth that fills him, something akin to happiness and peace.

Tomura nuzzles against her cheek before resting his face on her shoulder, the awful longing that’s been eating him alive finally shut down.

“Come.” She calls him softly, a ghost of a kiss burning over his lips before she tugs him by the hem of his coat, leading him to the spare room.

He follows her quietly, taking off his sneakers and coat before getting inside the little bed, wrapping his arms tightly around her, fists safely closed at her back.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” She asks merely a whisper, her lips delicately brushing his own.

His forehead rest against hers, her warmth inviting him to close his eyes and rest, lulling him silently into sleep.

“…yes.” He whispers as he drifts away, feeling the light touch of her lips kissing the scar over his mouth.

“Good.”

Chapter 14

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha fanfic #tomura #shigaraki #boku no hero #tomura x reader

29 notes · View notes

kvgehiras · 3 years ago

Note

hiii can i request kuro relationship headcanons?? (i’m so soft for the delinquent looking but actually very sweet trope wwww please tell me i’m not alone)

HELLOOOO YES YES NP!!!! FOR SOME REASON THEY ENDED UP V MUCH AS.....A SCENARIO???? ESP HOW YALL MET ND STUFF SO IF IT'S NOT TO UR TASTE PLS TELL ME I DON'T MIND RE-DOING IT DJDBNDN HOPE U ENJOY IT???? MAYBE????? AAAAAAA

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

• kuro !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMS

• u guys def met at like . a convenience store or smthg

• nd he takes One look at u from the aisle across nd his brain malfunctions??????

• his brain literally goes !'+_+_(&((_(293940)3(_?')392(_9(&?&)'!'?:???!

• but he Keeps Calm bcs if he suddenly went up to u nd said smthg like "hello stranger ur rlly pretty can we be friends" ur probably gonna get a Bit weirded out

• so he just kept on walking nd went up to the counter to pay nd reached into his pockets to grab his wallet

• nd there's….nothing….?

• o no

• o no no no

• kuro audibly sighs bcs WHY NOW

• he could've looked cool to u too but NOOOOOOOO HE JUST HAD TO GO ND FORGET HIS WALLENG ND NOW-

• "hello! may i pay for his stuff too?"

• "? i mean sure…? here's the bill"

• "thank u ^^"

• kuro looks at the nice person nd he prepares all the nice things he has to say bcs this person literally saved him nd OH MY GOD IT'S THE SAME PERSON FROM BEFORE!'!'?'??'?'!';

• kuro forgets everything he prepared to say bcs of u (what r u doing to him </3)

• but he soon realised ur looking at him like a confused puppy (the cashier has left at this point . even he realises that Smthg Is Up pls)

• nd so he manages to say "thank u!!!!!" a lil too loudly nd u laugh nd oh god ur so cute

• he also manages a chuckle nd says "uh…. how should i pay u back…..?"

• u think abt it for a moment before going "hm….do u wanna have some food here w me?"

• so yall had ramen o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

• since then he learnt ur name was y/n ("what a pretty name ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙") nd u guys have been meeting in the same convenience store for…..several weeks? months probably

• he also learnt that u like sewing nd he !!!!!!! hes abt to ascend pls help him HDBDBBD

• ANYWAYS!!!!!!! the others catch on v quickly bcs of the way he grins whenever u call him nd his eyes become crescent shaped

• BUT THE THING IS !!!!! KURO KNOWS !!!!!!

• HE KNOWS HE LIKES U BUT U !!!!! UR TOO NICE !!!!! TOO SWEET !!!!!! FOR SOMEONE LIKE HIM !!!!!!!

• the funniest part is keito is seeing all of this unravel nd he's just. he's tired HDNDNDN

• "kuro, i'm sure they like u back, yk? yall literally meet up every day, it can't be that bad."

• "but they can do so much better :( i'm not worthy of someone like them :("

• keito Knows this is v shoujo manga-esque

• so he decides to solve it that way ヾ( ์ ω ์ )b

• if u think he calls u from kuro's phone nd let u hear it while kuro spills out his feelings for u to keito aka an indirect confession ur absoluteley correct

• so knowing that he's not gonna do anything, u call him to the convenience store the next day nd confess instead!

• he...he stutters alot….gets VERY blushy…..nd blinks alot bcs he genuinely can't believe ur asking him out

• but he agrees!!!!!! finally!!!!!!!!!!!

• anyways !!!!! u soon learn he's very doting. v cheesy. but he's nice

• he sometimes makes u a scarf bcs it's too cold outside nd it reminds u of him so u do wear it

• but whenever yall r at home sometimes he'll shyly wrap it around both of u nd place a kiss to ur head then ruffle ur hair

• the way he looks at u at time……..why is he DOING THIS TO U !!!!!!!!! SO MEAN HES LITERALLY KILLING U ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

• he also likes making u food!!!!!!!! loves loves loves cutting up fruits for u before u come home so u can have freshly cut fruits too!!!!!

• he just ….. he spoils u SO MUCH

• but do u mind? absoluteley not!

• he also likes playing w ur hand at times!!!!! like if yall r going shopping or smthg together he'll swing ur hands…..

• nd the thing is he also usually….. doesnt talk abt himself yk? so if he is, like if he's talking abt his day, or how much u make him happy while yall r sipping tea peacefully, he'll take one hand of urs in his own nd like….play w ur fingers? if that makes sense?

• he also sometimes grips them a bit tight when he's talking abt smthg that's a bit uncomfy for him, but when u place ur other hand on his cheek nd draw these lil lines, he instantly calms under ur touch

• i think the conclusion is u guys r a v domestic couple . it's v nice

• some might even say that u guys r married!!!!

• nd while ur denying it now as u laugh, he hopes that u actually agree when he asks u this question in a few years

#hope this wasnt too late sobs #adding on tho #i feel like kuroo would look at his s/o in a v :") type way yk #like wow !!!!!! he rlly !!!!!!!!!!!!!! he rlly is in love !!!!!!! it's so obvious god i love this delinquent man #thank u for requesting!!!!!!#kiryu kuro #kuro imagines #kiryu kuro imagines #kiryu kuro enstars #kiryu kuro enstars imagines #enstars #ensemble stars #enstars imagines #ensemble stars imagines #writing #anon !!#ask box !!

30 notes · View notes

bts-roses · 4 years ago

Text

Spilling Coffee | 3

➼ summary: You’ve always prided yourself in being a naturally graceful and reliable person. So an internship at BigHit seemed like a walk in the park. That is, until a certain goof slide-kicks you off your feet and makes your life a whole lot harder.

Namjoon is a misunderstood klutz and y/n thinks too much.

➼ pairing: idol!namjoon x reader

➼ genre: fluff, angst (i’m sorry!!!), idolverse

➼ word count: 2,900

previous |

‣

You know, Namjoon is certain that he isn’t as clumsy as people make him out a bit. Is he prone to falling over every once in a while? Sure, who wasn’t? But he was sure that he’s not the stumbling fool that people make him out to be.

That was, until he met you.

After coffee incident #2, you started becoming less nervous and more acquainted with him. (Your little crush on the idol has also grown exponentially, but let’s just forget that.) At last, the days of you running away from him were in the past.

It was a few months into your internship that you noticed the changes. Panicked glances evolved into acknowledging smiles in the hallways. Running away from attempts at greetings turned into comfortable small talks in the elevator. Your fear of a certain man jumped into a fondness for a man you could call an acquaintance.

But one thing never changed: Namjoon was still a clumsy piece of shit.

You giggle silently in the meeting room when you make sudden eye contact with Namjoon, who was trying to hide the newly broken water glass, across the room. He shakes his head and starts quietly laughing, exchanging knowing glances with you every so often.

“Okay,” Your boss starts, “Here are the statistics of last year’s sales growth. As you can see...”

The project Mrs Lee was talking about to you was the plannings of the merchandise for BTS’ world tour in the upcoming month, hence the group’s presence in the meeting. Your dedication to your work scored you the temporary role of your boss’ assistant for the duration of the project. You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every single minute of it. Of course, you still had to go on coffee runs and so on but you just knew, Mrs Lee was finally warming up to you.

“I don’t know what to do with this.” Namjoon groans, holding the broken glass in his hand. The meeting was finally over.

“Put it in the bin, you dummy.” You point out, chuckling at his antics.

You don’t notice him smiling at the sound of your laughter. There’s a moment when you are waiting for the elevator doors to open that’s silent. He glances down at you humming a familiar tune and his heart warms at the sight.

“How has your day been?” He starts, making his way into your usual small talk.

“Better now that I’ve seen you break that glass.” You point towards his hands, giving him a mischievous nudge.

“I don’t even mean to do these things you know.” He pouts, “I don’t know why it’s always me.”

You both walk into the square room, shoulders brushing against each other. You smell his scent, loving the way it fills up all of your senses. You unconsciously grin. The pair of you continue your small talk.

These little moments always make your week. You liked learning small trivial bits about him no one else knew. You liked hearing him talking about his day, listening to the passion in his voice when he talks about his fans. Every time you feel yourself falling harder after every word exchanged. You crave more.

Before the conversation can get any deeper, you reach the floor he is needed on. A place where you don’t belong.

“That’s me.” He simply says, turning to give you a little grin.

You hum in response, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. That’s all these moments are: little. Insignificant.

“I’ll see you around okay?” He states, walking backwards without any caution.

Before the doors fully close, you catch him tumbling down on his ass. The ends of your mouth turn upwards and you roll your eyes. He’s so stupid.

Namjoon gets up once he can no longer see you. Turning around with a small spring in his step and a smile permanently plastered on. Maybe walking backwards isn’t the best idea, but Namjoon begs to differ if he can catch just another glimpse of your face.

‣

Namjoon feels his life rush by, not even realising a week has already passed because he’s been mostly locked up inside his studio. He just cannot finish this song. It’s been driving him nuts. There’s just one part that’s missing and he’s been pulling his hair to figure out what it was. Deciding it was best to go get fresh air, he leaves his studio.

On his way out, his heartbeat accelerates when he notices you walking nearby, holding a brown envelope. Without thinking about it, he starts dashing towards you with a smile. Your eyes move towards the sudden motion and they brighten up at the sight of him.

“Hi.” He breathlessly greets.

“Hi.” You reply, mirroring his big grin. God, you’re so cute.

“Uh, you off somewhere?” Namjoon asks.

“I was actually looking for you.”

“M-me?” He stutters, “why?”

He watches your arm move forward to give the envelope to him. He grabs it and looks up at you in confusion.

“Mrs Lee told me to give it to you. I don’t know what it is.” You explain, a pause, “well, I’ll get going now.”

Quickly, you stop moving when you feel his warm hand wrapped around your wrist. You look down, admiring how big his hands were compared to yours.

“No!” He exclaims, “I mean, um, do you want to see my studio? It’ll only take a minute, if you’re not busy?”

“Sure.” You agree thinking he just being nice, you were done for the day anyways.

You look around his studio, smiling at the warm and cozy feeling it radiated. The boy gestures for you to sit down on the couch while he moved to sit on his office chair. Sitting down in his studio, he suddenly felt self-conscious. You guys have never sat down and talked before. Your conversations always occurred when you both were walking places and they normally were cut off short. Now you were both alone in a room. His palms started sweating at the thought.

“I haven’t been seeing you around much.” You point out, trying to fill the silence in the room.

He frowns at the realisation. The man hasn’t seen you all week. He’s missed you.

“Yeah. I’ve been in here working. Guess I got too into it.” He admits, looking down at his lap.

You nod in understanding. It goes quiet again. Glancing up at his face you can tell that he hasn’t been getting rest and you frown at the thought. For the past few months BTS was supposed to be having a small break but you guess that they still must’ve been working hard. Even more so with the tour coming up. You look at the time. It’s just turned six. He should go home, you think. Before you get up and leave, hoping that gives him the opportunity to get sleep, he opens his mouth.

“How was your day?” He asks, an expression you can’t read on his face.

Great. Small talk. Again.

“It was alright.” You smile politely, “And yours?”

“It’s been fine.” He says, not knowing why the conversation was dying all of a sudden. It normally flows automatically.

Feeling awkward, you take in his appearance: he’s dressed comfortably in an expensive hoodie and loose pants. Because of his importance, he doesn’t really have a dress code and he can wear what he wants. You would be killed if you came into work so casual like that. You compare his attire to yours. Dressed in the uncomfortable second-hand dress you had to sew so it could fit, you think to yourself. You don’t belong here.

“So...” He begins, “are you hungry? I can order some food here.”

Your face turns in confusion at the randomness of his suggestion.

“Do you not wanna go home or something? Or are you not still working?” You query, looking at his computer with his song on.

Namjoon follows your eyes and turns back to see his computer. He sighs, “Nah I’m having a bit of a block right now and frankly, I’m starving.”

“As long as I’m not intruding, then sure.” You comply, secretly wanting more time with him.

“Great,” he reaches for his phone, “We should get some pizza, I know a really nice place that makes the best Hawaiian pizza.”

“You’re disgusting.” You unconsciously remark. Your eyes widen at your sudden outburst.

The man turns back puzzled, “Excuse me?”

He gazes at your face bursting out in laughter and he can’t help but to join in, realising the reason for you unexpected insult. He stands up from his chair, moving to tower over your sitting figure in attempt to intimidate.

“Does my pizza preferences not please you, Miss L/n?” He jokes, drowning in the sound of your giggles.

When he sits down next to you, you push him with in feigned repulsion. “Of course you would like pineapple on pizza.” You tease.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” He fakes his hurt, “Trust me, the pineapple pizza from this place will be the best pizza you’ll ever try.”

“Alright, bet.” You challenge.

After eating (turns out you still didn’t like the combo, as expected), the two of you fell back into a comfortable conversation, discussing anything and everything that came into mind from your favourite type of ice cream to his past lovers. Inwardly, he feels shock when you tell him that you never had dated seriously before. Regardless, he was utterly charmed by you, hanging on every single word that came out of your mouth. He likes the fact that you had similar values as him and he could only gape in awe when you passionately talk about the different political and social views that he was also enthusiastic about. But he additionally adores how you both had different tastes in certain aspects and he valued the fact that he could learn new things about life from you. He smiles to himself. It’s as if you are each other’s counterpart: your personalities blending almost perfectly together. He realises that this was the first ever in-depth conversation between the two of you and he could only hope it wasn’t the last. He wanted more.

You both don’t even notice the time flying by, even when the digital clock strikes midnight.

“Do you believe love can be formulated?” Namjoon queries, his head resting on the palm of his hand.

“Formulated?” you affirm, he nods his head.

“Like you can force it.” He explains, silently loving the way your face looks when you look curious, “I came across this thing where it was like, 36 questions to fall in love.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that.” you comment, “Do you think it works?”

“I’m not sure. Do you?”

“I feel like it could. The questions are supposed to make you vulnerable to the other person,” You justify, “And isn’t that what love is about? Being vulnerable and trusting to a person?”

His eyes soften at the sight of you and he couldn’t help but to request, “Should we try a question?”

You feel your heart going off again. Trying your hardest to not overthink his question, you attempt to casually say, “Okay.”

Namjoon gets his phone out and searches for the list of questions. After a minute, he decides on asking the very last question, thinking it was the most interesting to discuss.

“Right, remember we have to be 100% honest.” He continues when you nod your head, “ We have to share a personal problem and ask the other’s advice on how they would handle it. We also have to ask each other how you think the other is feeling about the problem.”

“You just had to choose the longest one didn’t you?” You tease lightheartedly, chuckling along with him before going quiet to start thinking of what to say.

“Should I go first?” He asks, the atmosphere turning serious.

“If you want.” You stare at him, giving him your undivided attention.

“Right, so um, you might think it’s really stupid or something.” He insecurely says, regretting his suggestion.

Quickly you dismiss his worries and you hold his unoccupied hand without thinking. When he looks up he meets your eyes.

“We have to be vulnerable, remember?” You kindly encourage.

“Okay.” He pauses, glancing at you before starting.

“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t deserve all of this.” He gestures around him, “All of this recognition, all of the people around me, all of the money. People looking up to me. Being people’s role models. Sometimes it feels as if I’m not right for that role. And I know, it’s so stupid because I worked so damn hard to be where I am now and I’ve went through so much shit, I know that. But I just can’t help but to doubt myself, you know? Last year it was all I could think about. It’s gotten better now but once in a while it crosses my mind. Like, am I actually deserving of all of this love?”

The distress on his face causes your heart to twist. He sits there defenceless, all his walls broken down. He’s so painfully beautiful. Stillness lingers the room.

Namjoon silently winces at the silence, he looks up at your face, about to dissolve his speech.

“You deserve to be loved.” You wholeheartedly whisper.

You grab his slightly shaky hands and earnestly gaze into his eyes. His heart starts pounding against his rib cage. Suddenly, all he can think about is what it would feel like to feel your love.

“You deserve to be loved.” You repeat, “Everything you have right now, no one else deserves it more than you. I know I can’t fully understand how you feel but I know that your work makes people feel things and for that, you have the right to be loved. As for my advice, I would say to think about any moments, no matter how small, from when you do feel deserving and don’t be shy to ask for some validation once in a while. But I’m just glad you don’t feel this way as much now.”

Before you process it, his arms wrap tightly around your shoulders, “Thank you, y/n.”

“It’s no problem. And, I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better, but when we talk you never fail to make me smile. So if you’re ever doubting yourself, at least you know that you make a positive impact on someone.” you say into his chest, smiling fondly.

Slowly moving away from you, he looks down at your face inches away from his- the glow from his computer screen illuminating your features. You’re absolutely breathtaking. Slightly intimidated by his intense gaze and embarrassed by your confession, you move away swiftly.

“My turn.” you point out, cheeks slightly flushed from the intimacy, “It’s kinda funny. I feel like it’s the opposite of yours.”

You laugh a bit and the man beside you gives you a questioning look. The raw air in the room encourages you to open up.

“I’m scared that I’ll never be loved.” you meekly say, “I know I’m only in my early 20s but the thought of ending up alone terrifies me. A-and it sucks because I feel like I have so much love to give but no one to give it to. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic so I’ve always dreamt of being in love. I think I’m tired of being alone. I just want someone’s love. So, what’s your advice for that?” You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Without warning, you feel his hand on the back of your neck, which ushers you forward until your lips touch. Your eyes close at the soft feeling of his full lips that were starting to move feverishly against yours. When you wrap your arms around his neck, he lets out a content hum, letting his arms fall around your waist. He kisses you deeper after you grant his tongue access past your lips and you feel your whole body on fire from the contact.

It was when you felt your lungs begging for oxygen that you broke the kiss with your eyes still shut- trying to savour the moment. Opening your eyes, you look up at the man in front of you. He has a glimmer in his eyes and a smile breaks out onto his face.

“Take mine.” He responds to your question. You feel his breath on your nose, “Take my love.”

A strange feeling builds up in your chest. You imagine going on dates with him outside, the sun glistening on his tan skin. You imagine countless late night conversations like this one. You imagine how much your parents would adore him when he comes to visit. You imagine endlessly kissing him. The feeling bursts throughout your body.

You’re starting to fall in love with him.

Then your mind does the thing it does best: overthink. Alarmed at the sudden panic in your face, Namjoon starts to reach out to you and, for the first time in a while, you run away.

And all he can do is helplessly watch you leave.

‣

a/n hello! it’s been a while. thank you for reading, i rlly hope you’ve enjoyed!

taglist: @alinerl @kim-jias-den @657mg @jinjccns @loonyginger

#bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon #bts fanfic #namjoon scenerios #namjoon angst #rm fluff #rm angst #bts drabble

269 notes · View notes

yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

Text

Moving day (Harry potter)

They say that any move can be stressful and the adjustment period of living with new roommates can be hard for the first few days, even if your new roomies happen to be your older twin brothers. And not making things any easier though they of course love and support you, is that your boyfriend is coming with you for the move, and as such you had to tell them about the special arrangement. Still stories over the phone apparently didn't fully paint a picture and now Ron and Draco are waiting for the twins to stop staring and let them in. The twins themselves were wearing matching white t-shirts and blue jeans. Ron was in a loose and long sleeved black shirt and black cargo pants, and Draco took the cake. what with the pure blood ex bully being in green cover all's (with crotch snaps!) and a black t-shirt it looked like under the cover-all's. and by how swollen and BIG Draco's crotch and rear looked, the boy was easily rocking 3 nappies. "Interesting..fashion choice." George said finally. "Inner child and all that." Fred said.

Getting Draco inside Ron got his big baby of a boyfriend sat down in the living room to get to know his unca's better while Ron went and unpacked, not a easy job to do since they were making use of a magic suitcase so there was at least a few hours worth of work needed for Ron to do. If your wondering why Draco wasn't helping with the unpacking well, He was a little guy in more ways then attire and a bored/grumpy Draco trying to be 'helpful' never ended well. He could of had one of the twins help him but with it being their first time watching Draco, he figured 2 on 1 gave them a fighting chance against his bratty baby boy.

"So..Cripes..you really wear nappies huh?" Fred asked,leaning down for a closer look at the bulky seat of Draco's overall's and nappies. Draco, who had been leaning forward to get some of the baby blocks they had for him to play with gave a annoyed look as this was the 5th time Fred had asked that. deciding that those who get that close to his butt with no care about their own safety deserved what they got and scrunched up his face. George realized what was happening and started to cry out a warning. "Fred wait get back from hi-" but at last the cry came too late and indeed only made things worse. Fred's poor mouth had opened, and with the distraction from George, Draco moved his diapered rear backwards, almost in slow motion and finished his long sputtering but muffed fart on his unca's face. With the deed done and Fred on his back and gagging, George glared at Draco. "what cha do that for?" he demanded, folding his arms. "But unca George, I'm just a widdle boy and NEED my diapies, Unca Fred should of realized he was playing with fire.. or gas." Draco said, doing his best 'i'm so cute you can't stay mad at me' faces and voices. and unlike Ron who had seen them all and could resit, This was Georges first and he instantly melted. "well,m just don't let it happen again. Do you want some ice cream?" George asked Draco of course knew he wasn't suppose to have any, ice cream made him a super duper pooper..Butttt He was just a little boy and lessons had to be learned all around. Fred finally got up and like wise was about to throttle Draco but the power of the puppy look and he was de fanged as well and went to go and smash up some cookies to crumble over Draco's ice cream. '..heh..yeah. I could get used to this~' he thought.

Ron had been hard at work for a hour and came out to get a glass of juice from the fridge. he noticed Draco was nuzzled on the crotch with his brother and smiled, he was glad they were getting along and didn't wanna say anything to spoil their fun. chugging his juice down and getting a refill, Ron just happened to look in the sink and froze, seeing three dirty bowls that had clearly had ice cream in them. "Ohhhh No. No no no.." Ron said, a knot forming in his tummy. coming out of the kitchen and hurrying to look out into the living room he heard the first poot and toyed with just running before the smell reached him. cries of disgust and whimpers of pain were heard and it delayed Ron enough that he didn't escape the stink field in time and was welcomed to the truly rotten smell of a lactose intolerant like Malfoy having dairy. Nose hairs burning and eyes watering Ron sighed and headed for ground zero. Fred and George were each half out a window, Fred on the left and George on the right. Draco not surprisingly was squatting down and hunching, fists closeted and gritting his teeth. from the look of focus on his face and the sweat you'd almost swear he was doing a power up from a anime. at least till you noted the massive diaper that had forced the crotch snaps open (and Ron looked and noticed some of the buttons on the floor) Spotting Ron in the door way Draco started to cry out daddy, but it was over taken with a guttural groan as a cramp hit him. the diaper, which was already racing for his knee caps jumped in size and Ron found himself glad he hadn't taken Harry's advice and gone with muggle diapers, they'd of had a blow out by now! "D-Daddy tummy hurt!" Draco whined and whimpered, tears going down his cheeks and holding out his hands as his knees wobbled. technically Ron should of let Draco suffer, to enjoy the spoils of his win at getting ice cream and suffer butttt...that just wasn't the kinda daddy Ron was. conjuring up a clothes pin for his own nose, and a dummy with a large rubber teat that found it's way into Draco's mouth, Ron came over and hugged the stinky boy. He also once he noticed the twins were trying to escape out the windows, shut them on the twins trapping them but not hurting them. well, not hurting them till anther spell had the back of their knickers get yanked up for twin wedgies. "OWWW! Stoppp Ron knock it off!" "we'll get you back for this!" "mmmmhmmm. I'll be back to free you after I change Draco..or I can let you two go now and you can change him." Ron said, smirking. "...You know, after the first 10 seconds this feels kinda nice." Fred said. "Could do this all day." added George. "For the record you two will be changing him at some point." Ron laughed. "Now hold on.." George started. "You never warned us about him being like..THAT every time that he goes!" Fred protested. "Hmm? oh he's not. but you dipsticks let him have dairy when he's lactose intolerant. reap what you sew." "..If he knew he couldn't handle it then why did he have three bowls of it!?!" "because he's a baby duh. he just likes yummy things and doesn't think about later." A whine from behind and Ron smiled at the huffing Draco who with one last watery fart seemed to be done..and oh my. the diaper had gotten SO shit swelled that it looked like something out of a cartoon show, Draco had basically made a bean bag chair of sorts! in fact if he hadn't of just stopped pooping he might of been picked off the ground! "Jesus sweetie, you have any bones left in you?" Ron asked fascinated and semi worried at the same time. (and maybe a little pride, that was his boy who had just made a super big present.)

The only way to move him at this point was a levitation spell and Draco hated it. the damn things always made him queasy to his belly even though he'd been used to moving much faster during a quditch game. Still there was no way to change him in the house without getting the mess everywhere and his new uncles seemed to have a high enough stone way around the back of their large yard. "oh look, they have a garden back here..you can provide all the fertilizer from now on!" Daddy teased and Draco tried to glare but the cheating bastard tickled the big babies tum tum making him giggle around the paci. Sat down slowly with a loud squish and a horrible smell being released, Draco whined and held his own nose and waved a hand. "heh, yeah buddy, Stinky.":Ron chuckled then opened his diaper. stinky as it was, Draco couldn't help but giggle even in the outdoor setting as Ron turned green in the face. charming a gas mask onto his face daddy was apparently ok and Draco huffed and crossed his arms. "No fair! cheating!" was what he wanted to say, but just gibberish came out instead because he also refused to let the dummy out of his mouth.

45 minutes later (give or take a century from Ron's POV) and the little guy was all cleaned up and his 'treasure' so to speak disposed of. The twins had manage to get free by seeing what Ron had been dealing with they decided to hold back on their revenge so they wouldn't have to change Draco today. Or at least that was the plan but after carrying Draco in just his diapers (him sitting on Ron's lap, snuggling into him and looking more like a little toddler then the high school graduate he was) when Ron came out of their room, Draco was hiding behind him and still had the dummy in his mouth. just he was sucking on it BIG time and almost giving the twins ideas. then Ron stepped out of the way and the twin's jaws dropped. If his first outfit had been shocking, and his just diapered look adorable, this look was kinda sexy and having the twins who had considered themself hetero till just seconds again were desperately trying to justify thoughts of what they wanted to do with Draco. "Boys..let me introduce the other side of your new nephew..his niece side." Ron chuckled.

Draco's cheeks were bright red, daddy had promised no sissy stuff around his brothers but said this was his punishment for being a little piggy! So now his short blond hair had a light pink bow in it, he was wearing a very short little girl party dress, complete with a bow on the back that daddy had to tie and of course was a mixture of different shades of pink. whine knee high socks were on him and a pair of black Mary janes on his feet. 'At least daddy didn't put make up on me this time." Draco sulked around his paci, waddling forward with the same bulky cloth and rubber pants he'd had before. His his Mary-janes making a clip clack sound on the floor Draco got in front of his unca's and griping the hem of his dress, curtsy and bowed his head. "so..you two think you can try this again and NOT fuck it up?" Ron asked. "I uh..I.." Fred stammered, apparently locked up in resisting the urge to fawn over the little cutie. "You know Fred, i think we could do a smash up job this time. even handle any diaper changes!" George said. "Glad to hear. no take backies." Ron said and turned to go back into Draco and his room to finish working. as he turned a low rumbling sound was heard that turned into a series of wet farts. "Uhhh Ron?" Fred squeaked out as the back of Draco's diaper ballooned out from under the dress. "No take backsies. " was all Ron said then shut the door. "...Still think letting them move in was a good idea?" "Oh shut up!"

the end

16 notes · View notes

eolewyn1010 · 3 years ago

Text

Rambling

I’m salty, time to dissect a random piece of media.

So, there’s a very pretty little comic that crossed my dash recently. I’m not gonna link/reblog it here because it’s quite popular and I’m not in the mood for getting hated upon because of my negative opinion, but the synopsis is as follows:

Cinderella and her prince are happy together at first, but their marriage soon cools off because the prince apparently prefers to hang out with “younger and prettier women, daughters of nobles whose hands have never done a day’s work”, and Cinderella is bored out of her mind because she spent her entire life working and thus had never the time to develop any hobbies. She enjoys cooking and sewing, which is apparently not princess-y. Also doesn’t really take to court life with balls and representation and stuff, feeling it all is becoming routine. She learns all that nobility stuff and tries to get her prince’s attention back with a couple project, but eventually, he’s off to moon over other princesses again and she stops caring. One day, she finds the old diaries of a Princess Aurora aka Sleeping Beauty, becomes intrigued, then very intrigued with this mysterious far-off lady who loves poetry, eventually finds her, wakes her up and elopes with her. Many years later, they are two lovely old ladies running a bookshop and living their sweet married lives.

Cute, amirite?

Well.

Let’s start off with the prince, shall we? Why would he be so disinterested in her? We never get a reason for that. The story says that Cinderella did “stop worrying about a man who had gotten what he wanted from her”... eh, no? She’s his wife. He married her; that relationship should be worth something. If for no other reason, then at least for representational purposes and taking the effing time to make an heir. Why should he have already gotten all he wanted out of her? And what happened to their lovestory, anyway? He was very much in love with her once. What, was she not royalty enough to entertain him? But she showed a good will to learn - and teaching her stuff and sharing things with her she didn’t know yet would have been a very good reason to spend time together. It’s also established that Cinderella reads a lot and falls in love with Aurora over a shared interest in poetry. After it has been established that the prince wrote her poems and songs, so you can’t even tell me they had no common interests, because they obviously did. But I guess if we want to get the guy out of the equation, the only way to elevate the lesbian couple as inherently superior is by making the guy a neglectful, cheating dick. Whatever.

Then, Cinderella. WHERE’S THE COMMUNICATION, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE? She tries to reconnect with the prince via spending time together, but at no point does she go, “honey, there’s something not right with our relationship, we should work on that.” At no point does she confront him or face her own insecurities about being not good enough of a partner. Maybe they could have worked it out, maybe not, but they sure could have found a better way of separating than Cinderella just running off into the night without ever telling her husband what the heck is the situation between them? Yeah, the prince is a dick, but we’re never shown Cinderella actively working on salvaging their relationship. She just stops caring - and doesn’t even communicate that. Cersei and Robert Baratheon had better communication than that; at least they could openly admit to each other that their marriage was garbage. There’s also the thing about “younger and prettier women”. Ew? In every Cinderella iteration, she’s younger than twenty, an appropriate age to be unwed in non-modern times. She’s also here about the same age as Aurora who was definitely a teen when she fell asleep, so... are you trying to tell me the prince is a pedophile? Or just that he’s shallow? Only that the first thing we’re told about Aurora when Cinderella finally sees her in person is that she’s ✨ beautiful ✨, so, double-standard much?

As for the “hands that had never seen a day’s work”... yeah, what is a lady suposed to do? Except managing THE ENTIRE FUCKING HOUSEHOLD of the royal palace, very much practicing the handicraft that women of higher stand are expected to deliver just the same (and no, I don’t mean pretty embroidery, I mean useful stuff, like repairing clothes, because clothes were expensive and you didn’t just walk to the next store and buy new ones whenever), administrative duties in the government (how does the prince have so much time to hang out with ladies? Doesn’t he have a country to run or something?), so Cinderella should have been massively out of her depth, not bored whatsoever.

And then, the relationship with Aurora. Which starts off entirely one-sided as Cinderella becomes attached to what she assumes is a dead girl who left some diaries. Which seems to count as love, apparently, considering she manages to wake her up and we have a True Love’s Kiss protocol to follow here. Thing is, I have feelings for people I’ve never met in person, online friends, not romantic feelings, but sure as hell the one or other massive squish. BUT - those developed via interaction. We exchanged questions, opinions, we discussed. I wrote something, and something came back. That’s how relationships are built. Cinderella gets nothing back from Aurora for the simple reason that Aurora is kind of fridged for the time being, so... how is that “falling in love”? And how is it better than her relationship with the prince? Woohoo, instead of marrying someone she’s spoken to three times at a few parties, she now marries someone she’s never spoken to at all! Great! Someone she really has things in common with, like poetry! You know, like the poetry her husband used to write for her when she still bothered to interact with him! The story has a time skip from “Cinderella finds Sleeping Beauty” to “many years later, happily ever after”, so we’re clearly expected to take for granted that they hit it off the second Aurora was awake. That Cinderella’s “fallen in love with diaries” was sufficient relationship-building. Also, “routine”? What, you think running a bookshop is never going to be routine? Hate to break the news to you, but love has to function in everyday life.

If you wanna have that lesbian princesses fairytale, why not write an original story instead of derailing an existing one? I guess I wouldn’t mind so much if the prince hadn’t been so trampled on as a character. He has to suck so the rest is great? Uhm, why couldn’t they talk about it and come to the mutual conclusion that they don’t work as a couple? Could make for an interesting fairytale to have people behave like adults.

Anyway. You wrote a queer lovestory, congratulations. I just don’t think it’s a very good one.

#something about a Cinderella comic #thanks for coming to my brat talk #it's not hate it's an analysis thank you very much

5 notes · View notes

degenerate-otaku · 3 years ago

Text

Another one shot of Future Gohan and Trunks for yall

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13896221/1/Before-the-Rain

(Links in case you prefer)

In the times that had followed the androids' destruction, younger generations were highly protected, as they were the earth's only hope. The government set up an initiative to get more children out of dangerous cities that housed gangs and violence.

Children and any family they had would move to countryside camps, wherein they would receive food, safety and education in return for doing manual labour such as farming and sewing, as well as taking care of the sick.

Trunks somewhat hated this, as it meant that many children in West City, including his own friends often moved away when things got too difficult, leaving him isolated, in terms of having friends his own age.

Sure, sometimes he'd visit, taking the underground railway system, or by hopping on the nimbus, or even flying when he had learnt to do so, but it felt like an arduous task.

However, when Gohan decided to volunteer as a teacher, Trunks thought it would be a good idea to attend full time, as the pair could go together. Trunks was surprised when the day before Gohan revealed he was rather nervous about it.

“C'mon, you're an amazing teacher to me, so I'm sure you'll be able to teach more kids!” Trunks reassured him, snuggling into bed. He always loved when Gohan would stay over at his house, it was so comforting to know he was right there beside him.

“Yeah...but that's you...and I've known you since you were born...and there's a lot of kids!” Gohan hung up his smart looking outfit, which Trunks remarked as being nerdy, on a hanger, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Trust me, they aren't as annoying as me. You'll be fine...Good night.” Trunks smiled at him before switching off his light and pretending to be asleep before Gohan could worry further.

Gohan sighed and tucked the boy in a little more before heading to sleep himself.

The next day, the pair flew to the makeshift school building, and landed away from sight before coming in together.

To keep Gohan distracted from his nerves, which Trunks viewed as highly irrational, considering Gohan was also "The Golden Warrior", he inquired,

“Doesn't your mom cook for the kids here a lot? My friends said that a lady called Miss Son is the most amazing lunch lady ever.”

“Huh? Oh...yeah,” Gohan laughed, lifting his head from the book held in his hands.

“I mean...she's used to cooking in massive quantities for me and for when my dad was around...it's a chance for her to share her...motherly-ness.” He smiled, then stopped at the door, listening to the sound of children chattering inside.

“You can do this!” Trunks grinned, taking his bag off his shoulder as he stepped in, Gohan following, the class immediately silenced, intrigued by the smart young man, that was clearly strong looking, his muscles bulging even in his clothes.

“Uh...Good morning class!” He began, picking up a pen and writing his name on the board.

“My name is Mr Son...and I will be your new teacher!” He smiled politely, awaiting a response.

“Oh my god, are you married to the lunch lady?!” A girl exclaimed.

Gohan frantically shook his head, “N-no, she's my mom!” His face had gone red as the class giggled, but he soon regained composure, laughing it off.

“Gosh, she cooks like that for you all the time?!” Another kid chimed in and he scratched the back of his head,

“Yeah...I guess so! I just hope she doesn't come in and embarrass me!” He answered.

Trunks gazed up at him from where he was sitting. He was glad to see his best friend adapting so well to his new job.

“Alright! Our first task is going to be a written task, which I'll get you to read aloud at the end.” He instructed them, handing out some paper, taking a look at every one of his new students.

“I want you all to write about what you did during your summer. Which programs did you volunteer in? Did you visit anywhere?”

He returned to his position at the front and passionately spoke, “I really wanna know about you guys! Oh...maybe I should take the register to learn your names...tell me if I mispronounce any!”

Gohan sat down, getting out the list of names and calling them out, one by one, receiving a pleasant "Good morning, Mr Son“ each time. It was strange to hear Trunks call him that, and by the sound of it, the title was strange for the boy to speak aloud too. The two just had to pretend as if they didn't know each other, Gohan made it a priority not to show favouritism towards him, but he knew it would be difficult.

He loved that boy unconditionally.

”Sir, how long do we have?“ A girl named Cherri, who he knew to be Trunks' friend that used to live not far from Capsule Corp, asked.

”Oh...right, I forgot to tell you that! Uh...you have until half past.“ He answered, before scribbling down more lesson ideas in his book.

The truth was that he had no clue about what he was doing. He was planning his lessons as he went along.

The time passed quickly, and Gohan decided to pick out random students to read out what they had wrote. A few passed, and he made some notes about them in his book.

”Alright, last but not least is Trunks.“ Gohan called out to him, snapping the boy out of a daydream.

”Oh, ok...“ He reluctantly stood and read from the paper, ”Last summer, I mostly stayed at home, played video games and studied. I went to the beach with my mom a few times....uhh I watched TV and...uh yeah.“ He sat back down.

”...that's it? That's all you wrote?“ Gohan glared at his student, hoping he had a good response.

”Yeah.“ Trunks replied, thinking nothing of it.

”Trunks, you had half an hour and you wrote 3 sentences.“ Gohan sounded stern and the class silently watched.

”Well, you already know what I did last summer, Gohan-“ Trunks gasped and the class was confused.

”Wait, is he your brother?“ The boy next to Trunks, who was also his good friend asked and the whole class started chatting.

Gohan cleared his throat and sighed,

”Yes...well...I am very close to Trunks, our families are too...but this does not mean I favour him over any of you.“ He calmed the situation, then spoke directly to Trunks,

”I need you to show the same level of respect to me as everyone else in here, too, ok? It is the morning of the first day, so I will let this slide, but please give more effort.“

Trunks nodded, but rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair, when Gohan turned to the whiteboard and wrote down the title of the next lesson, before collecting in the students' essays and handing out exercise books.

The next lesson would be a boring maths lesson, which Trunks sat through. He was ahead of his peers in scientific and mathematical subjects, thanks to his master's teaching, so sitting through a recap of something he found so simple was like watching paint dry.

Whenever Trunks raised his hand, he felt like Gohan always asked someone else. He didn't like being ignored.

He knew the answers to everything, it was incredibly annoying to hear someone who clearly didn't know something harder than expanding brackets in algebra, try to solve the equation on the board that Trunks could do in his head.

Gohan was encouraging and made sure the students felt no shame in making mistakes.

”Alright, Cherri, so now you need to get the unknowns on one side of the equation.“ Gohan advised her, writing on the board the step she just explained with his help.

The girl stammered, her face going a little red from the attention.

”The answer is 4!“ Trunks, finally fed up, called out the answer.

”Well, yes, that is correct, but I wasn't asking you, I was asking Cherri.“ Gohan put down his pen and his serious tone returned.

”She obviously didn't know!“ Trunks folded his arms, determined to not apologise for doing what he thought was right.

”It's rude to interrupt, regardless.“ Gohan told him, before moving on.

Finally, it was time for break and when Trunks decided he was going to talk to Gohan, he was surprised to find girls in his class talking to him instead, asking him tons of questions.

”So, you work out?“ One asked, taking a look at his arms.

”Of course he does, just look at him!“ Her friend cut in and Gohan blushed and nodded, explaining his reasons, which Trunks knew to be false.

”Oh, hey, Trunks!“ Gohan spotted him and took his opportunity to get out of that conversation.

”I wanted to have a chat about before.“ He approached his pupil, who was causing him some concern.

”Oh...same.“ Trunks fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper, something he always did when he was nervous, which Gohan took notice of.

”Why did you feel like you could do that?“ Gohan's voice was calm; it always made Trunks feel more at ease.

”I dunno...it just felt like...you were ignoring me. I just got a bit fed up...because I already knew the stuff and you weren't asking me.“ The teen shrugged his shoulders, not meeting his eye.

”Trunks,“ Gohan placed his hand on his shoulder, making the boy glance up at him.

”I just want to know what the others know. I know you're able to do this, but most of them aren't.“

Gohan did make sense, but Trunks was stubborn. His mother said it was a trait of his father, though she was stubborn too.

”I spend a lot of time with you...and I love spending time with you...but it's not fair to give you all my focus...

You know I really love you, right?“

That was enough to make Trunks smile.

”I know...thanks, Gohan...I mean Mr Son.“ Trunks giggled before running off.

Gohan watched as the other kids played together gleefully. It was heartwarming to see them be actual kids and enjoy their disrupted youth. It only made him more determined to fight for their safety and teach them well.

'I might be an even better teacher than you, Mr Piccolo...'

He smirked, hoping Piccolo could hear him somewhere, feeling proud of him.

#dbz #dragon ball z #dragon ball #trunks #future trunks #gohan #son gohan #trunks briefs #dbz fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #my fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Santa

My wonderful friend Ay had an idea to do a white elephant with this bunch? I don’t really understand white elephant, so I changed it a bit, and uh... this was born. I hope you enjoy!

Every year since being reincarnated, the queens did a secret santa gift exchange. This year, they added the entire diner crew. Fluff ensues.

Christmas was coming, and as usual, Jane was in the Christmas spirit as much as anybody else.

“Every year, we do a secret santa exchange between the queens and I know for a fact the others wouldn’t mind if you and your family joined in on the fun!” the queen explained to her waitress friend.

“It honestly might be better that way,” Aragon let out a laugh. “We all end up finding out who our secret santa is before we exchange gifts anyway.”

“We’d love to do that!”

“Sounds great! So, we normally draw names, well... tonight. And then, on Christmas Eve we usually exchange gifts. Although, I’m sure we could do another night if you would rather celebrate Christmas Eve with just Lulu and Jim. You’re more than welcome to hang out with us that day too though! And oh, Becky, Dawn and Ogie will surely be around too right? Maybe even Cal? We’d be more than happy to have you all. Although, again, it really wouldn’t be offensive to us if-”

“Jane, you’re rambling.”

“Oh, dammit. Sorry,” the silver queen apologized.

“There’s really nothing to apologize for. We’d love to celebrate Christmas Eve with you, and I’m sure everyone would love to participate in the secret santa exchange!”

The group of thirteen gathered at the diner one night, ready to pick names out of a hat.

“Okay, the rule is, if you pick yourself, you have to redraw. We don’t need another situation like last year,” Jane laughed, giving a pointed look at the fourth queen. The previous year, Anna had picked herself and bought herself a new car- one she crashed and totalled approximately a week later.

“Oh god, don’t remind me Seymour,” the red queen groaned in embarrassment.

“Who’s first?” When no one made a move, the blonde looked towards the youngest one there. “Well Lu?”

The girl in pigtails stuck her hand in the bowl with all of the names and picked. Thankfully, she was excelling in her reading and knew how to read each and every person’s name there. She opened it up, not letting anybody see who she had, and grinned.

“You didn’t get yourself, right love?”

“Nope! I got the perfect person!” Jane. She had gotten her Aunt Janey.

The group continued to pick until everyone had someone. Nobody had gotten themselves, and everybody had kept it a secret.

“So the other rule is it has to fit in a plastic bag from the diner. That way, when everyone brings their presents over, it isn’t given away who had who based on the bag everyone carries in. “And yes, we learned this from previous years.”

Cathy laughed, fondly remembering the time she had figured out who had who based on the bags they all carried in and who ended up with the gift bags before they had even started opening presents.

“And one final thing, keep the name of the person you have in your hand. That’s the tag we use so we can’t identify others by their writing.” Kat let out a laugh, remembering she knew in previous years who her secret santa was based on handwriting alone.

And so, there they were on Christmas Eve, having eaten more than they had on Thanksgiving and laughing more than they ever had.

“Lu, are you excited for Santa to come?” Anne bounced the little one in her lap.

“I am! I hope Santa brings you guys everything you want too!” The girl beamed, always thinking of others. “Can we start our secret santa present thingy so I can go to bed so Santa can come?”

“I think that’s a great idea miss Lu!” Jenna beamed at her daughter. It was becoming a hassle to get her daughter to go to bed these days, so her wanting to go to bed was a welcomed change.

“So, how do you guys run this thing?” Becky looked towards Jane for guidance.

“Well, we usually all sit on the floor in a circle,” Jane began and gestured for everyone to move before continuing. “And since we all put our bags under the tree, why don’t we just all pass the bags out? Lulu can start since she’s the youngest, and then whoever her secret santa is can go next and so on. Who wants to play Santa this year?”

“Me!” Lulu’s hand shot up, and she was out of the second queen’s lap in an instant.

The little one had passed out everyone’s presents, and

“Go ahead little Lu,” Anne beamed, hoping that her younger friend would like her gift.

The girl opened her present with no hesitation, her mouth agape once she saw what was in the bag: a new apron with all of the queens’ assigned colors in stripes with the addition of a purple stripe. “Woah! This is amazing! Thank you secret santa! I love it!”

“Who do you think gave you the gift?” Jim questioned.

“I don’t know, but whoever did, thank you!” Lulu exclaimed, already having put the apron on proudly.

“Hun, the point of the game is to guess who gave you the gift,” Becky told her gently.

“Oh!” the girl laughed, a bit confused but happy to go along with the game. “I think... Lina!”

“Wasn’t me mija,” the first queen shrugged. “Guess again?”

“Aunt Janey?”

“Good guess love, but it wasn’t me either. One more guess,” the silver queen laughed.

“Annie?”

“Bingo!” The green queen exclaimed. Lulu immediately launched herself at the woman with space buns.

“Oh my gosh Annie, thank you so much! I love it!”

“I’m glad you like it! I worked pretty hard on it!” Nobody but Jane knew the truth in that statement. The second queen had caved and asked- no. begged- Jane to teach her how to sew in order to make this present.

“I love it! It has all of your colors from the show! But, what’s this purple here for?”

“Well, I figured, you might like to have your own color!”

(Lulu would claim her favorite color was purple for the rest of her life.)

“Okay Annie, it's your turn to open your present!”

“Wheels for my heelies? Bro! This could be anyone!”

“Look a little closer,” Becky stifled a laugh.

“What? Wait, turtles? This could only be from Dawn!”

“You caught me,” the waitress with glasses blushed.

(The silly queen would always make sure to put these wheels in when Dawn was around.)

“A new turtle pin!” Dawn grinned and happily attached it to her shirt. “Thank you to uh,” the waitress glanced at it and remembered all of the queens’ respected colors. “Catherine!”

“I think it’s safe to say everyone here has earned the right to call me Catalina, or even Lina,” the first wife said genuinely.

“Thank you Lina.” Dawn smiled at the nickname.

(That pin became her second favorite- right under the turtle pin that Ogie gave her as a wedding present.)

“These are beautiful.” The golden queen admired the beautiful earrings that she had received.

“Any guesses?”

“Jane?”

“It wasn’t me, and I really don’t know who it’s from,” the blonde said earnestly.

“Cathy?”

“Not from me.”

“Jenna?” The head waitress shook her head no.

“What the-”

“It’s from me,” the usually gruff cook said shyly as he raised his hand quietly.

“Thank you Cal.” Catherine went about taking her Christmas earrings out and putting her new ones in. “They’re beautiful.”

“I hope you like them.”

(Catherine wore them to a press junket. Cal noticed and smiled to himself. He was glad she liked them enough to wear on a red carpet. When the gold queen was asked about the beautiful earrings, she was happy to tell the world a close friend named Cal gave them to her.)

“A new apron? And a new spatula?” Cal looked confused. In reality, this could be from anyone. “Jenna?” the brunette made a ‘no’ gesture. “Jim?”

“Nope.”

“Look a little closer at the spatula,” Cathy spoke up. “ Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers” was engraved into it.

“Shakespeare?” Cal looked a bit bewildered.

“It means that if a cook can’t bear to eat his own food, he isn’t a very good cook, and we all know you’re one of the best around,” Cathy explained, a tint of red shading her face. “And I’ve noticed that your apron is stapled to keep it together. Figured you might like a new one.”

“I- Thanks Cath.” The man smiled one of the most genuine smiles any of his coworkers had ever seen. Jenna would be sure to tell Cathy how much that present had meant to him, because the lord knew that Cal wasn’t very good at expressing his feelings.

(It didn’t go unnoticed that the spatula was used exactly once before it hung in a shadowbox that the cook would touch for good luck every time he walked into the diner for the rest of his time working.)

“Bookmarks? This could quite literally be from anyone,” the writer laughed. “Who do I have left to choose from?” She surveyed the room before noticing that a certain mother wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Jenna?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know I needed new bookmarks?” She truly thought that only her fellow queens would pick up on the fact that she was using strange objects as bookmarks.

“I’ve seen the way you’ll use anything as a bookmark, but I’ve never seen you use a proper bookmark,” Jenna explained. “For crying out loud, I saw you use a soda can tab the other day.”

“I-” the sixth queen was truly stunned. And then, she got a closer look at the bookmarks. They were beautiful- all different shades of blue, but each had delicate details and accents with her fellow queens colors. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

(She would go on to use these bookmarks for the rest of her days, alternating between the different bookmarks.)

“A new pie dish!” the baker exclaimed with glee. “Oh how wonderful! Thank you!”

“Who’s it from?” Jim questioned.

“It’s from-,” Jenna eyed up the pie dish for a long while before catching that on the side in small and crisp writing it read, “ all i wanna do is bake... all i do is sing... all i do is bake and sing” “-Thank you Kat.”

“You’re welcome,” the pink haired queen tried to say it casually. “Hope you like it.”

“I love it. And I love the reference to the musical.”

(Whenever she brought over pie to the queens from that day forward, she made sure to bake it in the pie dish that the fifth queen had gifted her.)

“A book on American history...?” Katherine grinned, knowing exactly who gave it to her. “Thank you Ogie.”

“I thought since you liked British history so much, you might like to read up on American history now that you live in the states,” Ogie offered. “If you don’t like it though, I can surely think of something else to get you.”

“That won’t be necessary. I love it. Thank you.”

(Kat would stay up late into the night reading about the fascinating history of the country she now resided in. Cathy would find her asleep the next morning with the book in her lap before leaving the room. She returned with the bookmark matched with her friend’s color and bookmark the page for her, but not before attaching a sticky note that read, “ I expect this to be returned to me when you wake up.” When Ogie was playing Paul Revere the next time, the fifth queen was in the front row watching her friend reenact her new favorite part of history.)

“Wow! This is beautiful! Almost an exact replica of the one the Paul Revere wears in my reenactments! Thank you!”

“Well, who do you think got it for you hun?” Dawn also admired the new coat her husband had just been given.

“I- I- I, Cleves?” he guessed. Surely, this was a rather expensive gift, and everyone knew that the red queen had money to spare.

“Nope, wasn’t me.”

“Becky?”

“You wish. I’m not going to encourage your-”

“That’s enough Becky. My daughter is in the room,” Jenna scolded her boisterous friend.

“She won’t encourage his what, Mama?” the little girl in the room stared up at her mother with wide eyes.

“Nothing to worry about hun. Just some adult stuff.” The baker hoped that would be enough. It seemed to work- the girl was back to asking Ogie who he thought gave him the coat.

“Jim?”

“I thought you might like to have it the next time you go on for Revere. That other guy’s coat is huge on you.”

“Thank you Jim!” The elf-man lunged to hug his friend.

“This tie is stunning Jane,” the lanky doctor said confidently.

“How’d you know it was me?” The silver queen was shocked. She didn’t think it was that obvious who she had. She certainly didn’t slip up and tell Jenna either.

“It’s silver.”

“Oh.” In all honesty, the blonde didn’t even realize she had bought a tie in the color that she had been assigned all those years ago. She was just drawn to it.

“Thank you.”

(Jim wore the tie to the second opening night for SiX on broadway many years later. Jane cried when she recognized the tie.)

“Aren’t you going to open your gift?” Cleves asked the third queen expectantly.

“Oh, I guess I just got so... wrapped up in watching everyone else open their gifts!” The punniest queen grinned.

“Just for that, you lose your turn. You go last,” Cleves retorted as she went to open her present.

“Well, I only know one woman who would buy me a designer athletic bag. Thank you Becky!” the red queen acknowledged the rowdy waitress.

“Yeah, yeah. Not a problem. I figured you might like to carry your things in it instead of that small little bag you have.”

“Thank you.”

(Anna of Cleves would use that bag until it ripped, and then she retired it so that she could keep it forever. Becky would be happy to buy her another bag when she needed it.)

“Cleves!” Becky gasped.

“What?”

“These shoes!”

“I’ve seen the shoes you guys wear while you’re waitressing. I read up on these shoes a lot. They’re supposedly really comfortable and they’re stunning. All leather.”

(Becky was more than happy to throw away the ratty pair of shoes she had been wearing since Jenna started working at Joe’s Diner all those years ago and replace them with the shoes Cleves had bought her. And when a new pair showed up at her house a few years later with a note that read: bitchin’ kicks! , well, Becky let out a full-on belly laugh.)

And that left Jane to open her present.

“Well, go on, open it hun,” Jenna encouraged her friend.

Jane was expecting some sort of artwork from the little girl who was no doubt her secret santa. What she wasn’t expecting was a handmade mug with the little girl’s thumbprints in the shape of a heart- under it reading “ Best Aunt”. At the sight of it, the blonde’s eyes welled with tears.

“Thank you Lulu,” she choked out.

“What is it?” Anne asked, curious as to what could elicit such a reaction from her costar.

“It’s a best aunt mug,” Jane whispered.

“Hey, I thought that was me! You little rascal!” both Anna and Becky exclaimed at the same time.

“D-do you like it Aunt Janey?” Lulu stood from her spot in her mother’s lap and resituated herself in the third queen’s, hugging her.

“I absolutely love it, and I love you. It’s perfect. Thank you so much honey.”

(Jane would never use another mug again, nor did she let anyone else in the house use it. It was her mug, and no one dared to touch it.)

After the gift exchange was over, the group settled in to watch a movie, more than happy to spend all of the time in the world together. The youngest member of the group hadn’t strayed from her surrogate aunt’s side, more than happy to snuggle into the warmth that the older woman radiated. It wasn’t long before she was snoring quietly in the arms of her favorite queen.

“You’re all more than welcome to stay the night if you want,” Catherine offered knowing how tired the bunch had become.

“As much as we’d love to,” Jim began before Jenna interrupted.

“It might be easier to have her just sleep here instead of trying to get her into the car and then into bed without her waking up.”

“That’s a fair point. But, all of the gifts are at our house babe.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal if you guys stay, and it’s not a big deal if you don’t stay. We all know you’re all gonna end up here again in the morning anyway, so it’s totally up to you.” Anne waved a dismissive hand.

“We wouldn't want to impose,” Dawn muffled a yawn.

“We’ve got more than enough room between the living room and the basement, but it’s up to you,” Cathy mumbled, half asleep against Catherine.

“If you guys don’t mind,” Jenna smiled. The six queens all quickly reminded her that it was their idea. “Okay, so Santa’s presents are still at my house, so we’re gonna have to-”

“I’ll go with Jim and get it all together for you, don’t worry Jenna,” Ogie offered.

“I’ll go with them. They need a man to get this job done.” Cal stood and grabbed his coat, the other two men following suit.

“Alright girls, head to bed, Jenna and I can stay up for the boys.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Becky grumbled, picking herself up and heading towards the basement, pulling a half-asleep Dawn with her.

“Goodnight Janey,” the queens all stood and kissed the mother figure of the house on the cheek before retreating to their rooms.

“I better take Lu down-”

“You guys can stay in my room. I’m sure Annie won’t mind a bedmate for the night.”

“I can’t take your room from you.”

“You can. I insist. Lu isn’t going to sleep on one of the couches!”

“But it’s your room.”

“Okay, I do have that pullout in my room. I can sleep on there, and the three of you can have my bed.”

“I’m not taking your bed from you!”

“Well Lu surely isn’t sleeping on that pullout! Not the night before Santa’s coming!”

“Lu can stay with you then. Jim and I will take the couch.”

“But, you’re going to wake up sore.”

“So would you if you slept on it.”

“But you’re my guests.”

“We’re hardly guests at this point.”

“You don’t live here.”

“We might as well.”

“Just take my offer.”

“You’re sleeping in your own bed Seymour. Lu can stay with you, and Jim and I can take the pullout. That’s final,” the brunette turned on her mom voice.

“Damn Hunterson. No need to pull out the mom voice on me!”

“There is a need!”

“Okay, okay!” Jane laughed putting her hands up in mock surrender. “I suppose you win this round. Let’s get her to bed before the Santas arrive.”

The men arrived a while later, promising the two women who had stayed up that they could take care of setting out all the presents.

“Dawn and Becky are downstairs. There’s more than enough room for all of you to stay down there comfortably,” Jane informed them.

“Jane’s been kind enough to share her room with us for the night,” Jenna told her husband. “Lu’s gonna stay with her and we’re gonna stay on the pull-out. Hope that’s alright.”

Jim nodded before instructing the other men on where to put Lulu’s presents.

Although the two women had been told they were more than welcome to go to bed once Jim, Ogie, and Cal arrived back, they stayed and watched them diligently. Satisfied with the display that had the queens’ presents to each other (because of course they all got each other presents on top of their secret santa exchange) as well as the additional presents from the diner gang, everyone set out to bed.

Christmas Day had arrived, and at exactly 5:03 am, Jane Seymour was woken by a small child poking her cheek incessantly.

“Aunt Janey!” she whispered. “It’s Christmas. Do you think Santa came? Do you think Santa knowed I stayed here instead of at my own house?”

“Lu, it’s 5 in the morning. I don’t know if Santa came yet. Why don’t we give him a couple more hours to make sure he knows you’re here and not home?”

“This is like my home!” the little one whisper-shouted, melting the blonde’s heart.

“That’s so sweet of you to say hun. Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little bit though? It’s very early, and you know how your girls like their sleep.”

“Hmm,” Lulu thought this over for a second. “I guess you’re right. Good night Aunt Janey. Merry Christmas, and love you.”

“I love you too little Lu,” the blonde sighed as her surrogate niece snuggled into her side for a few more hours.

Opening presents was about as chaotic as anyone could guess in the house with thirteen people in it. After presents were done, Cal set out to make breakfast for everyone, muttering that if he couldn’t do that, what kind of cook would he be? It didn’t go unnoticed by the writer that he used his new spatula and apron as opposed to one of the spatulas in the queens’ house, the first and only time he ever used the kitchen tool.

“Hey Jenna?” Jane called from her place on the couch. The baker looked over at her friend inquisitively. “I have one more present for you.”

“What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, maybe it’s not for you, per se. It’s for the little one inside of you.” The third queen stood and walked towards the Christmas tree before almost magically producing one last present from under it.

Jenna opened the present with care and glanced at it before bursting into tears.

A simple onesie that said “ Heart of Gold, Green, Silver, Red, Pink, and Blue” .

“We thought it might be nice to give you for the new baby. We already love him or her so much.”

(When Olivia Pomatter arrived in the world, it was the first onesie the Hunterson-Pomatter duo put their new daughter in. Jane cried.)

#six the musical #six musical #waitress the musical #waitress musical #jane seymour #jenna hunterson #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #waitress the musical fanfiction #waitress the musical fanfic

24 notes · View notes

bittybattybunny · 4 years ago

Note

What about a curse that keeps Eclipse locked into her wolf form for about a week?

This actually happened to her in her youth! So let’s go to the past and get a look at Craft and Eclipse’s relationship and meet her older sister Bertie as well!

(y’all finally get to see my human form for Conductor’s Daughter/Mother of the Pecklings!)

(also yes those bite marks on Bertie came from a baby Eclipse. Bertie has known Eclipse her whole life since Fenrir and DJ Knew Connie since Eclipse was like 2 years old. Bertie met her soon after DJ and Connie started dating and she held the werewolf pup wrong and got bit a few times. she doesn’t hold it against her tho cuz she was just a baby)

“Well. When you said something happened to keep you from getting your homework, this isn’t what I expected.” Craft stared at the wolf as she covered her face with her paws.

“I-I grabbed something I shouldn’t have,” she whined as they set the notes down. She huffed and rolled onto her back, “Pappy says I should be able to shift back to human in a week.” she sighed, “this is pecking shitty.”

“I don’t know, you could bite a guy’s head off!” Craft laughed and moved to rub her belly. Her tail thumped, “I’ll photocopy the notes. Did DJ tell the school?”

“As far as they know my illness has flared back up.” she huffed, sniffing, “you smell weird.”

“I’m trying cologne.” they frowned, “I’m not sure if I’m feeling it or not. I just know I don’t feel… right. But…” they sighed, “oh but my binder is almost here! I’m excited to try that!”

“That’s great!” Eclipse rolled over and stuck her tongue out as she panted some, “I hope that helps you!!! I can only imagine how it feels not feeling… right. In your own body.” she looked at her paws, “I know it’s not the same but… beast… human… I don’t know where I fall.” she sighed and placed her head down. She laughed as Craft began to pet her head.

“Eclipse is Eclipse.” they smiled and hugged the giant wolf’s head, “you’re my best friend.”

“Craft is Craft; You’re my best friend.” She lifted her head to rub against the black-haired teen.

“Oh, I’m thinking to dye my hair, do you think your sister can help?” Craft asked as they sat beside her, “I want to go lighter but I’m afraid because of how dark my hair is.”

“Bert may be able to. Let’s ask.” Eclipse stood up and shook her fur, sending some flying, “ugh I’m shedding.”

“Do you have a big brush?” Craft snickered.

“I do at the doctor’s. He brushes me out some nights because I guess werewolf fur is used in some medications. Weirdly.” she shuddered as she stood on her legs to reach the second story window, “Beeerrrtttiiieeeeeeeee!” She tapped her claws on the siding, “Berrrtttiiiieeeeeee question.” she barked.

“What?” The young woman threw the window open, her spikey blonde hair pulled back in a rather fluffy ponytail, “Wha’s the issue ‘clipse?” she asked as she let her younger sister give her a wolf kiss. She laughed, “Quit that.” she reached to stroke the wolf’s muzzle, “I ain’t gonna giv ya an extra steak cuz ya cute. Pa would have me head.”

“Noooo not that.” Eclipse laughed as her tail swished, “Can you help Craft with her… his? Craft what pronoun are you using today?” she peeked down.

“I’m trying “his” today. It’s better than she.” He laughed, “I have no idea if it’s right for me but, what was it DJ said, ain’t gonna know if I don’t try?” he shrugged, “I wanna dye my hair like. Pink. Can you help?”

“Hrm. I think I ‘ave some bleach I can use.” Bertie chuckled as Eclipse barked happily. “Lemme check, you can head inside if ya want. Or we can use the shop since miss meat fer brains canne fit in the house right now.” Bertie sneered.

Eclipse flattened her ears with a huff, “it’s not like I asked to be a giant wolf.” she huffed and pushed back from the house to stand on the ground. She hung her head sadly.

“Let’s use the school so Eclipse can be included!” Craft grinned widely as he put his hands behind his head, “I bet this is a change of pace!”

“Ye! Normally Aye’m dying her hair dark! Now that’s a thought…” Bertie put a hand to her chin, “Wounder if we could dye yer fur.”

Eclipse blinked, “we can try?” she offered, “we have a week of me like this.” she snickered, “I can be a Lisa Frank wolf!”

“Now that’d be a sight!” Craft cackled as he headed around, trailing alongside the wolf.

“I think I have enough dye. Nen wanted green hair so they brought a bunch ova last week.” Bertie chuckled as she headed inside to gather supplies. Eclipse laid outside the diving school and rolled onto her back with a big stretch. Craft grinned and flopped onto her belly making her gasp and laugh as he began to pet her. She thumped her tail as her sister returned with a small folding table.

Bertie scoffed, “now that’s unfair! He gets belly access?”

“Craft is my bestie, of course he can!” Eclipse laughed as her sister began to scritch her chin.

“I’m your sister I should get access too you big lug.” She cackled loudly as Eclipse huffed.

“If you ask nicely maaaybbbeeee.” the wolf grinned.

“Can I pet the softest fur on tha planet?” Bertie asked with a big grin.

“Yes!” Eclipse giggled as her sister pet her.

“Some days I’m so jealous of ya.” Bertie sighed, “But not this week.”

“I’m not exactly proud of myself.” Eclipse huffed.

“What did you grab anyway?” Craft shifted to sit on the wolf’s stomach as her front paws pulled him down. She was quiet. Craft snickered, “Moony what did you grabbbb.” he teased and leaned on his arms.

“It was a little wolf statue.” She admitted with a whine, “Mister Marcus says that it would have turned a normal human into a werewolf. But since I’m already a werewolf….”

“You got stuck. That’s hilariously you.”

She whined as her sister laughed and shifted to finish setting up.

“Are you parents going to be okay with me dying your hair, Craft?” Bertie asked with a scowl, “I know they can be…”

“I’m staying with my aunt now.” Craft scratched his cheek, “my parents aren’t super happy with me right now, so she offered to let me stay there until I’m a little older.” he gave a heavy sigh.

He laughed when Eclipse licked his face.

“If ya need, Pa and DJ are sure ta let ya chill here as much as ya need.” Bertie hummed as she prepared the bleach, “You can keep meat fer brains on a leash.”

“Nooooo.” Eclipse whined. She shifted as Craft climbed down and used his shirt to wipe the wolf drool off his face.

“Go wash yer hair in the sink, I put some of pa’s shampoo there.” Bertie instructed, “Also if ya need help with any stuff, ya know you can talk to me an Nena. They can introduce ya to a good doctor, friendly towards trans folk.”

“Thanks Bert.” Craft rubbed his cheek, “Maybe. Right now I’m gonna just. Try and figure myself out.” he huffed, “I don’t know if I’m even right. I just. Ugh.” he sighed and ruffled his hair, “it’s hard.”

She pat his head with a sigh, “Yea, but ya got ya network here. And if anything I’m sure meat fer brains can help you. Ya can’t be any weirder than her ya know?”

“I take offense to that but you’re right.” Eclipse barked.

Craft snickered as he went to wash his hair, “thanks guys. Really.”

“Crrafftttt!” Eclipse called as he stepped in the door. He turned confused.

“Love you!” she stuck her tongue out with a big grin.

“Love you too meat for brains!” he laughed as she gasped.

“Don’t you call me that too!” she whined and covered her face ashamed. He laughed loudly.

Bertie snickered, “Well. Maybe you’ll learn your lesson about running head first into things.”

“Maaaybbeee. I dunno.” Eclipse barked and rolled to her back. She frowned, “Bertie will you do my hair for the festival?”

“Of course! You going to keep it long? Who’s your partner this year? Keith right?” Her sister chuckled and pulled gloves on.

“Yes! I’m so excited!” Eclipse wagged her tail happily, “I-I may even tell him the truth. About me.” she spoke softly, “He’s so nice and says such sweet things. He called me his dancing fairy the other day.”

“Well. I’m glad it’s workin out for you. Look at my little sister, falling in love. How long have you been together now?”

“About 6 months!” Eclipse rolled to her stomach as her tail wagged, “He smells so good and he’s a great dancer. He’s like a prince charming.” her tail swished, “Bertie… am I---”

“You can be the princess. 100%. Clearly! You two are so happy!” Bertie grinned.

Eclipse beamed happily as her tail thudded the building, “And Craft made me a really pretty dress too!! It’s sparkly and blue and it moves well!”

“That’s the kinda chiffon I used.” Craft spoke proudly as he held the towel around his shoulders, “I think I did a great job myself! It’d be better if you wore your hair silver with it but!”

“I love it!! I can’t wait to show it off!” She beamed happily, “then everyone can see how skilled you are!”

“I’m still an apprentice. But Ms. Green says I’m getting better. She loved my hand sewing on this order last week!” He sat on the ground as Bertie started his hair.

“I’m glad that’s working out. The Greens are a lovely couple.” Bertie hummed. She began to apply the bleach, “tell me if it burrrrrrns or somethin.”

“Will do!” Craft snickered and beamed, “It is working great! I’m learning a lot about the industry and it’s really fun! Plus I get to get some cash to save for my own place!”

“I’m so glad it’s working out!” Eclipse stuck her tongue out, “A dress maker and a treasure hunter.” she grinned.

“What a duo we are~!” He laughed, “Though did you consider it? That thing Mr. Kwalski suggested?”

“The dog training?” Eclipse huffed, shrugging. “I mean I did. But I don’t exactly get along with dogs.”

“That’s the point though!” Craft pointed out, “you can always try, see where it goes.”

“I suppose. But I LIKE treasure hunting.” she huffed.

“It ain’t a good career. Ya need a side gig.” Bertie pointed out, “Ya pa helped with the diving school.”

Eclipse laid her head down with a sigh. She looked at the ocean.

“I know.” she sighed, “L-Look I’m only 16 I’m allowed to have some time to think right?!” she pouted and howled, “For now! I like going hunting with Pappy! It’s fun! It’s exciting! I get to see such cool things!!!”

“I wish i was sturdier; I’d love going on one of your hunts.” Craft winced, “Bertie you’re pulling!”

“Oops. Sorry bout that.” she apologized and loosened her grip, “and ya don’t. They just make stupid jokes and over worry. She spends half her hunts naked.”

“I’m shifting from human to wolf and back again! Who needs clothing I’m going to damage!” she huffed, “if anyone sees me they think I’m a ghost anyway with how the wisps cling!”

“Ya. but still. Modesty. Ya jus a kid.”

“You’re only like. 8 years older.” Eclipse huffed.

“I’m 24, Eclipse. I’m an adult. With a fiance. And a career.” Bertie stated with a flat stare, “Ya a kid.”

Eclipse huffed and crossed her paws as she pouted. She jolted when Craft grabbed her side and her tail began to wag.

“I’ll work on it! Something to change with you!” He grinned, “Someday! I’ll figure something out for you!”

“I’ll hold you to it!” She cackled.

#the little contractor #sketch #digital #ask #anon #fan fiction #Eclipse Guardian #Craft Tailor #Bertie Scotts #ahit au #ahit fan character #ahit shapeshifter #ahit conductor's daughter #Eclipse actually has a good realtionship with her sister #but also y'all get to see teenager eclipse and how she used to be

13 notes · View notes

petri808 · 4 years ago

Text

@bnhahorrorweek Post apocalypse prompt/ non-quirk characters. Threw this one-shot together for this prompt. 🙃 Bakudeku. Sorry my edits suck lol.

It’s been two years since the world imploded and left survivors struggling to just stay alive. No one knew exactly how it began, but many suspected it was man made. When the United States declared war on China, and the world sided against the falling superpower, the country retaliated... soon stories began popping up about people becoming zombie-like and attacking with no hesitation as if all conscious reasoning was gone. The coincidence was how it started in areas being bombed by the U.S., first Asia, Europe, but as with most viruses, it spread quickly through the infected until there wasn’t a country on Earth left standing.

Izuku Midoriya was in his senior year of high school at the time, but once the virus hit Japan, chaos broke out. In the dense cities like Tokyo, it was like a wave washing through that quickly jumped to surrounding cities including Shizuoka where he lived with his mother. Within a matter of weeks the entire island country was engulfed by these soulless beings. He’d lost everyone he knew, his classmates, friends, and after a month of running, his mom when they’d been ambushed sneaking through the subway tunnels.

Perhaps it was his smaller size that was to his benefit. Growing up Izuku was teased for being a shorter, gangly kid, but when the goal was hiding, it became an asset. He was smart and a quick learner, who figured out the best ways to stay out of sight from the roving hoards. These things weren’t dead like most zombie movies tended to portray. The virus infected and destroyed the upper portions of the brain leaving just the brain stems that controlled basic life functions. It generally resembled a mutated syphilis strain, but 10 times worse with no cure, and no way to stop it once it took control. All the zombies knew to do was eat, and eat, and eat.

By the end of the first year, Izuku realized that constantly being on the move had some detriment, so when he came across an abandoned apartment building built with brick walls, he decided to create a fortress for himself. It took some time working only when the creatures weren’t around, but he reinforced the second floor apartments with steel and blacked out the windows. Once the outside was secured, Izuku broke through walls to connect the apartments together.

Maybe he’ll run into another survivor one day. There must be others, but since he didn’t travel far from his base camp, it was wholly possible he’d simply never come across one. Even now almost two years later, he was only a stones throw away from his original home is Musutafu. It was a lonely existence and there were many days when he wondered if it was worth it to keep living like this. Working on his new ‘home’ was the only thing that helped to keep his mind from slipping into depression, and he was quite proud of his accomplishments. Breaking through the ceiling, he managed to rig a pipe to the roof that collected rain water and funneled it into a plugged bath tub. Similar venting allowed him to build a make shift hearth for fires, handy during the colder months and to cook with.

They were truly back to the stone ages now. All the skills many take for granted, simple things like how to sew or forage for edible plants, he had to learn. No more electricity, meant no more quick entertainment, so he raided a nearby bookstore for things to read. Over time, Izuku settled in for the long haul, just concerning himself with finding supplies, keeping occupied, and most of all, not losing his sanity.

Until one day, while returning to his home, Izuku heard a noise and ducks low behind a broken down vehicle. It had only been a quick trip to a close by hardware store. He watched, readying his weapon in case of an attack. Crap! He’d left the fire going in the apartment for heating, so had the smoke attracted a zombie?

A human walks out from around some parked vehicles. At first he can’t tell if it’s a zombie or not, because the person’s attire hid their features. But the longer he watched their movements, the way they walked cautiously, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, Izuku started to wonder if it could be a survivor! It was a dangerous move to break cover, but after surveying the area and not seeing anyone else, he decided to get the persons attention. If it was a zombie there was still enough space between them to get away.

Izuku popped his head over the car and whistled once for 10 seconds. The person stopped and turned in his direction, but just stood in place staring. So he whistled a second time, while standing completely upright and clearly visible. He waved, signaling he was a normie, so the man lowers the hoodie of his jacket.

“K-Kacchan?!” He breathes out. No way! Of all the people to run into, but his long lost childhood friend?! The mans hair was a dirtier blonde now, shaggier and disheveled, but those red eyes were unmistakable. Izuku steps forward, slowly moving towards the man. “Kacchan, is that really you?”

“Deku? Pfft, figures you’re the first live human I find.”

Another sound, distant, but real catches Izuku’s alert attention. He grabs the man by the arm. “It’s not safe here,” his voice is low as to not attract attention. “Follow me, I’ve got a safe place.”

Possibly tired of travel, Katsuki Bakugou follows the smaller male into the secured apartment building. He watches in fascination as Izuku takes them through a stairwell with multiple metal gates that looked added on, until they reach the main entrance.

“Welcome to my home,” Izuku smiles and ushers Katsuki inside.

“Tch, not bad nerd,” The blonde surveys his surroundings. “You set this all up yourself?”

“Yup. Took awhile but I reinforced the top half of the building.” He shows Katsuki each room. “An area for cooking, this is where I gather and store rain water. So if you wanna take a towel bath you can. Here’s where I sleep, and finally my storage area. I think I have clothes in your size if you need something fresh to wear.”

“Think I’ll take you up on the bath first.”

“S-Sure!” Izuku grabs his friend a towel and hands it to him along with a fresh set of clothing. “I’ll be working on a dinner in the meantime,” he smiles.

“Thanks Deku.”

Izuku was on cloud nine! It’d been years, long before the apocalypse hit that he’d ever spoken with Katsuki in a civil manner. The man seemed to have mellowed out, but of course an event like this one was bound to change people. He was just thrilled to have found a survivor and even happier it was someone he knew. By the time Katsuki came out of the bath area cleaned and dressed, Izuku had whipped up a small meal for the two of them.

“Hope your hungry,” Izuku smiles and presents a plate to his friend. “I got lucky and caught a wild hare in my trap yesterday.”

Katsuki takes the plate and sits down on a rug. “How do you have fresh vegetables?”

“I grow them on the roof.” Izuku sits down across from the man with his own plate. “Tomatoes, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, and onions so far, but I’m working on soybeans too. Tell me Kacchan, where have you been all this time?”

“I was in Osaka visiting an uncle when this shit hit, then the bastards killed my parents last year as we tried to get back home.”

“I’m sorry Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice softened, “I lost my mom too a month after it hit.”

“Looks like you’re doing well though.” Katsuki looks around. “Seems a pretty safe hold out.”

“It’s better than the streets. Luckily the zombies are dumb. You know, you’re welcome to stay. There’s plenty of room for two people.”

“I don’t wanna impose...”

“You’re not imposing Kacchan. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to aside from myself.”

“Alright, I’ll stick around since it beats the elements. Am I the first person you’ve seen?”

“Yeah, alive any way. I’ve run into people we knew but they’re all zombies now.”

“Tch, I mean to live now, then die as one of the last humans on this plant? This blows.”

“I try not to think about that and rather take any positive thing I can cling to.”

“Always the optimist Deku.” Katsuki laughs. “Even with a disaster you never change.”

As the hours grow late, Izuku suggests they pull out an extra mattress he has in the storage room for his friend to sleep on. But Katsuki points to Izuku’s Queen sized bed. “Why? We both fit, and besides it’s warmer this way, right?”

Izuku stammers as his face turns red. “I-I guess, as long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind, do you?”

“No.” He did, but it was just his nervousness over sharing a bed with a guy he once had a crush on.

“Good, cause I’m exhausted.” Katsuki slips under the blanket and pats the bed. “It’s late, let’s get some sleep.”

“O-Okay...” Izuku put out the fire and climbed under the covers, but turns on his side away from the man.

“Pfft,” Katsuki spoons up to Izuku, “supposed to keep each other warm remember,” he wraps his arm around and pulls the man close. “Nite, nerd.”

‘Ahhhh! What is going on?!’ “G’night Kacchan.” If this was how he’ll spend the rest of this apocalypse... guess it wasn’t so bad anymore.

#bnhahorrorweek2020 #bnha #bakudeku #post apocalypse #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bkdk #katsudeku #bakudeku fan fic #bakudeku fan fiction

24 notes · View notes